ᛋᛖᚹᛁᚾᚷ ᛒᚤ ᚺᚨᚾᛞ
Sometimes when I’m quiet and turn my mind inward magic happens.
Hand stitching without a pattern can evoke powerful memories, and unlike writing, there’s no delete or backspace key to edit and moderate emotions. It’s pure raw feelings.
This particular piece, a red tree above a swirling orb, is being born just tonight.
This memory, this story, is painful you see.
I’ve tried writing about it many times but never felt like I’d been able to describe it with words.
I wasn’t able to merge them with its essence.
I pricked my finger on the first stitch and seeing the tiny drop of blood 🩸that formed on my fingertip changed everything.
I frantically dug through my fabric basket for crimson and found just one slender scrap.
Then to my button jar.
Then to my box of 4×4 photos.
I knew exactly which one I needed, a castoff blurry image of a 🌲 bough with a💧teardrop suspended on its evergreen finger tip.
And this is how it begins.