Perfection

Last year two friends asked me to help them get started stitching needlepoint kits they had purchased.  I agreed and dug out a project for myself from the stash I received when my friend Marion passed away.  Since January I have stitched about two-thirds of it.

In the spring of 2010, Fiber Arts magazine featured an artist, Mary Smull, who completed unfinished needlepoint canvases with white wool.  It was so interesting to see how differently people (women) did not complete their projects – some left just a corner; some left a color incomplete – and to speculate why the work was left unfinished.  Was she bored?  Did she get sick?  Or run out of wool? What stopped her from finishing?   I enjoyed how Mary respected the stitcher by completing the canvas while keeping the original work authentic to the stitcher by finishing it with white wool. 

Here is a poem for Marion and all my stitching friends.

                        Perfection

“This is taking too long,” the stitcher said.

“The more I stitch, the bigger they get.”

 

Perfection requires some luck.

A random toss of genetic stuff,

it flies over some space,

and settles on a human face.

 

I tap coriander dust

from a spice jar:

one teaspoon exactly.

How perfect you are.

 

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