Home on the Main Range

The voice of the clay is soft and patient, allowing me to feel my way to its breaking point and the special place where we work together to create something. I find it like stitch ... mysterious,  meditative and comforting. It requires total concentration and presence. There is no room for distration, no intrusion from other thoughts - just two hands and the language of the clay.

  It feels a bit "other worldly" to be handstitching a quilt. Committed to getting the flowers finished by the end of 2021. Two a week til Christmas will see it through - and I'll end up with a queen sized beauty. Finally. A decade of the shoebox filled with papers, hexagons and the promise of honouring the woman who started it all so many decades ago. I'm not the world's greatest finisher, for the most part I'm not usually a finisher. I've loved the discipline of stitching, learning to hand stitch, getting neater and better with each flower. Muscle memory. New glasses. Significant birthdays come and go. The flowers are a constant, faithful and patient.