I should be trying to get the broken needle out of the bobbin carriage but instead I'm pondering how the needle was broken.
Last Monday I had surgery to save my eyesight. To save where my vision is now. Looking at everything through a light gray curtain. The surgery's intent was not to reverse the damage but to prevent it from getting worse. Have I placed this worry at the feet of Jesus? Yesterday I did. But am I picking it back up by writing about it here? I don't know. I know that I have know way of saying if my sewing is good or if its good because I can't see yet keep trying and does it matter, should it matter. Really, what I want to acknowledge is the fear I feel even when I'm trying to find my way yet once again.
When the needle broke I had to question if it was due to my lack of vision. Then I even debated writing this blog entry but my words in my head felt like an essay starting to form and I thought it best not to neglect any form of expression coming through me.
But it feels like I've come full circle here...starting this blog in '04 as a way to go beyond pulmonary hypertension diagnosis. I have indeed inherited my father's people's health or ill-health. Something that most of my genealogical interviews never touched upon. Yet here I am.
I sewed on my machine for the first time since my vision began fading. I did some free motion quilting using a green metallic thread against a medium toned gray fabric. I've spent this week slopping paint around in journal using bright bold colours. I can see that if my creative work continues, my palette will change to high contrast. And because I can't see dept in colours, the palette might become wild and loose.
This small quilt is a very old slow cloth that I've showed here before. I'll share it when its complete.
Peace and Love.