This stitch piece, was done on pure cotton canvas, with black thread.
I free machine embroidered the piece, using my sewing machine.
I like to base my work on poems and illustrations that I have worked out myself and then use these as a basis to stitch........
The piece was based on a poem that I wrote and a watercolor piece, which I have pictured first. The below stitch outcome has been designed through inspiration through the poem (as written below) and watercolours.....
The Torn Umbrella
She
stood,
Uncontrollably
sombre,
Staring
at the grey forlorn sky,
It
seems to slowly engulf her,
Tainting
her mood with its own.
She
didn’t realise how long she had been
Standing
there,
It
had seemed like seconds,
But
her feet were sore.
A
storm has come,
Unable
to move,
A
brief blank expression
Frames
her face,
Time
had worn down,
Her
former grace.
Standing
uncovered,
The
storm slowly evolving above,
Detains
her mind,
Slowly
seeping away,
The
thoughts behind,
Carrying
her away.
Quick
enough to stay,
She
plays her last card,
The
plastic umbrella that has
Become
her guard.
Someone
is near,
Yet
she does not hear,
They
stand close,
Staring
at her fragile existence,
Reaching
up to her umbrella,
Gently
tearing particles
From
its frame,
Helping
the storm to gain.
Both
stay in a stance,
But
she does not like this unemployed
Gesture,
Fending
for herself,
She
lays a hand
On
the frames shoulder,
Making
clear her distant view,
Never
to ensue.
The
person remains in silence,
Holing
onto possibilities,
A
determined character,
Willing
to wait.
A
tree stands near,
Time
twisted all over its chest,
Even
leading up to its arms,
These
have bred to become many.
She
stares at the twisted branches
Of time,
Seeing
the contradictions they behold,
She
must though make a choice,
To
let in,
Or
let go,
She
must know.
Her
skeletons frame wears thin,
A
quick decision must commence,
No
protection is best,
She
gets so wet,
The
clouds anger sustaining,
This
watery flow,
It
feels so good,
A
setting free,
Now
a victim of what might
Be.
Time
is all she needs to repair,
The
umbrella must be torn,
No
shelter for protection,
From
the hurtful sentiments of rain.
Only
then will she learn to trust,
What
she loves and must.
No
clouds or storms will envelop her,
No
umbrellas to hide her
From
the rain.
Only
a new jacket,
With the option of a hood;
This
way she can still see
What
is good,
But
is never far from the protection,
And
the affection she needs.
With
this option of a hood,
Yet
this time a vague uncertainty,
And
a reluctance for it to be used.
Never
again will a plastic protection
Be
abused.
The
form still beside her….
Yes
sadness could grow,
Yet
happiness may also sow.
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