and the arts with others in many different ways, in group settings and one to one. to back busting each strand of life from complications in messy muddles ...
The patchwork of using remnants of memories stitched in cloth echoes in my parents home, in my room there too. The patchwork quilt covering the bed, with the ottoman trimmed to match, reminiscent of Mum giving us a stitched quilt for our bed. And then for our children.
The concept of reducing or altogether striking out the many strands encompassing my creative juices in interests that I once had with vigour, until the day it shrivelled up in no space to move. I no longer had the passion once there.
It is mow reforming in new mediums in the world opening up a tad, on the receipt of the first electronic gadget post crisis. This adaption into a now movable world beyond tactile ways physical to the abundance of other joys.
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