THE BASKET WEAVER

The soft sunlight making it's way through the large window, sharing its luminescence with the dust particles that take two rounds of swirling before slowly landing on the surface. 

The leftovers of the cane and straw resting on the wooden floor. The chirping of the birds grows louder as she opens the large window that crowns the wall facing her work desk. The room is full of baskets rooted in a corner, while a few of them stack on top of each other near the spot where their new family members are being weaved on. 

She's a basket weaver, the kind of a girl who expresses herself bewitchingly by weaving baskets. Anything running wild in her head shows itself dancing in the form of the wicker knots she shapes whilst making the base of her pieces. 

There's so much meaning in the intertwining of the thin reed sticks that I got to learn from my constant visits to her place. She's a very silent one, reminds me of my grandmother, moving around quietly but promptly, quite bad at hiding the whirl of thoughts showing on her face but a pro at concealing her words. But I've come to read her through her baskets. In the intricate braiding of her nacelles, one can read words, insecurities and occupations of her brain cells.

I remember my first time at her place was during a casual walk through the town shops and her creations meant to me what paints mean to a lay man, raw, only a BASE of something visually beautiful. But when I myself was struggling did I only see, these canes were not raw, but wild. Wild in developing a bond stronger than words. For words need a listener, but these wickers in their existence, were themselves a spectator of emotions. 

She twines the rattan into the base until all those sentiments in her mind wear off, approving of her to proceed. That's what the sizes of her baskets speak of, the larger ones showcasing how she held back the wild sentiments, how everything was clogged up inside her that she gave vent to. The smaller, the better. 

That's why I told her to tag them with their dates of inception, so whenever I visit them, I may know what I missed while being away, how much she bear alone, how deep was she scarred, and WHEN she used her art to fill the void.

The way she uses basketry left me dazed the first time I made out it's meaning. The way she used 'Twining' method to express her guilt was witching, the two twines knotted to entangle the third one, almost imprisoning it, the embodiment of how she's internally beating herslef up, guilt creeping up it's way to her, making her tie her conscience and punish her own self. 

And the 'Mad Weave' that embodied the sheer happiness that entered her life with a few tongue shaping that praised her work. The six clover star perfectly reflected the crescents that ornament her eyes when she smiles with all her heart, when she's happy. 

The 'Seaweed braid' coiled basket she created on the emotions of unity, tying the three braids tightly together to keep them in unison. Oh how the braids fit together like they were meant for each other!

And how can I forget when she tried to hide the newly incepted basket from me, for she knew it takes for me no more than a second to see through those warped shapes at the base and read her mind. That particular creel had a 'Sewed Coiling' at it's base, the one resembling the shell of a snail, showing her protective side, speaking to me of how she desperately wants to save something into a husk, like a snail does for it's life. That one never left my mind, for I never knew she was a girl who has some holdings in life, who has herself emotionally attached to anything.

But looks can be deceptive, but art can't!