09 May 2012
Since I'm attacking my space in a most ruthless manner, I'm finding treasure. Things I totally forgot I had (kind of makes it feel like Christmas).
I found these:
Its a stack of worn out old blocks I picked up. I was attracted to the circle and text (shocker, I know) and when I came across them, I sat down on the floor and thumbed through them.
The top block is the only one that is embroidered. All the others have names written on them in pencil but they never met thread:
It makes me wonder about who wrote them, who the names belong to. Why is there a group in the middle and then others in the spokes? Are they a family? Are they friends? A church?
Why didn't she finish stitching? She could be like the rest of us and maybe just lost interest. Or was the Queen of UFOs of her time.
Or was it something else? What if she lost them and that's why she stopped? What if she died?
I became suddenly aware that my own work might ask these questions years down the road. I have no idea where it will end up or who will want it or if it will just end up on someone's studio floor being studied.
Its odd to know that pieces of ourselves are out there, ready to be examined years from now...