The light of the sewing machine comes on with a gentle turn of the switch; like the rising sun its radiance guides us on to tomorrow. The beginning of a new project - the beginning of a new day. The fabric is taught, flawless, ironed as though there was no blotch or wrinkle of sin to mar its pure angelical existence. The machine's throws light onto the fabric yet it bounces off like loose glitter caught in the wind. The gray pedal beckons to be used. I can feel my foot creeping forward but control it, giving the golden fabric unneeded and overly cautious adjustments. Ready. Deep breath. Pressure. It hums. Deep breath. With every sharp stitch, each pin-prick made, it is like a bear. This creature is awakening, stretching, returning from a profound hibernation. The light shines; the quick pulses compose themselves into flowing lines. The jabbing needle doing do damage, causing no pain, only creating perfection.
The Creator's Machine
February 27, 2009