Sunday, July 31, 2011

A philosophical journey or Why I could never quilt

Thank you to Isabelle who left a comment on my last post, (not that I blame anyone as I keep trying to leave comments all over cyberspace and I can't for some reason) but she was curious about scrapbooking, which made me curious.  Also thanks to modern technology, I could see she got here from my sister's quilting blog.  Now quilting, there's a funny thing to do.  I can appreciate the effort that goes into it, but all that randomness really doesn't do it for me.  That's why my sister only makes me clean, geometric, co-ordinated quilts (thank you!).
Even though I spend a lot of time scrapping, and I'm quite proud of my efforts, I'm still a bit embarrassed about it.  This blog was just about called sharynscrap, pun intended!  I guess because it's not productive in a Put this on the bed kind of way, or make all my own birthday cards and save heaps of money.  And my initial perspective was that scrapping is overemotional. I really don't feel the urge to write down all my innermost feelings for everyone to see (maybe I should, but that's another post!)  Scrapbooking does fit my attention span, limited artistic capabilities and non-perfectionist core; 3 good reasons why I could never be a quilter.
And I like playing with paper and being colour-coordinated!

2 comments:

  1. The wonders of modern technology! I'm semi-stalking Isabelle at the moment because she has the cutest new grandson she puts photos of on her blog.

    In any decorative endeavour, the aesthetically pleasing placement of colour and shape is a sufficient aim. Nothing more needed.

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  2. Yes, I can see why it must be fun. I just didn't know what it was! I'm sure I would enjoy it, but on the other hand, being 61, I'm thinking ahead about dying and leaving lots of stuff for my children to think what to do with.... (I like to be cheerful...)

    I myself would love to do patchwork if - well, probably if I had a lot more patience and skill, but also if other things didn't keep happening. Eg my mother.

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