I doodled again, these square stars that are based on the traditional patchwork stars, an old what if.
Embroidered patchwork. I like the crossover between techniques, and how that adds to the history of forms.
I draw these all the time.
Sometimes just like humming a tune.
But then repetition can also lead to change.
A slow movement, hardly noticeable at first.
I heard myself say that, how I had fallen in love with the rows of wrap stitch. I mumbled to myself, loving can limit, and I let go. I split hairs here. That is I worked the split back stitch with a single strand of floss, row after row (first named here). Appropriately slow for easing into change. Splitting hairs, as I call it, is the closest thing to painting on cloth with thread. It forms a thin layer of stitch that hugs the cloth and can mimic tapestry. I also love here the blurred line around the dyed square... how it left a soft line beneath the stitch. Isn't it funny how imperfection might just be something we didn't expect instead of "wrong"?
I've dye a million of these little square components on a million scraps of self, over time, for a special large cloth. I have a million ways to try. Maybe more. Filling space takes time.
The day was beautiful, perfect actually. Despite company and stuff and more stuff.
This is how much rain has fallen this last month.
Dye pots were outside to catch it. The sky falling. Stars
A patch of ceiling almost fell down. But it didn't. In my estimation it would take this house far longer to disintegrate than me. If I were to stay here, that would be a mighty fine thing. I've not been sewing much, but I'm managing a wish a day. I noted to self how the little one inch squares, so close to my heart have become wishes so easily.
I'm like a fish swimming though liquid days. Getting though it.
Sunday. the 12th of February in the year I turn 66. (Not today, but soon)
It might have been Michelle's comment. On yesterday's post.
Today's nine is the closest thing I could get to violet, rummaging through the prepared squares in the basket, here, by my side.
From left to right...
Old linen from grandmas' table cloth.
A patch of the first muslin I ever used to stitch.
A white flannel from my son's baby pillow.
A square cut from a seamed patchwork leftover.
The center, a pairing with a bit of stitch to honor the seam.
That old linen again.
Flour sack cotton, a leftover from when I made my own dishtowels. They never wore out so I haven't made any more.
A lined linen that reminds me of notebook paper, I designed it when I was working.
A cotton lawn with a print that reminds me of seeds. I think I rescued it form somewhere.
So the center, I like that the center and the piece to the left come together to form a square of color that shifts slightly from the expected grid. That the red x adds warmth to the blue violet, making me imagine a warmer color, the one I need. I like that all the color there is like a blending. And I remembered the rings.
The amethyst from grandma, a February Gal, like me. And her daughter, my Mom, and her star sapphire which she loved so much because it was from Dad. How they seem like the colors here. How in their connection they feel like I feel.