When I found an old summer blouse my daughter had, and looked lovely in, I asked if she wanted me to bring it to the Netherlands next time I was over. But it's white cheesecloth and discoloured with sweat under the arms. I couldn't bear to throw it away, wasn't sure how I'd adapt it, couldn't patch it, so I thought I'd cover up the marks with sashiko stitching.
As a metaphor for art it's a bit obvious but oh well. I don't need reminding of the value of repairing. Next week I have a carpenter coming to repair two bays of sash windows. If I could keep my car going I would, but it may be beyond that.
And because I am alert to interesting things going on in the Netherlands, the United Repair Centre in Amsterdam caught my eye. It trains people, employs tailors, and now has a repair centre in London.
In my office/sewing/mending room is a short black jacket I bought in the 1970s and have never been able to part with. If my car will start, I can take it to the mechanic. He's told me if it doesn't start (he's tried to fix it in the last few days but fan belt's gone again) I might have to think again. At times like this I crave simplicity and control. Stitching is so easy.
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