Today has been one of the busiest days of my life and I was a fool to try to fit everything in. No wonder I return to the concept of sacrifice often and the art of giving to get still is not mine to brag about. Despite cycles of chores in and out of the house, I spent time in the studio. I felt strong enough to return to Father's quilt. Honestly? That was not supposed to happen for another two weeks; my hands will have been long enough in repair to return to the threaded sharps. What changed the moon and her countenance was that I have been having minimal problems with tension on the machine. For some reason I understand what needs to be changed on the settings instead of holding my head in hand wondering where the tears are. So, the persuasion happened last night. Neighbors knew I was about to give up for a little longer than a week or more. In my heart I did not think I could return for at least a month or more. I was down trodden and down hearted and thought the only way through the wall was to dig in and under, then wait. Executive decision get made in the middle of the night and I started this afternoon to finish by machine instead of by hand. When I started I felt like such a cheat. Oh God! It hurt like hell to take the easy way out. In my head there is a deadline. In my soul I want to be on the quilting right now. In my eyes it is a sacrifice that I made to end my sorrow.
Lord forgive me, but it may be just fine. It is just those lingering voices wondering if the quilt is going to fall apart, especially in the wash. Like there is an automatic inherent failure in hand piecing that is obviously irreversible after the first agitation in the wash cycle. "Don't you think it would be better if you used a machine," is the unsaid question I used to read from my mother's brow. She believes whole heartedly in sewing machines and quilting machines to complete the job proper. "A lot less worries," is what I read from that gaze over her wire bent glasses. I often hear a "Hell No!" after I began talking to her about hand piecing and quilting. "If our ancestors had sewing machines, you know damn good and well they'd use 'em. 'nuff said." I'm not down with the quick and dirty. I am not fit for simple and shine. I'm learning patience and appreciation the hard way. Yeah, I know. I cheated a death by pin pricks and selvages. I'm going to crafting hell. However I still plan on quilting by hand. That may forgive my burden enough to lay me down in purgatory for a glimpse. I had a dream about that once; went to visit someone and listen. I will not get into it further. I digress. Still I'm daydreaming about quilt stitching and it is lulling me to sleep these nights. Once finishing the top, the second part begins with basting pins and an investment in thread. I swore all this stitching and reinforcement and decorative quilting would hold it together. More of a concept for art quilts that never get washed? Something of what an ancestor imparted in a dream? Definitely the gentle fallback on point of OCD nightmares. Yeah, I plan on stitching the hell out of it. Possibly suitable for a priest?
Sorry for letting the cat out of the bag. I'm shy and tend to work out of dreams of anonymity. When I finally looked at what I created, I could not seem to keep quiet. You know? If I had the money I'd copyright the name Anonymous. The name has been used so much throughout history that I know I'd be rich. The royalties alone would be staggering.
As ever, stay hungry and curious.