After gazing lovingly and long at Spirit Cloth's inaugural flag here, I decided to begin a frame (of sorts) for Tatiana out of torn fabric. (You can read more about Tatiana here.)
I chose fabric scraps that were black and white, with a touch of red, and laid them out on a white cloth. This is very much a sandpainting type of fabric painting, for a whiff of wind would surely blow all these little pieces to the ends of the earth.
I'm afraid I rather like it this way, this evanescent, ephemeral quality. I did put three quilt pins here and there to anchor these scraps a little, but needle and thread are very far away. I don't know why, to tell you the truth. Maybe it's because Tatiana is made out of paper and doesn't want any needles making their way toward her.
The white cloth that I am using (temporarily) for my background is a dish towel hemmed by hand by my grandmother. I tried to capture the million little stitches in this hem, but I couldn't get my camera to see them. The hem is 1/8 of an inch, so tiny.
My grandmother had a little Singer sewing machine all the years that I knew her (this wonderful machine is mine now and I often use it, mainly to repair things). I wonder if she made these dish towels before she got her machine, or if she simply liked to make these little stitches, stitch, stitch, stitch, while sitting in front of her fireplace on a winter's night.
She was such a tiny little person, quick as lightning, always busy as a bee.
I thought I'd show you where I am usually to be found, in the room we call the "boxroom."
This is the view from across my art table: two black filing cabinets, one on top of the other, and three library bookcases (the third one on the far right is out of view here). These bookcases were long ago Christmas gifts from my husband, very large gifts of love, for he had to assemble all of them (and there are two more behind me, and two more in our dining room).
In the corner between the filing cabinet and the first bookshelf is a stuffed raccoon, in case you are wondering what that is.
This is where I sit to write my blog or read. Behind me is a door, and a blanket is currently hanging over the door to ward off winter drafts.
There's a place for our cat Boo to sit beside me but you can't see it here. He likes to hide and it is a very hidden place.
This is why it is called the boxroom.
There are more boxes than this surrounding me, but this might be enough to show you for today. When we first moved into our little house, about twenty years ago, this is the room where everything in boxes went. Some of the boxes never quite got unpacked.
We live in a two bedroom house: the master bedroom and the boxroom. Since my husband uses the garage for his workroom, I got to have "a boxroom of my own." Overnight guests, I'm afraid, have to sleep on an airbed on the floor in the living room.
This is the window facing the front porch. Small stuffed animals and birds hang in strands down the curtain, turtles on the far left, then peace doves, then elephants, peace doves, peace doves. Most of these were gifts from New Mexico, brought back to me by my husband from his many years of flying his hot-air balloon in the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta.
I see that the elephants have managed to push the curtains open a crack to have a peek outside.
This room is very small, a little cave of a room. I feel quite safe in it. I usually feel wrapped up in its storybook quirkiness, but sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the clutter of too many things. Spring cleaning is very high on my To Do List, but (sigh) spring in Texas is just a blink. So easy to miss it.
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