peekaboo

it feels like it's been forever since i've posted or sewn anything. finally had a little time this weekend and finally made this bag from a thrifted skirt. i love the fabric. you can't really tell in the photos that it has a ruffly texture.

starting next saturday, i hope to post again at least once a week. in the meantime, on monday, i'll post info about a new collaborative project.

hope you all have been well.

until next time, here are some flickr favorites of late:

just lovely
love notes
feels like another world
feels like travel
peace: yeahyeahyeah

oh and a (long) excerpt from the excellent book i'm reading, the intuitionist, by colson whitehead:

From Theoretical Elavators: Volume Two, by James Fulton

To believe in silence. As we did when we lived in bubbles. Sentient insofar as we knew it was warm: Silence provided that warmth. The womb. Ants have it easy for speaking in chemicals. Food. Flight. Follow. Nouns and verbs only, and never in concert. There are no mistakes for there is no sentence save the one nature imposes (mortality). You are standing on a train platform. A fear of missing the train, a slavery to time, has provided ten minutes before the train leaves. There is so much you have never said to your companion and so little time to articulate it. The years have accreted around the simple words and there would have been ample time to speak them had not the years intervened and secreted them. The conductor paces up and down the platform and wonders why you do not speak. You are a blight on his warming towards departure. You cannot find the words, the words will not allow you to find them in time for the departure. Nothing is allowed to pass between you and your companiion. It is late, a seat awaits. That the words are simple and true is only half the battle. The train is leaving. The train is always leaving and you have not found your words.

Remember the train, and that thing between you and your words. An elevator is a train. The perfect train terminates at Heaven. The perfect elevator waits while its human freight tries to grab through the muck and find the words. In the black box, this messy business of human communication is reduced to excreted chemicals, understood by the soul's receptors and translated into true speech.

i'm loving this book. have any of you read it?