Form and Function Creative

🌊 Where's My Loom Wednesday

This week, my loom is content to rest on the towel and soak in the sea air. A slow kind of week.

Waxing Crescent — two nights past the New Moon, just a sliver starting to show.

Here I am, a few slow rows in, the sound of the water doing the rest.

(If you're tracking with The Slow Practice — we're both practicing receiving this week. What's one thing you're letting yourself just soak in?) ❤️

🌊 Where's My Loom Wednesday

This week, my loom is with the summer pressing journal and the start of new page with a leaf from our Japanese maple — a new corner of The Slow Practice, just beginning.

Balsamic moon tonight — that thin, almost-gone light just before the new.

If you're with The Slow Practice this week — today's whisper lives in this same quiet: what completes in the body, before we have words for it. ❤️

🌊 Where's My Loom Wednesday

This week, my loom found its way to the beach. Sand, shells, salt air.

Waning Gibbous moon this week — past full, slowly releasing. The kind of energy that asks what we're still holding onto.

Here I am, setting things down for a minute.

(If you're in The Slow Practice — today's question might be: what's ready to loosen?) ❤️

🌊 Where's My Loom Wednesday

This week, my loom is in the garden. Among the weeds.
The moon is in the waxing gibbous phase — nearly full, still building. The kind of moment that asks you to keep tending even when you can't see the end of it.

Here I am, needle in hand, doing exactly that.
If you're tracking with The Slow Practice — today's thread is about tending anyway. The weeds make good company for that. ❤️

🌊 Where's My Loom Wednesday

This week, I brought one of my horizon weavings back to the actual horizon.

The moon is in the waxing crescent phase — the slow, in-between phase that asks us to make space rather than chase. Here I am holding the loom up to where the water meets the sky.

If you're tracking with The Slow Practice — today's whisper is listening before speaking. The ocean is good company for that.

Today, on the new moon — doors are open.

The Slow Practice. A membership community for those of us learning to move at the pace of our own lives.

Twenty Founding Threads. $19/month, locked in forever.

Link in bio. 🌙

A few Founding Threads spots are still open.

The Slow Practice opens this Saturday on the new moon. Twenty members, $19/month locked in forever, the kind of slow membership a Wednesday morning makes room for.

Link in bio if it's been tugging at you.

The Slow Practice opens on the new moon — Saturday, May 16.

A membership community for those of us learning to move at the pace of our own lives.

Rooted in fiber, in nature, in the wisdom of making things by hand.

Twenty Founding Threads. $19 a month, locked in forever.

If something in you is tired of moving at a pace that isn't yours, this is for you.
Link in bio. 🌙

🦥 Slow is a superpower.

I learned that from my daughter, Claire. One morning, her slowness — the very thing the world is always trying to hurry out of her — kept her from being caught in a school lock-down . She came back pleased and a little proud. Her slowness had, for one morning, been a kind of superpower.

This stayed with me. I kept thinking about what slowness actually does for us. The way it lets us be present. The way it keeps us from jumping ahead before we've finished the moment we're in. The way it lets us savor.

So I'm building something for the people who are tired of moving at a pace that isn't theirs. It's called The Slow Practice. A membership community for those of us learning — or relearning — how to move at the pace of our own lives. Rooted in fiber, in nature, in the wisdom of making things by hand. About process, not purpose. About slowness as a kind of superpower.

Doors open on the new moon of Saturday, May 16. Twenty Founding Threads — locked in at $19/month, forever. After that, regular membership opens at $35.

Link in bio if it tugs at you, even gently. 🌙

~ Graphic by Claire ❤️

**usSeason

🌊 Where's My Loom Wednesday
Still on the hoop — deep blues and sky in late-winter gold, finding its way around.

This piece and others like it will travel with me Saturday to Local Cloth's FiberFestival at Hickory Nut Gap Farm. A day of slow-made things among other fiber farmers and artists — the kind of company that reminds me why I do this work.

I've spent part of each day making in the lead-up, a quiet rhythm of hands and fiber. A fitting way to settle into Ta**us season — a season for rooting, tending, returning to what feels real.

I'll be bringing handwoven art on hoops and in frames, woven bookmarks, and handmade yarn-paper notebooks and cards. And from the farm: magic marbles (aka our alpacas' generous contribution to your garden), fresh fleece from this spring's shearing, and hanging crescent moon nests for the birds who'll find your garden this summer.