i have six small windows in two rows of three in my house. on one side the view is out to the woods. on the other it's out to an attached carport. not real pretty on this side. so i got out a big pile of old thin cotton fabric i bought for $5 when i was at a fleamarket with alice last year. i was doing some fabric dyeing at the time and threw the fabric into a pot, not remembering now which pot or what plant material it was made from. it came out pretty much like a darker tea-stain which i am ok with.
then i decided to hand-stitch some larger buttonhole/eyelet type openings at the top with my favorite embroidery thread which is also hand-dyed and has variation in color which i love. when all the curtain panels are done i will probably string it with some lengths of rawhide and hang with old square nails.
is this a funny little project? most people will never notice the hand-stitched holes i've already spent a couple hours stitching. and the end result is pretty humble.
but this is just the type of creative project and result that i love. so as i work i think to myself, "only me." which, when i think further on it i realize is not true.
the other thing i think about is how the impulse that makes me do this project is the same impulse that fueled my painting and other "fine art" projects in the past. i spent time several years ago dyeing an old white sheet, ripping it into thin strips, and then hand-sewing the strips back together.
i also took an old white baby dressing gown, tore that into strips and stitched it back together.
this stuff seems both pointless and maybe even self-absorbed but at the same time of utmost importance. essential. at least for me. and the reason why i do this feels like one of the most honest and fundamental things about me.