paper work

All these squares, or diamonds, are made from different patterned papers, stitched together with some large kind of machine-made zigzag stitch. They're hanging from the ceiling of Anthropologie, in Princeton, looking like a big pony-tail loosely tied together. It's the kind of thing that instantly makes me want to reach for a pack of origami paper, some scissors, and an electric sewing machine.

But why? I wouldn't particularly want this hanging from my own ceiling - it would never have this elegance (but maybe I could do it all in white and creams and very light beiges - then it might). And it involves a fantasy of a sewing machine. I last used one in 1974, to make what was, admittedly, a perfectly adequate skirt (following the guidelines in a book called - I kid you not - The Hassle-Free Make Your Own Clothes Book. That dates me, badly). And, obviously, it also involves fantasies not just of craft-making creativity, but of time (though admittedly, it would be something to do whilst watching a TV football game in which Rutgers ought to be playing a whole lot better than - half way through the 3rd - they are doing). I don't think this last point is quite in the spirit of William Morris.