Embroidereads

So here's the thing: I'm a writer--a poet. Have been since I could speak, basically. Before I could read, I drew pictures in a succession of panels, comic style, and made all and sundry listen to me narrate the story I'd sketched out. Since all-things-textile turned my head about three years ago, I must admit to picking up the pen far, far less. And really, that's been okay. The most important element in my happiness is creativity, and the other most important element is movement--learning new skills, achieving new goals. I did that as a writer for more than a decade, and more recently, I've been doing it as an artist.
I can't manage to put down the needle--it's just not going to happen anytime soon, folks--but I'm starting, again, to long for the words, so I've decided to embroider some lines from my recent poems, and what a satisfying combo that has turned out to be. I happily committed these lines to some gorgeous white organic cotton last night while Mark watched Memento. I can see a new evening habit forming...