There are times when I understand how little I know; about anything really. For instance, I’ve been without a television for 3 years now. I’ve never read so much in my life, and yet, I’ve not read very much in the scheme of libraries and writers. The more I read the more I learn just how little I have read. The more I travel the more I realise how few are the shores on which I’ve stood, how numerous are the galleries I have still not visited, and how much I would like to do when I finally get to some of them.
It is disturbing to think of the mind’s plans and the actuality of life. What we create in the picture of our mental vision shines inside our cranium and the picture tube of our heart. The only solace in all this is that my mental faculty has not been harnessed by some other framework of programming, and I remain ‘Lady’ of my inner satellite station. To put it another way, four hours of a back-to-back-episodes marathon of ‘gossip girl’ or ‘hollywood movie classics’; in which I have no gain by the chosen content, no power to influence the outcome of each episode, and no interactive learning to complete; is basically a relic of my near distant past. Simply said the inactive stimuli is no longer taking up my time. I watch pieces of lace behind glass screens and dream up manipulations and utilities, which has translated to a collection of lacy bits and pieces. What still needs to evolve in this equation is the actual activity of processing the thoughts into action, but at least in 3 years I’ve progressed to a more articulated idea of expressed inner perception.
Cut work and Needle laces from Italy in the late 16th, early 17th Century; from the Metropolitan Museum collections. “Seventeenth-century lace has a voluminous character—rather than the light and airy form of later periods—reflecting an era when luxury was equated with grandeur…
Perhaps it comes down to that simple adage: ‘a stitch in time saves nine’.
