Thursday, August 19, 2010
I have a spare cushion innard requiring a cover. I have newly-found smitten-ness for the art of embroidery (by that I mean, I know how to do backstitch and a french knot). I have breathless, I-can’t-wait-for-the-kids-to-get-to-bed enthusiasm for the crafting of a cushion cover.
With linen leftovers and an array of thread spread before me in rainbowed glory, I plotted: I connived. A tendrilled, delicate floral composition of intrinsic, detailed beauty? The tentative flutter of a butterfly wing captured mid-flight? A weather-inspired (yep, it’s still winter) piece of abstract, arty, designery whimsy?
A dead fly?
Dead Fly almost made it on to some museum graphics a couple of years ago and I’ve been hanging on to him since. There wasn’t even a need to consult the digital archives (although this could say more about a general aversion to filing and admin).
I figure I am embarking on a journey* to discover the inherent beauty in the unexpected. Even if this involves an embroidered insect carcass cushioned on my couch and I’m coming over a bit weirdy-like.
* not a word I use lightly, so I must be serious
To navigate a billion more spaces of the creative kind, (including magnetised procrastination), go see Kirsty.