The hand-piecing continues, often long into the night. Not great on the old eyes, but still...
A balm for the soul,
And that's a fact.
A faired inkum scrap quilt is a massive exercise in nostalgia. You use all the weird little pieces of fabric that you've kept over the years because you love them and couldn't throw them out. Some have been around for decades - I've got scraps of fabric here that were worn by my grandmother, others that were saved by my mother, nightie fabrics from various siblings, exceptionally groovy 70s hotpants that Mym wore as a little girl until the seat fell out of them. I have selvedges and offcuts from my days with the Frock Fairies in the Nicholas Building, (where I was renowned for rubbish bin-raiding, pride not being my forte). I have superb silk remnants of Maxmillian's ill-fated swimwear collection of 2004. I even have the odd teatowel scrap that flew over Pene's shoulder at 100km an hour in one of her Production Frenzies, and I caught mid-air ....
And then one day they all come out of the cupboard,
And you begin...
It's very important that you don't hurry. You're handsewing, and a hexagon might take up to half an hour from start to finish. That's a lot of time for a piece of fabric to be resonating on your ass. You can remember a LOT in 30 minutes.
Lots of looking back. Lots of wandering in your mind. The odd chuckle. The odd tear. Mostly just reflecting and being still, and letting the fabrics do their thing.
From time to time I have pondered the question of why I'm suddenly so obsessed with patchwork.
I think it was Oona who brought my attention to this, I'd linked to the page on Wikipedia without even noticing it. The following is a diagram of triiodothyronine, or T3, a chemical that I have in such abundance at the moment, and which is causing me such enormous inconvenience.
Bears a rather uncanny resemblance to this, don't you think?
Except that I don't believe in coincidences.
I'd call it a classic example of creative healing.