I turn to the gentler of handworks when I'm really processing some things and need to think and feel and just be.
This time, I started with very old lace and linen given to me by friends and family.
I add bits and pieces of things.
Scraps from the past - like words from a storybook and an old anonymous photo.
Pieces of the present - like last summer's carnival ticket and yesterday's tea bag paper.
I begin to build a story separate from myself, yet somehow it still feels connected.
Some times creating art is just another form of story telling.
It can be a quiet and peaceful way to bring forth a story.
Someone I once knew died last week.
We haven't spoken in years which was painful.
But that's how it ended.
That's how that particular story was written.
In the end the words were brought forth silently.