The current scrapped piecing sits assembled and basted on my table, ready for decorative overstitching on the machine. I was asking myself today if I need to add content. Maybe sewn text of some sort. Or maybe scraps from the boxes full of journals (not), or ephemera that I've been collecting for decades.

Or maybe the piece hangs on the wall and serves as a thangka. Or not. I'm suspicious of ascribing content to this piece but the aesthetic, the choices of color and materials all matter. Soft pastel colors and white, bleached light tints that somehow feel pure and cleansed. The heat of the day, cycling across fields stretching across to the horizon. Or, swimming out into a cove on a foggy day when the sky and ocean become one, and I'm swimming through cold greyness. Pure. Refreshing. Renewal.