Today as I made the bed I wondered why the heck I beat myself up that I don’t always catalog and take pictures of my many, many homemade creations. For instance since I last blogged about sewing I’ve made a ten-yard skirt and choli for bellydancing, a hairband, three pair of boxers, sewed up the Patterns By Figgy’s Beach Bum hoodie, finished a quilt top, and knit a hat. And I’ve taken a picture or two, that’s it.
Taking photographs of my craft is another part of “after project clean-up” that I’m not always too thrilled with. It isn’t just that I’ve got food to cook and people and pets to care for and laundry and scrubbing the toilet, etc, etc. It’s that creations are springing out of my fingertips and I don’t want to slow down. In fact my mind is like a runaway train and my body follows: I sew, sew, sew almost maniacally at times, threading and rethreading machines and slicing through the virgin beauty of smooth yardage. It’s pure joy and industry. There is no rhyme or reason to my methods: some projects are rather slap-dash and some are painstaking and detailed. I unceremoniously pull shirts over the top of my kids’ heads, I give some of the work away to those who need or want. I sew in a label with my name. I re-fold and store yardage; smaller scraps I painstakingly cut into 3″ squares (I’m saving up these squares to make my kids a couple quilts, maybe upon their emancipation from my home) and the miniscule bits of fabric remaining are given to a local shop who sells them in wee bags to scrap quilters; the profits go to the local senior center.
One of the three pair of boxers I made Nels, all made from scrap and donated yardage:
The two fabrics that held a special place in my heart were the lemon and the Japanese-inspired waterscape. Today I look at the selvedge and sure enough: both of them are from Alexander Henry. I’d love to work for them. As in: they just give me a bunch of fabric and I say, “Thanks!” and sew with it. That kind of work. I won’t hold my breath.