Do you ever get that feeling that you are a tumble-weed being blown about the open plains? There doesn’t seem to be anything to hold on to, everything just slips by you as you are blown about. You are at the mercy of the wind with no anchor, nothing to ground you, no safe place. These past few weeks I seem to be that tumble-weed being blown about here and there. I have to stop and grab onto my anchor, my safe place. Art is my anchor… my ground… my safe place. I can count on the fabric being there - the dyes transforming my unrest into calm. There
are no expectations, only acceptance that I will transform it into something magical. I feel safe.