It has been a long time since I handled fabric with an eye to creating something. Unearthing a box of neglected, undone, or half-finished projects pulls me back to that world. Amazing how SWIFT the return to the memories. I remember how the process would begin: an idea, followed by a wandering in a fabric store. It’s such a physical experience – touching and looking, freeing the mind to wander. Holding, picking up — feeling for drape, weight, looking at color. I would consider what SPOOL of thread I might have in a drawer, if there might be a match waiting to be selected. Taking bolts of fabric to the table, putting them next to each other, considering accents and trims. I think about the parallels to cooking, how like a chef deciding what SAUCE will best draw out the flavors of a dish. I too would look to pick colors and textures that would draw out hidden qualities of the main fabric. Perhaps I should SNEAK out to a fabric store so I can reimmerse myself in this world, rehear the sound of the clerks as they use their forever sharp scissors to SHEAR off pieces of visions and dreams.

Georg’ann

There was a SPACE inside
the forsythia branches 
a completely secluded hideaway.
Heidi and I would SNEAK away, 
STEAL some snacks on the way. 
Inside we’d make potions 
with weeds and water. SMEAR
slimy interior of dandelion stems
across the bottom of our frisbee
come Petri dish. Scientists. 
Once we switched it up, playing
hairdresser. Dolls and ourselves 
got quite a SHEAR. It didn’t occur
that we should fear leaving 
the security of our woody shelter. 

Heather