Silk weighs on me. It folds around, drapes toward the earth, it has its own direction. I shape it and it shapes me: I am drawn to making it change color, shape, and form, but it is not easy.
Sometimes I feel bold and know what shapes and colors a blank piece of silk requires to come alive, to manifest what’s in my mind in reality.
Other times, I hesitate, one sharp move with my brush and I think it’s ruined. It’s ruined in my mind, but it, the silk, doesn’t mind, it has its own way of always going on, seducing us with its effortlessness and ethereality.
A split second after it is “ruined” I see an opportunity; another brush of dye, and now the silk has transformed. I no longer see what I saw before. I no longer have the same image of the completed work as I did a second ago. It is complete.