Are you ever left speechless? You know how when you're someone who can always find the right words to express how you feel: good, bad, or indifferent? And you can talk about someone or some thing you're crazy about until the listener's eyes glaze over and you know they're not listening, but you keep talking anyhow because you'll burst if you don't tell someone how you feel??? Then there are times when you're telling someone, showing them, expressing yourself so well but they don't get what the big deal is. It hurts doesn't it? Just a little, but just enough that you wish you had someone-anyone on the planet who understood. So you grab your journal and you tell it all the things that need telling. It doesn't judge, misjudge, or misunderstand. It just listens.
Do you ever wonder who buys some of the world famous works of art and hide them from the rest of the world; they keep it in special vaults that only they have the combination to, and it's for their eyes only. I never got that until Erin explained it to me recently. How selfish. But I should have understood just a little bit since I'm that way about certain beauty. I tend to indulge my senses with a thing once in awhile too, until I've enjoyed each point of beauty to its maximum. No, I'm not as bad a Gollum, but there are times when you have to believe that it's really yours, so you keep going back for another look, another feel, over and over and over. Then you have to let the notion that someone thinks enough of you to award you stewardship of such beauty sink in. You have to pore over every single detail until you have it all committed to memory. By the time to awaken a lot of time has passed. When you come to, you pray you remembered to send a thank-you note!
I have seen some beautiful and rare things in this lifetime. I love cotton, and linen. Throughout my life needlecraft has been as familiar as my own handwriting. When I was just girl I could not wait to start piecing quilts. My place at Grandmother's quilting frame was a given. What a shame arthritis ruined her hands before my debut and I outgrew my quilting bag. I took to sewing like a duck takes to water. It was great comfort in the wake of my denial. Cross stitching eventually onsumed my life during the eighties. It was as necessary as food and water, and books. It became an obsession that lasted a decade. I wish I'd finished this. Had I, I'd give it to Anna. Because how could she know of my appreciation of needlework? The doily she gave me still graces my reading chair. How can she bear to part with such priceless gifts? How can I match her generosity?
Drawn thread needlework is absolutely beautiful! I know, I know. I imagine some of you wondering what this has to do with letters, and mail, and mail art. But what is this but a linen drawn thread envelope??? That came through the mail!
Sorry for the latex but I forgot where I stashed the cotton gloves. Turned out they're in my underwear/ sock drawer! But no way could I keep touching the fabric and threads with my bare hands. I didn't want to even breathe on it! Do you wonder who made this? Did the same person who stitched the "envelope" do the fine work?
I'd love to make such an envelope; so much so that last night I sketched an easy design just in case. You see, I'd love to make a lovely linen envelope too. What would it hold? Oh! I forgot to show you what Anna put inside! Tell you what. I'll show you next time.
. . . to be continued