Motifs for embroidery

Yesterday marked the end of the first online course and I have to surrender to the idea that we are not allowed to make predictions…
Against all expectations of the judgmental and apocalyptic little spirit living in my brain, the course worked almost as well as an in-person course and I recorded a zero drop-out rate (this was the figure I feared most)!
We chatted, we reasoned about embroidery, we embroidered and we joked. Alas, we did not share cakes and litres of coffee, but every now and then some teeny, wee, wee eyes looked at the camera and gave us a smile. We even celebrated two new grandmothers!
The contagious wave of enthusiasm ignited my desire to go further, to overcome technical difficulties and overcome video resistance. I have already observed an evolution between the very first timid and awkward shots and the last ones a little more cunning. Now that I am taking stock, I realise that I have learnt a lot, thanks to this adventure….
And also thanks to some mishaps. I won’t tell you about them, but if I tell you that I now backup twice a day, maybe you can guess something. All’s well that ends better.

The real advantage of the weekly appointment is that it allows us, unlike an intensive, to complete a project: to build something. For a long time I felt a certain freedom, not being tied to the object, because I felt the urge to just embroider. Now the urge to make sense of things has returned to me. Because it is true that we embroider mainly for other reasons, but it is also true that looking at what we have done brings a smile to our face, resurfaces memories and communicates who we are: embroideries do not deserve to be locked away in a drawer. They ask to wear out in the light of a glass, in the rustle of a washing machine, between the fingers of an irreverent child.
Also because we always need an excuse for a new piece.

I am caught up in so many things.
I used to be more rambunctious, perhaps in pain, full of children and afternoon movements, and I used to launch myself into impossible, useless, beautiful undertakings, which today seem distant and unattainable. Someone occasionally writes to me, to regret the old me. I would like to be able to dust her off.
After the book on padded stitch, though.

The drawings with which I embroidered these pieces are contained in the new e-book Daisies.