I Remember (Little Flags)...

 I remember (many, many, many moons ago) being set a coursework assignment for my Maths GCSE. Which I passed despite my greatest attempts not to. The task was to write a formula that could be used to work out bunting length requirements at church fetes. I never quite accepted why I needed to be able to work that out? Anyway. Fast forward several years (and I do mean a significant number) and my house is decked in an ever-growing flurry (?) array (?), whatever the collective term is, of homemade bunting. I know it's not particuarly edgy, nor even pretty (I never quite achieve true prettiness) (probably because I aspire too much towards edginess... goodness, such extremes to be caught somewhere in the middle of), but each little flag is made up from a salvaged fabric or texture that has a memory associated with it (is that too cheesy?). There is the fabric that my mother made my dolls house (Sindy) curtains from, the material from a skirt in my childhood dressing up box, the wiggly white paper that I used to present my final major degree project in, scraps from little daughter's outgrown stripey tights... even a page from the Habitat catalogue that I spent hours dreaming over when I bought my first house...

The bunting can't keep expanding forever though. It just can't... think of the dust! So I've been gathering fabrics to make a quilt. The same sort of things... my favourite polka dot shirt, which is now to worn out to wear anymore (some great memories associated with that one!), lovely outgrown bits and bobs, again, from little (but growing) daughter, some fabrics from an old much-loved student project... Have not really got very far at all. I don't really even know how to make a quilt. But the fabric is mounting up, cut into triangles, ready for when I am brave enough (or stupid enough) to begin...

Bunting sketch: Tomorrow, or maybe the day after, I'll layer this sketch with glass and wire and frits. It might look terrible (more than likely), but on the other hand it might just work out...

Brown paper and used stamps

I love textures that have a history. That used to have another life before I got my sticky little fingers on them. Have a story to tell. A past... Brown parcel paper is my utter favourite. I love giving it a place of its own. No longer the supporting act (etc)...Broken zips are georgous. Little, tiny uniform teeth. Not quite lining up anymore. Edges and seams are interesting especially if they are unravelling from being worn so many times. But used stamps are on another level entirely... They have travelled. Made the effort. Been bought and stuck on by somebody (no longer licked!). Been designed and approved and collected. But my love is conditional. I only love the used ones.

(I am trying to make bunting for my nearly-four-year-olds birthday tea. I'm too stingy to buy it. I have cut up her old stripey tights and other assorted bits and bobs. Bought a zillion metres of ribbon. Now I just have sixty little flags to make...wondering why I start these things?)