My friend entices me into a fabric shop. I am on a different trajectory of busy-focus and lunch-hunger, but I allow myself to be diverted.
My friend asks if they have remnants. They do. I proceed to spend half an hour – or is it a week? – rummaging through remnant bags. The bags are organised according to colour.
I am a kid in a lolly shop. I am an artist in an art shop.
I am caught in a fabric fragment web
of divine daydreaming.
All else fades away.
It is a surprise Artist Date.
I think of the art-making potential. I love incorporating threads and tissues into paintages.
I think of my elderly art therapy client who