Gnitter

20 Aug 2024

They say the higher you go into the mountains, the harder it is to breathe. Like walking through water. The evening of July fourth, I learned how to breathe under water after a run in with my mountain Bear. The story begins in Selma, Alabama 3 months prior to the reactivation of my gills.

The month was March. I was staying in my childhood, yellow bedroom at my grandma’s house. I was in Selma to recuperate, relax, and enjoy a Sunday dinner with my grandma for Easter, since that day is still important to her. Every time I go home, time tracks for me… I move through the days slow, steady, and full of grits, eggs, and bacon. Nothing is really exciting per say, more so calm and refreshing; this particular trip made its mark due to an unforeseen, yet, satiating surprise. The eve of Sunday was upon me. I’d cozied up in my bed after filling my belly and reading up on some family from Mobile — I was reading up on one of my maternal grandmothers, ‘The Biscuit Queen’ to be exact. Before I closed my eyes, I received an alert from a Bear via my cellular device. I answered to the alert and heard the low, burly voice of him. The sound always made me smile on the inside — and on the outside as soon as no one was looking –, however I was in a stage of refraining from outwardly exposing my heart. He was showing and telling me about all of his hibernation upgrades: the upgrades to his teeth, the upgrades to his motion speed through the asphalt, and the extra wad of weight he’d accumulated throughout the season. I felt a few things. Satiation, excitement, warmth, relief, and comfort. I was proud of him, and honestly really glad to hear from him since everything seemed to happen quarterly, in increments of threes/trees with him — from what I’d seen. It’d only be 3 months until he pulled me underwater.

Back to July the 4th. I contributed to + ate a full spread then got back to a project I was working on. I was taking a break from knitting, and getting back to some simple crochet work — I’d been feeling the linen stitch [a moss stitch variation] this season. The piece I was working on consisted of this particular stitch, and I told myself I’d finish before leaving Selma. I sometimes gave myself mini mile markers as such to keep me focused. By nightfall, in the midst of crocheting and having a conversation with one of my cousins, my breath was taken away by none other than the Bear due to a sighting I came across — the setting being the mountains; I began feeling a familiar feeling… one that had stifled my movements in the past during a different season with a different animal, as I was then still a beginner. Back then, my reaction was to sleep and stay stuck in the initial atmosphere the feeling created, which created stagnancy for far too long for my liking/nature. I decided to take a different approach to this dive. I didn’t panic because studies show, that’s you drown. I decided to move with the water I found myself in, meaning that I was going to feel everything while simultaneously continuing work and creation. I came above water a few times to let it spill from my eyes, then went right back under. It was phenomenal what I experienced, I could physically taste what it felt like to swallow water… while I was still breathing and without actually drinking water. I’m always intrigued by new sensations, so I began to more deeply welcome the feeling as I let a new light be shone onto it. Moving through this moment felt like moving through twilight, and creating in that space enhanced my focus. I finished the Selma piece almost immediately, between dusk of the fourth and dawn of the fifth — I took it down as well, but that’s besides the point. Instead of reflecting on, I realized I was reflecting in. I liked the taste of breathing water.

I won’t go too much deeper into what the reflections revealed — I’ve typed and backspaced, typed and deleted, and have just decided to go no further into explaining where that water took me + the depths. However, the after math involved brass [a combination of zinc with my copper] embellishments and knit, true [bear] moss stitching. Shades of green + heavy metal. And so, MOSE was born as pictured above.

shayla