Itchy Fingers

I was at an event recently, in which it occurred to me, I did not belong there. I hardly knew anyone, and after a long day, I fell into my usual introverted self, and realized that just having to make the effort to 'chat' was exhausting me in advance. Not only that but I was getting itchy fingers. I needed to make something. I needed to create. This has been happening more and more: while shopping for groceries, while watching a less-than-inspiring movie, while pondering whether or not to vacuum the house (which I need to do right now were it not for itchy blog fingers). I look forward to my afternoons, my 'me' time, when I can go into my tiny studio and just lose myself for a few hours. I'm not even creating great art, although I hope one day it will accidentally happen when I am not paying attention. Most of the time I am doing something artsy fartsy, as opposed to what my daughter calls artsy snooty.  She ONLY does artsy snooty (see an earlier blog on 'cuteness' and how Naomi is missing that gene). Artsy fartsy doesn't require much forethought or planning. At least my version of it. It's goofing around, it's improvising, it's making a mess and then watching the dust, or paint, or thread, settle, to see what I have.

This week it was all about the colour, and the fabric, and the thread, and the texture, and the domestic Victorian girl skills. So I quilted and embroidered/beaded a strip of stripey Kaffe Fassett  fabric, and then I turned it into a cuff. It might possibly make an appearance at the next event I attend. Those itchy fingers are good for something.