Fabric

When I was little I would play in my grandmother's fabric scrap bag. She was a Coco Chanel caliber seemstress. There was absolutely nothing that she couldn't look at, and make. She had to do a complete reconstruction on my wedding gown the week before the wedding because the cleaners had shrunk it in the whole cleaning process (it had to be cleaned riding bare back on a thorough bred for some of the bridal pictures my mom took in Kentucky had given it a very Man of War smell). May-may taught me a few things on the sewing machine, and she taught me how to crochet, but I was too impatient for the darn sewing machine. I used to get so mad at her for constantly making me rip out seams and pull out lines of crocheting just because one little spot might be slightly off. She would never settle for making anything that wasn't complete perfection. I find myself missing her all the time. I still love looking at fabric, and I love painting it. Everytime I see a pile of beautiful embroidered hand towels, pillow cases, dresses, blankets, and aprons I think about her. She rarely made anything simple, I think she liked to challenge herself, but I always think of her when I see simple things because that would be the kinds of things she would try to teach me to do.