I’m currently reading my newly-arrived copy of Tim Ingold’s book ‘Lines’; it’s having quite an influence on my thought processes – in fact I feel like someone needs to open my head up with a tin opener before my brain explodes.
All the things that have been rattling round in the corners of my mind are suddenly all connected – walking the dog, being outdoors, walking and thinking, drawing, sewing, writing, making new things out of old pieces of work, things I’ve read quoted in something new, circles and stories, marks and traces, squares, a sense of presence and place, journeys, landscape, process…
This is my story, the story that has been handed down to me through generations of women, the story that I will hand on to my daughter. I’m not sure I’ve grasped the plot yet, but I’m getting there, and I’m definitely not sure where it’s all going and how it’s going to end.
In and out, like the stitches sewn by my mother and my grandmother… even the back of the stitch, the part you can’t see, is inextricably woven into the whole.