I never imagined when I was this little that I would be an artist. I had never seen a hooked rug. This picture is of my earliest memory. I remember very little about the day my oldest sister was married but I do remember the dress and I can still see the deep red velvet of those roses and the baby’s breath. I was two, almost three. When we look at pictures of ourself as a child it feels as if it all happened in another land. We had no idea where we were going. When we look at where we are we can see so many detours that we took along the way that led us to our current place.
Who ever knows what they will end up doing. I have not picked up my hook today but I did write the introduction to my next book. It will be about twenty five years of making rugs and will have images from over the years. This afternoon I will go to my frame , humbly, as the rug I am working on is not going along as planned. I will also approach it hopefully, because I have learned you just never know. The beauty slips in unexpectedly sometimes and wakes you up to new ideas, new beauty, that is to follow. In writing the introduction to a book about twenty five years of making rugs, I had to think a lot about the past and what I might have hoped for.Then my brother in law posted this picture on Facebook and I was thrown back to another time, a time when possibility did not matter. A time when all I had to do was reach out my hand for a sister to hold. Whenever I write I go into the past.writing makes me evaluate and sift. Writing a book is like making rug. When you are in the middle of it you have no idea if it is any good but you go back to it with hope and humility, time and time again.