Three weeks ago,
in the midst of packing,
freaking out,
repacking,
and generally wallowing in pre-travel angst about the trip from which I have just returned,
in the midst of packing,
freaking out,
repacking,
and generally wallowing in pre-travel angst about the trip from which I have just returned,
I was seized with an unexpected and unstoppable urge
to stitch together a random collection of backstrap experiments
and leftovers from this project
into a blanket/ shawl/ scarf thing
without which,
to stitch together a random collection of backstrap experiments
and leftovers from this project
into a blanket/ shawl/ scarf thing
without which,
or so it seemed,
I would be unable to set foot out the door.
I would be unable to set foot out the door.
Panic projects are not a new thing for me
(indeed, unpredictable as they are, I've come almost to take them for granted),
but rarely has my home-leaving-misery
been so thoroughly transformed
into something as magically functional, as this.
(indeed, unpredictable as they are, I've come almost to take them for granted),
but rarely has my home-leaving-misery
been so thoroughly transformed
into something as magically functional, as this.
Small enough to be shoved into a bag,
it yet unfolded (without a wrinkle)
to cover me from shoulder to knee.
It was a blanket on the red-eye from Seattle to Boston,
and a pillow while sleeping in a squeaky bunk bed at the YMCA camp where I attended the North East Squeeze in.
it yet unfolded (without a wrinkle)
to cover me from shoulder to knee.
It was a blanket on the red-eye from Seattle to Boston,
and a pillow while sleeping in a squeaky bunk bed at the YMCA camp where I attended the North East Squeeze in.
It served as a bathrobe at the myriad places I stayed
and made my three items of clothing seem like six
(traveling with a concertina in your bag means clothing gives way to the instrument).
It covered my back,
scrunched into a scarf,
and
and made my three items of clothing seem like six
(traveling with a concertina in your bag means clothing gives way to the instrument).
It covered my back,
scrunched into a scarf,
and
 |  |
unfolded
featherlike,
into a pair of wings
that bore me safely home.
Not bad for some scraps of plain weave, eh?
ps. photos by my wondrous sister Evelyn R. Swett
pps. In case any of you are suddenly seized by a need to make some wings of your own, the Etsy store is open once again, Backstrap Dialogues ready to fly to you .
Happy Fall!
ps. photos by my wondrous sister Evelyn R. Swett
pps. In case any of you are suddenly seized by a need to make some wings of your own, the Etsy store is open once again, Backstrap Dialogues ready to fly to you .
Happy Fall!
