I have recently been reminded of my grandmother's line dried, crisply ironed sheets. When I visited my grandparents during the summers, I remember crawling into her beds and the cool, soft, but somehow crisp covers would envelope me. The smell of sunshine and summer breezes would rise up and tickle your nose as you snuggled in. My grandmother never believed in fitted sheets. She would fold the flat sheet in such a precise manner that it appeared to hug the mattress as though a fitted sheet. These memories initiated a discussion with my mom. When she shared with me the fact she still had some, and that I was welcome to them, well let's just say I did not waste any time making a visit. I am planning a project. This plan is to turn my oldest daughter's room (who lives no longer lives here to defend it--sorry Ash) into a eclectic or vintage collection of our inherited treasures. I believe that our the grandmothers (hubby's and mine) would appreciate my efforts.
What this has to do with today's art may or may not seem relevant. But, it certainly reminds me to appreciate the art of women who had very little opportunity or material at their disposal for expression and creativity. If I were to title today's work, I would probably call it "Oh, Industry".
We will call it 18 x 24 or thereabouts...