it seems to me that the process of natural fabric dyeing is a real sensual one.
it's an active process with multiple steps which take time and patience for results and transformation. i think it's something like baking bread from scratch the way you handle materials; the way your hands get doughy or wet and blue; the way you leave it and come back, leave it and come back.
in other ways it reminds me of dancing till you're sweaty and your troubles are forgotten.
or can i mention sex? there are comparisons to be made. messy and risky.
i'm writing this on the fly. after several nights of vivid dreams chock full of symbolism and metaphor. i'm tired. i'm reviewing these dreams in my mind. i'm reading into things.
but i can't escape the feeling that i'm standing on the edge of something. a messy bed or a big vat of blue.