They build up, these concerns and issues, flies in the ointment, at the wrong time and place. I scratch at them and pull them apart until I'm raw, but until they flow away under the drum of my machine or the pricking of my needle, nothing releases the pressure. The language of yoga undoes some of it, but the step of sewing, the interplay of hand and needle, change under hand, accessed immediately, the solidity of a quilted piece of fabric, the sudden strengthening and inside too, my resolve stretches and I feel the possibilities open to me, nourishing me, but it's my own creative juice flowing through and making something happen. What would you place in your windows? In mine the wonders of the magical mystery carney, monkeys ride elephants to the loud beating of the band, share views with peter pan and the children of never-neverland--old french fabrics unlike anything I've seen before. The vivid colors will hang on my child's wall. Everything gifted and blessed.
Quiltmaker harvests rescued squares of fabric so shaggy & worn ,mends the edges ,needling perfect golden threads, weaving her own vibration through the crumpled cloth.Easing ..easing.. the day's tests , clearing her home & hearth & heart ...Such hidden gifts in the weft.Much joyous wonder unfurls as quilt maker sews away
ReplyDeleteshe is : The giver of dignity to shaggy bits & bobs of care worn cloth.
Dusty