The Economies of Scale (Or A Message to the Little People Inside of Me)

 

 

 

I’ve thought a lot about this post. More than normal I would say. I couldn’t work out how to write it, being that it’s about words. Not just what they say, but how they look. Their power when they move from the mere conversation to black and white text. Or any colour text.

I wondered whether I should tell you that this all began in another counselling session. That ‘You’ was originally ‘The Baby’. Handwritten on paper by another hand. That my emotional response was so immediate the tears fell, in uncontrollable sobs.

That today I have gone away and made these, but that this is by no means finished. This is the start. To tell you that the process wasn’t necessarily restful, or not stressful. That that meant something. That the noise of wool through paper hurt my teeth. I didn’t like crinkling the paper. That I vowed not to correct a mistake. That I yearned for my old paper sewing machine I had as a child. That everything felt deliberate and yet somehow not. That if art was imitating life, then everything is a happy accident.

That you may think it means something. Or nothing. Or that I’m a bit of a tw*t for thinking you should care. And yes Miss, it’s as neat at the back as it is on the front. But don’t grade me. But I think I should leave it up to you. Just as I may not be able to answer all the whys and wherefores. But maybe it means something to you… Whoever you may be.

 

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