As the surface of the silk fills with stitches each evening, I’ve begun to wonder what will happen when I stop stitching – what next – how will this be resolved ? One thing I’ve become aware of is the undulations of the quilt when I move it across my lap. The inner wadding gives it support, it holds its form creating plateaus and ravines.
There’s an intimacy, difficult to articulate, between me and the fabric I’m stitching as it settles on my legs and I slowly work my way with needle and thread up and down, in, out, in between. The action looks mindless but each stitch signifies a decision, a moment.