My mother owned/managed a fabric shop and sewed for the public from our home on 3rd Street in Ashland, AL during my "growing up years." Consequently, fabric, patterns, notions, anything related to sewing was a topic with which I was well-versed. I have no doubt that my mother was an artist in her own realm, for she took great delight in her creations, although she called them by another name. She often referred to them with a pattern name like, "that Vogue dress," or that "Butterick suit." In any case, I learned first-hand that the creative life knows no boundaries. All of us can and do live creatively whether we realize it or not. We are in the process of creating a life story. Whenever I see a painting with a sewing theme, I am moved at my core, for I am reminded of my mother and the thousands of hours (no exaggeration) she clocked sitting at that Singer Slant-o-matic, the Mercedes Benz of sewing machines. That Singer machine HAD to have been a superior product, for she gunned it (I know she burned up one motor at least) all day, five days a week, sometimes six. When she wasn't sewing, she was selling fabric. This painting is of her mother's treadle machine upon which my mother had her first sewing machine exposure, so I suppose this machine represents the beginning of the life with which she most identified. It resides in my home along with all of its metal attachments. There are only a few possessions with which I would struggle to part, and this one is on that short list. This one's for you, Nellie Mae, an artist in your own realm.
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