the dance of the ink riddled fingers

dress me

Posted in epiphany tiffany, how was your day? by enisea on 25/09/2012

I made another dress to enter the competition I entered a couple of years ago.

Suffice to say, the competition is steep and although my dress-making has improved some, the technique shown by real seamstresses having pinned up their best for the competition leaves me crestfallen.  I see my main opportunity to win as trying to obtain a people’s choice award, meaning I’ll need votes galore!

So, to the few people who still visit here, please send 5 hearts my way!

…again with the self-promotion. In regards to blogging, life has moved so fast and my writing has regressed so, making the process of conjuring some illustration of how I am so much more difficult.  And as time has not been an ample commodity, I haven’t even tried (we all cry time-poor). There are things I want to write about, ideas I want to refine and imaginations I desire to explore which  seem to be banking up one against the other.  The accumulation and pressure it has lately been subject to has meant that they’re beginning to merge into a giant and undefined compilation of (for lack of better word,) stuff. I cannot find the end or the start and I do not know which direction to take or which angle to begin with, nor where I want it to take me.  It doesn’t help that I cannot string words well enough together that frustration shadows my every consideration to write.  So I’ve been doing other things with my hands.  I’ve taken photos and footage (with the intention to make a photo book and a short video, respectively), made a very basic board game (for my kindergarteners), sewn a dress (because I thought it’d be easy) and will bake a cake over the weekend (which I’ll take photos of for viewing pleasure).  

But writing, ahh, that is my beautiful wild horse – that which I’m not sure I could (nor want to) tame but desire to have the pleasure of riding at least for a while; while it takes to my hand willingly and allows me steer it favourably my way.  One day I’ll ride it well, and I don’t think it would be a forever establishment – this between my wild horse and I.  We’ll have a good run though, before I am satisfied with how I dealt with it, respected it and not commanded it’s loyalty to me.  Because I would rather the horse be wild and free to inspire others who would take it and learn of the world by it than want to have it all figured out. Writing will later be satisfied by my desire to read, research and regurgitate.  And although reading usually comes first, and it did (for a short while), it will be desired in fuller depth later on – if indeed I have any idea about myself and the pattern of my way. This is quite possibly one of the strangest things I’ve ever written – as though to prophesy it over myself.  Writing will not be mine forever, not this sort of writing – not bringing up buckets of my own inspirations and primitive ideas (as mine are exhaustive and being exhausted) but later I’ll be reading what everyone else has read, and rewriting it in a way that will make you question if it really truly is the same story. Because after riding my wild horse once, I will probably be inspired to turn every tamed pony, wild again.  And I don’t expect everyone will agree with me either…

I don’t know where all that–^ came from.

Apparently I’m back.


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