Not Your Classic Hassock

In the quiet confines we find ourselves in at this strange time, I try to make sense of it all and work on projects that I just never seemed to get to.  It was an old oversized hassock/coffee table that was in dire need of a new covering.  With no fabric stores open, I went hunting in the next best place (or perhaps it was the best place, after all) my sewing room closet.  There, I found some old, used tapestry from a pillow that I must have felt was too nice to toss. Without thinking, I threw it in the washing machine ($50/yd Tapestry!) and waited to see what would come out.  It was perfect! The fabric was soft, the colors aged like an old Oriental rug. I did not have enough to cover the hassock in the traditional way, so I began my search to find a “creative way” to make this project happen.  I was able to cut 3 triangles, that pieced together so beautifully, you would have thought that it was the only way this could have been done.

Then, the next day, I was admiring my handiwork and noticed the similarities between the pattern of the tapestry and a tangle. First you draw the stripes, then every other one would be blue, the other would be a combination of purk and Sampson.  Easy peasy, right?   I ran and got a tan 3Z Tile and went to work reproducing the fabric.  I even did the string the same way, triangle in triangles.  

 
But when it was done, I noticed a dull, structured exactness to the composition.  It did not sing to me. Heck, it didn’t event speak to me!   So. . . I set off for my studio, away from the hassock.  Let’s try this again. I grabbed a Zendala, and went off in another direction. I wanted to create a tile that was inspired by the tapestry, but not copying the design.
 

It was definitely more fun to tangle, and I did not have to keep looking up to see the tapestry. I had the image in my mind, my heart. It did not look much like the hassock, but it had soul. Energetic lines dancing a tango, back and forth clasped hands before them, directing them across the parquet floor, changing directions in an elaborate, showy flourish!  Wow! When I was done, I felt as though I had run a marathon, albeit in a tight red dress, high heels . . . and a flower in my hair.