I live at the cutting table. Its mess is a reflection of the workings of my mind. Its layers speak to me alone and form a language only I understand…. another designer may be able to come in and pick out enough of that language that they would understand… or maybe not.

I know I want to work in trees and that the lime looks like a perfect compliment, so I keep it on hand.

Finally I drape my choices onto her to mimic what I am about to sew. I am happy with my decisions and I love how everything  looks under the skylight. I love how the sun and shade dance over everything, like deep in a forest.

The dress form and I are best friends. She holds my designs as best she can and demonstrates what it will look like on a person. I love her. Sadly, I spend more time with her than anyone alive. She holds the pieces I have cut, just to fit her. I can’t decide on the lime or graphic brown and white for the waistband. She holds my choices while I sip coffee and decide.

  She is so patient with me and never seems to tire.

Even once I am done, I long for the lime print and ache for a place for it to reside. A large bow on the head would present so dramatically. Lovely, here in the studio, but I hardly perceive anyone cleaning with a lime print perched theatrically upon their head. I could be wrong. It has happened.

Joy and Peace, Susannah