Art Gallery

Pamela Preston

Artist Bio

Pamela Preston embarked on a mythological quest in 1992 to the French countryside. There, she lived with peasants and embroidered mandalas while writing her books. The motifs in her collection of 39 mandalas thus far reflect the symbols and images of her personal mythology. Her experience adheres to the principles of C. G. Jung, “A myth is dead if it no longer lives and grows.”

Artist statement:

Embroidering mandalas is my meditation.  Metaphors are conjured through silence.  Inspiration moves the threaded needle—colors and imagined forms reveal themselves while moving toward the center.  Two, three, four, or six strands realize different textures.  I never know what will take shape stitch by stitch though I always begin with a concept, usually an idea that is given and feels genuine.  All the mandalas are attuned with my life and my writing work.  The medium of embroidery stills my intellect and awakens my feeling value to the true images within.

Being a student of C.G. Jung for 42 years has influenced my spiritual practice of embroidering mandalas.  But I had always embroidered—since a child, and perhaps in centuries past as I often recalled my Self sewing tapestries for the great walls of the chateaus in medieval France. 

This collection of a few samples of my work for the C.G. Jung Library of Tampa Bay are titled and dated chronologically.   For further amplification of the complete collection, I have produced two books with commentary for each of the mandalas, Mandalas and Commentaries, Volumes 1 and 2.

Links for these volumes and further writings:

Mandalas and Commentaries: Volume 1 

Mandalas and Commentaries: Volume 2

Mythic Threads 

Marianne Press *

* Marianne Press, established in 2002, the author’s small imprint, has been producing European guild hand-made hard cover books since 2007. Some images of bookmaking can be found throughout the Marianne Press blog.

Contact Pamela: lacalmette@gmail.com

INCANTATION by Pamela Preston

The hours lengthen, tarry no longer. We are wretched without you and our song is worn out.*

Bat wings slice
The cellar air
The tree frog falls
To its death
All sleeps.
Winter fog like dry ice
Gathers in the cleavage
Of unknown mountains
Seeping into bones
Hollow like reeds.
Winds howl
Stopping breath
While walls of
One existence
Crumble.

She knelt on matted grass
Listening to
You
Who once carved
Hieroglyphics on cornerstones
Who left your anagramma coded
Who stained your pages with tears
While ants
Legless toads
The lion
And the dead
Became your helpers
Collecting works
From your Mysterium.
And You
Who live in this night
Above the moon
Became her ancestor.

Light your pipe
Old one
Tell her she will not break
Remind her of the truth of trauma
Guild her to the rock temple.

Strew flowers
Giant one
Before the smaller ones
The root
And the tree.

~ November 19, 2009, the moment Dr. Jung became my ancestor.
*from the Red Book

In conclusion:

The intent of sharing my books and art has always been motivated by the love of giving a bit of my process of individuation to others.  That, along with the impossibly deep gratitude for the map of “how to” by the bearer of the new dispensation, Carl Gustav Jung.  And special thanks to the dedicated and may I say profound work of the C.G. Jung Library of Tampa Bay.