As people recover from their empty investing on digital things. I had aimed at making NFS that were always part of our land and ways.
I started out an ant on the hill I’m half way up still looking up with a pack and a song in my heart with belief I will make it there. On the side I swallow my heart truly to know I wish I weren’t here at time at the foot of those before me.
Nothing artificial can take place of that or put that fire out. Years pass and I can see how foolish I was to think I knew more than I did when I was a young man posing as a man. Now that I am a man it calls for recognizing these things.
the cold tools I make warm again
I’ll never dance the masks I’ve had privilege to make or help on. I can know I am just a thread in the fiber of time. In between those times sitting aside my heroes with a small piece of alder in my hands often I never felt more alive or warm by being kept up into the sunrise . A strop made for me that no money could buy.
In place of an image of a match strike I insert a song.
Hello, World!
My life, so complicated in ways to know I learned a design language from a land born out of freedom that took it away from my grandparents, but even so there are those few anomalies that stand out and in that vein I have duty to write, carve and paint.
I know there is a story of a cod that swallows the moon, at this time of year I feel that.
I will never wear a blanket or dance of the families I peer but I can love the place I am in as much as my grandmother did. The reason I chose this song for this post is to know I was sent out to find this blanket stolen from our family that was entrusted to us, I can dream about the fires it danced
Without story there is no room for words. A tree fallen gave our people cause for shelter.
not a hammer or knife but qwalius
if you travel far enough and work hard enough a name is made for you. In my heart I believe this as I lean against this tree for a void that will never see a sun rise again but hurt me every day in this tool I had planned to give to him in spirit of of the mentors that taught me this way.
In the setting sun of the elders who know of the things I speak I offer this design.
A time for another night.