I never unpick, I never remake, I never rub out, I never ever dispose of a little being’s form once it has started to become.
To correct or get rid of a partly created little cloth body would, to me, be akin to sending a message to the magical wisps of inspiration, to the fairy folk all around, that their influence and enlivening presence is no longer welcome to guide my stitching hands, it would be like saying that I know best about the way they should appear, it would be a gross act of self-importance on my part.
Often though, I start to sew, to gather a little bundle of cloth and fold and mould, without having much awareness as to what I am doing, and then I look at what is in my hands and wonder how this one fits with what I thought I was doing. And sometimes I put that little one down, sometimes unfinished, and often then they disappear, in the muddle of my scraps of silks and patterns and wools, and I forget all about them.
Until I come across them again, and wonder when and how they began.
This is how it happened with this wee one
Last week she reappeared at the edge of my pretty plate of tiny bits showing me a scrap of white silk veil and asking for her bonnet.