Come Sit with Me

I seem to have developed a bit of a love affair with chairs.

I’m not entirely sure when it started, or even why, but there is something about their shape and form that has always drawn me in. I love the way a chair can be beautiful simply by being a chair. The curve of a back, the angle of a leg, the suggestion of a seat waiting for someone to sit down.

And really, we ask a lot of our chairs.

We sit in them to eat, to write, to work at the computer, to sew, to read, to stitch. We sit in them when we are busy and when we are resting. We sit in them when we need somewhere to land.

Perhaps that’s what I love about them. They hold us.

So, naturally, the little textile piece I have started making is all about chairs.

This time I’m making a roll rather than a concertina book. It is only about four inches wide, and I’m working across the length of it, adding little stitched and appliquéd pieces of fabric as I go. I’ve called it Come Sit With Me.

The fabrics I’m using are from some 5-inch charm packs I’ve had tucked away for quite a while. I had originally thought I might sell them, but when I started pulling them out, I couldn’t quite do it.

They make me thing of France.

Flowers, scrolls, paisleys, little scattered prints – nothing particularly precious on its own, but together they have that lovely feeling of old French textiles. The colours and patterns seem to know how to sit beside one another, and suddenly I was thinking that perhaps they belonged together in a little book – or, in this case, a little roll. And having the advantage of a charm pack, you know they all go together.

So I kept them.

Sometimes that’s all the reason there needs to be.

I’ve also been thinking a lot about my grandparents lately. My sister and my cousin sent me some photographs, and I think I now have enough of what I need for the project I’ve been thinking about. But I’m not quite ready to begin it yet.

And I’m learning to be okay with that.

I want to let the idea settle in my head for a while before I start cutting and stitching. There is something about beginning a project connected to memories and family that feels different. I don’t want to rush it simply because I have the photographs now.

This week also marked my dad’s birthday. He would have been 100 years old.

I miss him. Every day.

Some things don’t really need more words than that.

So perhaps it isn’t surprising that my heart has felt a little heavy lately. I have no idea why I feel somewhat rudderless at the moment, although I’m still trying to work my way through it. I don’t particularly like feeling this way, and I’m not sure I have anything profound to say about it.

I’m just moving through it.

And meanwhile, there are always little things to keep my hands busy.

Last Sunday I went to a tea tasting and brought some tea leaves home with me. This week I decided to put them to work and used them to dye some fabric.

I have no idea what the fabric will look like yet.

That’s part of the fun.

And, of course, there is the nightly stitching.

Thirteen days of September have already disappeared. It doesn’t seem possible. I feel as though I just wrote about finishing August and laid out all eight months of my stitched-together year.

And now September is growing beside them.

One stitch at a time.

Perhaps that’s what I need right now. Not to figure everything out. Not to force myself to feel lighter or more certain than I do. Just to keep making little things. To follow the things that catch my eye. To save the fabrics I can’t bear to part with. To let an idea sit for a while before deciding what it wants to become.

And maybe, occasionally, to pull up a chair.

Thanks for reading. Until I write again, I will just go and sit with myself for a little while.

Ana

When the Work Begins to Whisper