Couture Weekend

As we grow, we morph to what surrounds us. We can stay true to ourselves but who that self is,  like it or not becomes altered in ways we didn’t expect.  Sometimes we become what we don’t recognize; amazing, good or surprisingly bad.

I remember being young and craving to sew (who craves to sew?….:)…me.)  I remember having no money for fabric. On the other hand, I remember having fabric and no time, or no peace.

I know now that the pieces of you that lay passionately inside you exist decades later, you just have to be still and listen…. or play Led Zeppelin 4 to bring them out.I live in a peaceful place now. I have fabric and a studio that nurtures me. I can hear what I want to say and maybe the courage to say it.

This weekend I have declared Couture weekend. I have fabric that called out to me so I purchased it and brought it home. I have peace. I have stillness and can hear the bits of me that so long ago ached to express themselves.

I have my favorite music, when I was young, Led Zeppelin 4, available for free on UTube, gorgeous fabrics and a quieted soul waiting to seep from my fingers.

Couture weekend awaits. fingertips caress the woven threads before me..

I adore fabric. I love its variety of textures, its courseness or silkiness, its softly fallen drape or its stiff as a board stubbornness. I adore the brightly colored cottons and the faded, muted tones of old linens. I adore the heavy weight fabrics that land with a thud onto the cutting table and the soft silks that blow away on the breeze that sneaks in through the window. As a designer, I love to blend them in their many weights and tones, like the sum of parts, like an artists palette, I blend and paint them into a new choir of voices, more beautiful together then alone. I hope I have given each piece a richer voice then it would have had alone.

Thank you for visiting. I hope you find peace in your day and the nightime to come.

I was Ballerina Once

I was a ballerina once, long, long ago. The sky was either blue or rain, the ground was green or snow. I was a ballerina once, with hair down past my knees, silky soft and curly too, at least I felt it so. I was a ballerina once, in the pinkest shoes I knew, I also wore my Mickey socks as well with the cutest bow. I was a ballerina once and the crowd cheered loud and long, while they sat in all our dining chairs, lined neatly in a row. I was a ballerina once my tutu couldnt be found, so I used my silky dressy slip and was so pretty just the same. I was a ballerina once, even though my brother laughed. I spun and bowed and walked tippy toe, so proud of what I was. I was a ballerina once when the sky was bluest blue, I was a ballerina once when when all my dreams were new. I was a ballerina once, that once so long ago, I miss that little piece of me, that never got to grow.
~ written by Susannah Allen