I’m a maker. It’s an urge, it’s an itch I need to scratch. Making brings me peace and joy. It puts me into a state of flow.
I get lost in the making, sometimes I start with a plan. The making never really follows the plan. I get sidetracked to explore a different path, to add a branch, try a different technique.
I spun the wool months ago and in my enthusiasm I semi felted the yarn in the finishing. The skeins sat as a matted mess in the lounge room for months.
Yesterday I finally wound the sticky mess into balls of yarn. Pulling apart the matted strands. It took time.
I had planned to video a class but instead I was tempted to play. I bought the wood circles on mark down, on an impulse in Kmart on Sunday. Or was that the muse that whispered to me, “buy them, I want to play?”
Taking simple things and imagination, weaving magic to transform yarn into a tree. Lost in the imagination of my mind. Using my hands and skill to bring forth what I envision.