Thanks to Gabrielle Swain, Melody Johnson, and Jan Thompson for reminding me what all that crap in my studio is for. I have not touched fiber nor thread since I got back from Ohio, just flitting about from one thing to another. June is chock full of expensive celebrations and creative derailments. Jake's 20th birthday was yesterday and he still likes spice cake. Our 28th wedding anniversary is the 4th & 5th (long story), Jim will turn 50 on the 12th and Colin will be 25 on the 30th. I give thanks that June is six months away from December. No wonder we only give a passing nod to Father's Day. Pity the Dads. There's been a dozen dozen reasons to keep passing that room without opening the door until this afternoon.
So with the help of the San Francisco Jazz Collective, Sonny Rollins, Black 47 and Springsteen, "Humidity" sprang out from under the Janome in a few hours.No cleaning, no fiddling about with the stuff I brought home from HoAnn's the other day - I knew what fabrics I wanted to work with, the ones I have been stacking and matching and fondling since I brought them back from NY and SC. I just wanted to build something. If there had been a stack of 2x4s and some plywood in the yard, I would have built a big cathouse. There's a strong temptation to put a fattbatt inside this quilt, get under it and sleep. If only the sun would come back. I'm getting mossy.
No comments:
Post a Comment