Fabric addiction ...

Today I took a day trip with my neighbor Connie to the Asheville Arboretum to see the 25th Annual Quilt Show. Oh how much I loved it ... oh how much I'm wishing I hadn't seen all those beautiful quilts. Eck!

The quilting bug is biting my butt. Hard. I think I have welts.

It's not like I don't already still have my friend Paul's quilt I'm still working on. It's not like I don't have the snuggle quilt I'm planning for my buddy Vega in the works. It's not like I don't have a bag of knitting stuff sitting beside the sofa calling for attention. It's not like I don't have two commissioned portraits, one in progress and one coming in a week or so. It's not like I'm not working on a new painting of Kuan Yin for myself. It's not like I'm not getting ready to teach a painting class at the college starting at the end of the month. It's not like I don't already have enough stuff to do, damn it.

*sigh*

I bought some fabric from a couple of the vendors at the show. Beautiful vintage style prints. Glorious Batiks. I could have leaped onto those tables of fabrics and rolled in all colorful cotton glee. Shamelessly. With great abandon.

Fabric makes me weak.

Like yarn.

Maybe more than yarn.

Yes, more than yarn.

My fabric addiction goes back a long way. I recall my little kid fingers fondling the neatly folded yards of fabrics in my mother's fabric stash, my mind imagining sewing things like she did. I loved the sound of Mother's dress making shears cutting through the cloth as she made shirts for my brother, or dresses for herself or for sister and me.

I loved the crisp feel of the freshly pressed cottons; the slinkiness of the silks; the softness of the velvets; the way gabardine drapes into elegant folds; the sparkle of iridescent taffeta and organza; the luster of satin; the soft yet bumpy texture of raw silk; the rich, heavy feel of brocade; the delicate weave of linen ...

Lord! how I loved the colors; the patterns and designs; madras plaids and stripes; diamonds and polka dots ...

I loved how that miraculous stuff could be transformed into things you could wear, or curtains and pillow covers, or snuggly quilts to sleep under ...

I loved the smell of cloth ...

Oh yeah, I've been a fabric addict since way back.

I suppose it's only natural that my attending the quilt show today was like giving a drug addict a nice dose of smack. I did, however, refrain from fondling all the quilts, rubbing my now adult sized fingers all over them in a fabric and quilt induced high. I just wandered around, glassy eyed and slightly giddy.

And the ideas started going ninety miles a minute around in my head. I wanted to rush home, grab my rotary cutter and start whipping up quilts left and right. I bet I mentally planned and made a dozen quilts before I got half-way through the exhibit.

Alas, I know I shouldn't start anything right now. I really don't need another project. I need to get all this other stuff done first. Damn.

But y'all really think that's going to stop me?

Not likely.