It took two whole weeks of school to discern that without handwork, I would not survive this endeavor. I needed that outlet and a respite, through repetitive work, from analyzing arcane appellate cases. I created more needlepoint during law school than ever before (or since). Some of it is framed and displayed, some was used and has since been retrieved for sentimental reasons. I regret the charitable donation of two wool suits with needlepoint-yoked jackets, especially the one with the dragon on it: I could have reused that dragon. But recently I looked at the rolls of stitchery in my stash room and decided to do something with the work. (I graduated with my JD in 1985, so the rescue of Bobbe was over and the desperation alleviated.)
I had a couple of burlap sacks with coffee house logos, which I had bought a few years ago for no particular reason. One of these became the foundation for "1982--Another Kind of Canvas." I cut up the footstool cover based on motifs from my oriental rug from Afghanistan (footstool and chair it served are long gone). I trimmed the piece I had made to upholster a Victorian chair (chair has fallen apart and resides in my son's workshop awaiting re-glueing and restoration). Then there was the painted canvas designed by my sister-in-law Catherine and only partially stitched; that one was included as-is. I pinned the worked pieces to the burlap, stitched them in place and proceeded to fill the spaces between with swirling parallel lines of thread. It was pleasant and easy stitching through the loosely woven jute sack.
It took a couple of weeks to stitch the whole 83" long piece, but I finished this week and yesterday made up my quilt sandwich.
Today, I quilt.