Recently a friend and colleague retired after many years at the library. Usually on occasions like this the person departing is presented with a gift. Instead, she mounted an art exhibit at the library of thirty beautiful hooked wall hangings, each carefully designed and painstakingly crafted from hand-dyed wool, each a work of art—and each a gift. She made one for everyone who works at the library. It took her three years to make them all.
Most were inspired by postage stamps from around the world, chosen or adapted to reflect something about the recipient: a connection with a place, a passion, a play on names, an aesthetic style.
The wall hanging she made for me is a depiction of my tree. She entitled it “Sacred Places,” and included, along with the tree, a mountain and a stone wall (she knows me well). It could not be more perfect. It’s based on a Korean stamp that in turn was inspired by a work of folk art from the Yi dynasty, which began in 1392. And among the branches of the tree she strung the blue prayer flags that Emme made for me as a Christmas gift last year.
I won’t try to find the words to express how moved I was by this gift, as I would almost certainly fail. Kris has read these treewritings for several years—interested in part due to a family member who practices the Shinto religion—and captured the spirit of the tree perfectly in a way I’ll have forever.
As it happens, a few days ago Emme’s string of prayer flags, worn by eight months of wind and snow, sun and rain, detached at one end and now hangs vertically, each flag furled like a pale blue shell. As it happens also, she brought me from Bhutan a new roll of prayer flags she got at a market in Thimphu, which can now replace the ones she made.
And now a gift in hand-dyed cotton has been immortalized by another in hand-dyed wool.
So many gifts. We should all walk through the world with gratitude.
The generosity of this one will remain an inspiration to me.
“Sacred Places,” by Kris Burnett (hand-dyed wool and linen)
