The intoxicating smell of pollen, rich thickness and weight of honey, brittle waxiness of the comb cells, the mechanism of the hive, sound of bees in the heat of an afternoon... regret I never knew my grandfather, the only beekeeper in the family... playing in the empty shed where the hives used to be... that's what I think about when pleating and smocking these pieces of fabric. The theme emerged unplanned and demanding to be followed, suggested by the texture and colour of the dyed organza silk.
While sewing I watched this programme about infinity (sorry - only plays if you're in the UK). It was about numbers so vast you could not write their digits on all the atoms in the observable universe. The worst came near the end: not only is our universe quite possibly infinite but try to imagine an infinite number of such infinite universes!! I nearly stabbed myself with the needle...