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Robin Brown Quotes

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Famous Robin Brown Quotes

“The muses aren’t the material, but they speak through the tools, sparking signals in a language of symbols we can only read backwards.The wounds have been the way. Back to where we started, brought to our knees, eye-level with those small oracles that speak directly to our heart.”

“What do you spin with the light you are given? Releasing is in the telling, even as it is unfolding. In the middle of a miracle, God’s art exhibit we’re blessed to exist in. Once we look past ourselves and on to the possibilities of our contributions, we no longer have time or the hunger for such validation. Stay bewildered and in love with your possibilities. Thank your ego for your survival and then politely set it free. Jump into your spirit that lives in your soul and get busy creating beauty and love and stay so intoxicated with heart songs that you never remember to wonder about the mediocrity of life again.”

“The healing had to start at the scene of the crime this time, my body. My creature self and my very vehicle for relationship, and memory. Humans aren’t mollusks, man. There’s no hard outer shell to protect the pearl-making. It’s all just soft, fragile skin. So vulnerable we all are. We gotta be so gentle with ourselves.”

“In embroidery, there’s just as much undoing as there is doing—plucking and pulling your thread back through the holes you pierced to see where you might have gone off-course, and where you might begin again. Our ancestors once believed the stars themselves were a result of this kind of occurrence, pinpricks of light poked in the fabric of night. The Creator doesn’t make mistakes, but sometimes it’s so damn hard to see the reason.”

“Maybe at the end of our lives we get a Ferris-Wheel vantage of the whole tapestry, the quilt laid flat, answering for its complexity. At the beginning we’re handed frayed and stained flowery bed sheets, a scrap of polka-dots, a snatch of strawberry print. Tattered as they are, there’s some sustaining sweetness in there. The oldest pioneer quilts conceal bits of paper batting between their threadbare layers: postcards, recipes, clipped snippets of newspaper poetry. Every spare material had a part to play, fragments of experience and feeling arranged in a repeating pattern, little sewn sound bytes spinning ordered fractals.”