Most of the time I have no idea what I'm doing.
I get some hair-brained scheme that has me staying up late at night trying to make the idea ooze out of my ears and into reality.
Wherein it will undoubtedly clutter my desk until I find myself in need of a dust rag.
The ethospace it hogs around this place has been labled "craftacular."
This time sad little idea rattling around in my head (all alone) is called SKIRT.
But soon it wanted friends, who demanded I play with them, too ...
Running horizontally. Vertically. On the bias.
Ruffles, edges, hems.