Plenty
I already know, consciously (What Makes A Series Work) and unconsciously that my artwork is driven by meaning.
But these past few months I have fallen in love again with my materials. I haul out 20 gallon containers of schnibbles. I laugh out loud at the overwhelming jumble of scraps, snips and threads that a truly sane person (non-fiber artist) would have chucked long ago.
I sink my arms down to the elbows and marvel at the compost of my art making — the softness and the plenty of it all. No wonder I throw nothing away; here is the vibrant history of all the fabrics I have ever painted.
I pick up my new scissors and revel in their sharpness and the smoothness of their cut. My new pins line up in yellow-tipped single file along the top of my design board. Oh, the luxury of having a sister who knows just what to buy me for holiday gifts.
I open a small green box and look at a tangle of spools of variegated thread, shut away years ago as just too weird and just too little of any one kind. Suddenly these threads with their crazy pink, yellow, blue, green and purple combinations are perfect for sewing together thousands of small pieces.
I celebrate each plastic core as it spins empty on the thread holder. Off it comes and another wild spool begins its journey to emptiness.
I fill five bobbins at a time and listen to the purr of the bobbin winder. The next time I fill ten bobbins. Why not? There’s plenty of thread and plenty of bobbins.
It is sheer joy to luxuriate in what’s already here in my studio. To use, freely and happily, the abundant fabric and thread accumulated over time.
What a relief, in this day and time, to find myself luxuriating in the things I love most.
