I paint with fabric. Make-believe is real. I imagine and create (happy people in) tiny, quirky houses. Breakfast is ready when you wake up, naps are encouraged- this is what I think about when I sew a tiny house. Here we ride bikes with friends til the street lights come on.
Perpetually age 7 (with crazy hair and crooked teeth) I run barefoot in cut off denim shorts. Sprinklers are for running in and rainbows hide in the spray.
On this the block the Cat in the Hat drops by and we can walk through the bright, illustrated pages of Goodnight Moon. Kindergarten rules still apply here – Be nice is #1.
Katy, my mom, lives in one of these tiny, imperfect houses in a jar. No joy is lost and no harm gets in. Can you preserve love, a memory, “a time” just like pickles? I try to. Behind the blue windows and red door, my sister and I giggle. We play with the kittens, the puppies and ponies of our childhood. Our rooms are steps apart and the fireplace is always lit.
We are forever young, optimistic and hopeful.
These little scraps of printed fabric and bits of text and paint are significant in that, they were plucked from the toss baskets of my sewing friends – bits too small, too unruly to be used by most. Each color story reminds me of big decorating plans my mother made for a new house- pillows and curtains or sofas and ottomans. Each scrap a trip down memory lane for me.
I imagine when I sew this way that happiness is a tangible thing to give away and share. I am making a village of tiny houses painted from fabric scraps in hoops and jars. I call this effort, “Chasing Katy”, after the many homes my mom made for us when I was young. We are still trying to keep up with her dreams and ideas as adults.
I want to know what home is to you.