It's pretty much how I feel about this kind of stitching - soup from a sausage-
throwing random fragments into a pot to make something greater and tasty.
Stitching is journaling. I learned a lot about stitching through my first love,
collage. Everything is narrative.
The cloth is the background, the stitches are the words.
By allowing the needle to travel over a surface, it draws the eye.
Here, I'm doing a series to discover if it's the stitch or
the textile that wants to speak, and when it does, how not to interrupt.
With texture so rich, adding stitch could quickly move into overkill,
so the thread has to be quiet in its role as witness.
Remember when you were getting dressedfor a party and you had all your party bling on, and your mother say,
"Remove just ONE accessory"
and you did, and the outfit suddenly came together?
I'm looking to find that one bit.
Other times it's all about the composition, so the thread
is demoted to device, like glue serves the spine of a book.
It's not finished unless it has text - and this fragment from a German
religious book says, "Alone with your God, it shines".
The stitches are barely there, like a whisper in Church.
I dream about allowing stitch to take centre stage like Junko Oki and
After a few pieces to warm up, this one is getting close. No text. Just thread words.
Which is all that's really needed.
That and a sense of connection.
It has been a good day.