April showers bring forth frothy plants and ....
an abundance of greenery. Managed to cut my lawn this morning in between the heavy pitter patter of raindrops. Kiln problems have ensured I stay at home and tidy house with the odd bit of stitch in between. I had finished some textile frocks for an Open Art exhibition which unfortunately they were not selected for but that is the nature of art. They are now home and in time I will be setting up an etsy shop so they find a home to hang on. Thought today you may enjoy a peek at a bit of stitch ....
|a frothy garden|
Frocks, posies and pockets full of rye
Childhood’s treasured memories are of nursery rhymes, stories, lullabies and games. Ingrained in souls they remain dormant whilst life goes on, quietly waiting moments of remembrance. Fragments surface from time to time to jog recollections of time and place.
Children are brought up on nursery rhymes, stories and lullabies. All these things become part of a person’s make up, staying with them for the rest of their lives to be passed on to the next generation. Memories are collected and stored away travelling through time, occasionally surfacing to be unpacked, savoured, smiled at before returning to the trunk folded and placed carefully away.
The garments reference costumes and fabrics from the past. Garments that may have been worn by boys and girls skipping in the fields, dancing in the playground, singing rhymes and listening eagerly to stories. They resemble parts of clothes coats, frocks, and pinafores, clothes like rhymes long outgrown but cherished and saved awaiting rediscovery. Trapped within the clothes memories lie hidden in layers of cotton, lace, colour and pattern, even tucked in the very corner of a pocket they remain sleeping under tissue. Drawers, cupboards and old suitcases become the resting place for these clothes. Placed carefully within the container the folds entrap memories of stories and part forgotten rhymes to special to be thrown away. Trapped in their cupboards with posies, birds and pockets full of rye they transport us to a place of reminiscence and daydreams, of sung lullabies, rhymes and stories told.