In an effort to work on my perfectionist tendancies I challenged myself to stitch something free-hand. No pattern. No plan. No mirror-symmetry. No perfect-centre. Just stitch.
IT WAS HARD!!!!
My husband would like me to include that I shouted at said piece on a regular basis for being so obnoxious and painful. Proving that I am perfect at being imperfect. (HA! That’s a perfectionism joke.)
Today we went to the museum. It was a spontaneous trip, we were aching for some history.
I took a lot of pictures of the aboriginal bead-work and ancient embroidery to keep on file for stitching inspiration.
I kept trying to find a way to take a picture of my boobs with some dino bones, but alas Sunday afternoons are busy….
(Edit: Was just reminded by a cute follower that I’ve already checked dino’s and boobs off of my public-selfie list….)