Last week I finally "finished" this piece.
It is the culmination of countless hours making tiny stitches in this fabric. Transforming it from soft to stiff. But I'm unhappy with it. Despite it being 'finished' it doesn't feel finished to me. It feels like it still has some story to tell.
Partially my dissatisfaction is the result of technical mistakes made early on. When I began this piece, I didn't anticipate the way the fabric would shrink when I stitched it. I used an old piece of polyester fleece as batting. It peeks through the edges in a way I didn't intend.
I tried to solve this issue by whipstitching and filling in the edges of the piece with rust-dyed thread. The effect on the back feels intentional and energetic. The effect on the front leaves something to be desired.
More than that however, the piece gives me a feeling of unfinished business. This piece feels like it should be the center of something. That it is a beginning rather than an end. It's pulling at me, almost asking to be cut up and re-worked. Pulling it apart after so much work feels unimaginable, and yet necessary.