Each stitch with the needle she pushed through the cotton fabric and pulled it up with gentle force,
in rhythm with her breathing, steadfast, sure, content… as a prayer.
Praying an entire monogram "S" simplicity, "A" always.
With a scissor, she cut out small designs and stitched around the cutout part to prevent it from raveling.
Flowers, petals, leaves, stars… some she would give to the church for the priest's alb and altar cloths. But she would keep some, for when her future dreams would come true.
Hours spent,
with her basket of white thread, thimble, the tiny scissor she worked with deliberate patience.
A labor of love mixed with the pleasure of passing the time creatively.
Over seventeen yards of various English eyelet, I found at the brocante. From the 1800s neatly tucked inside an old cardboard box. Most have never been used.
So many questions I would ask: "How long did it take you? What inspired you to do this piece? How old were you?"
Selling it is going to be hard because I find it beautiful as is… something this old, handmade, carefully guarded… beautiful as is, no need to cut it and make "it" into something that will never have as much value as it does now.
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