Lately I have been obsessed with shears. I cannot get them out of my mind's eye. I'm thinking about cutting, cutting ties, cutting strands, cutting off. Cutting cleanly, cutting swiftly, cutting efficiently, cutting roughly. Thinking about the sound a nice sharp pair of blades make when slicing through something. Thinking about the emotional connotations, about the metaphorical suggestions. Thinking about the shears as a representational image for life events.
As a result, I have piles of pictures of shears around my studio desk. They are stacked to the side, pinned to the wall, stuck to the shelves with bits of tape. They are printed on paper, drawn out on tracing paper, stitched into cloth. I am at a point with them where I am struggling to finish a single project (I mean really finish- not finish embroidering an image, that is no problem, but finish off edges, prepare for hanging) before beginning the next one.
At the moment, this is bad, because I really do need to get some pieces solidly complete- but every time I glance anywhere, there they are, these images, cutting through life and history, making changes, amendments, edits, improvements. Trimming, paring, cutting clean. Taking down the pictures would do no good, because the inspiration is still there in my mind. Shears, shears, shears.
I like to organize my scissors on hooks on the wall in terms of size. And then I accidentally stare at them for too long. I know how you feel.
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