i’ve finished stitching Nancy’s 454 drawings in set 2, and now that we’re home for a while, i’ll be pulling them altogether in In Our Own Language, 2 this week.
i’ve been amassing a collection doilies for this one, and truth be known, i’ve never really liked doilies. i crocheted a lot of afghans – in fact, my husband’s grandmother and i had such similar tension, we could pick up each other’s crochet and never tell where one started and the other left off. it’s the funniest thing though, in that way funny way that doesn’t make you laugh: as i’ve quietly acquired these doilies over the past 5 months, i’ve come to really enjoy looking at them . . . and i suspect that i’ll miss going on doilie treasure hunts.
some seem downright happy and carefree.
some seem to represent individuals in community, something that can sometimes be tricky.
some make me think of fields freshly plowed and ready to plant.
and some seem like optical illusions and threaten to make my head hurt.
some leave me gobsmacked with their intricacies.
and some seem quite fragile . . . but you’d be surprised.
(i am leaving the stains and discolorations of age because it makes them real somehow.)
i see spiderwebs in some.
some make me think of mandalas, and i swear just looking at them calms me.
some beg me to ponder negative and positive use of space.
some are crocheted metaphors.
shoot, maybe all are crocheted metaphors. my father-in-law always said i read too much into everything.