I have a fondness for the inconsistent greys of birch tools, the shattered flecks of ocean colored glass set in porcelain, the overcast blur of winter light,
the concern of emotion that can be stitched in wool,
the soft glow of linen, the comfort of bare feet, the roundness of tummies,
the milkshake of that pink,
the curiosity of pose, the tiny cotton flower crocheted with thread on that cold morning, just because,
the cohesion of handmade,
and if we can leave pants out of it, let’s leave pants out of it.