More tools of the trade . . .

A little while ago, I wrote about the tools of my writing life and how few they were.  I mentioned that if we had been talking about embroidery, the whole thing would be different.  For a start, there are my threads, scissors, needles, a fraction only of which I have pictured.

Part of the tools of a stitcher.

My threads are divided into boxes of woolen thread, silk thread, cotton thread, acrylic thread in all colours of the rainbow.

I have three different pairs of embroidery scissors, but my faves are little gold ones my husband gave me.  I have a set of three surgical tweezers, a must in stumpwork for bending wire.

I have bunches of different sorts of wires, all for detached wings, petals and stems in stumpwork.  I have a shelf of fabric: silk, cashmere wool, cotton furnishing fabric.

I have books on the shelves and in the embroidery cupboard I have years of collecting Inspirations, the glorious Australian embroidery mag.  And I have patterns and my own sketches.  And this is what I end up with.

This is what I end up with . . .

But why, you may ask?  If I am a writer?  Why not just sink myself into the word?

No one should write constantly.  I definitely need time off and time out.  One of the ways is to embroider at night whilst I ‘sort of’ watch TV.  Actually, its more listening.  Embroidery is finger meditation.  My hands move and take my mind away from any conundrum and I feel calm and peaceful.  My mother is the same . . . busy hands, quiet mind.  It’s one of the real loves of my life and I’ve just finished embroidering a blue wren for a cushion and am about to begin its pair.

More of the same . . .

I find the quiet noise of the thread slipping through fabric, of something growing visually  . . . the perfect antithesis to the glare of the computer screen and the finality of the delete button.  Right now I’m off to hem the fabric for the next little bird cushion.  See you on the other side of the thread!