Like all the great romantics before me and all that shall follow we are on a quest. The quest is often beset with perils and calamities, but such obstacles make the the goal that much sweeter. The quest is always a pursuit of sublime perfection. The perfection is often reflected in a fair maiden or rare treasure, but my quest was to give life to the perfection that I had pictured in my mind's eye.
This perfection was swirling around my brain wanting to take the form of that which I loved most, the quilt. To construct my magna opus I knew that I had to first gather only the finest of fabrics to give it life. The following account is that of my quest for fabric. When only the best would do, I found it and this is the story of how.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Le Chat Noir
To some it was an exposition of the culture of the common man. To others it was nothing more than a rowdy music hall. To me it was home. I grew up there among the acrobats and burlesque dancers at the knee of my mother who could turn any piece of scrap fabric into the colorful costumes that adorned the misfit cast of entertainers. It was at her hand that I learned the art of the needle and thread.
Le Chat Noir was also the setting of my first conquest. She was a dancer and the sumptuous curve of her tibialis anterior was a temptation for all men. Though temptress she may have been, faithful she remained. Her lover died quite suddenly in an accident involving a piano and a lion tamer. She had nothing more than his night shirt to remember him by. Even at the tender age of nine and one half years I understood the needs of women and made the dead man's shirt into quilt that would warm the beautiful dancer on the coldest of Paris winter nights when the embrace of her dead lover could no longer do so. For my trouble I was rewarded with a kiss. It was a kiss from an angel, planted squarely on my forehead intended for my heart.
-SMQ
Le Chat Noir was also the setting of my first conquest. She was a dancer and the sumptuous curve of her tibialis anterior was a temptation for all men. Though temptress she may have been, faithful she remained. Her lover died quite suddenly in an accident involving a piano and a lion tamer. She had nothing more than his night shirt to remember him by. Even at the tender age of nine and one half years I understood the needs of women and made the dead man's shirt into quilt that would warm the beautiful dancer on the coldest of Paris winter nights when the embrace of her dead lover could no longer do so. For my trouble I was rewarded with a kiss. It was a kiss from an angel, planted squarely on my forehead intended for my heart.
-SMQ
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Hola
Justin was misinformed when he brought sexy back. It was never missing. He was just looking in the wrong spot. Men want to be me. Women want to be with me. For the men I will impart what wisdom I can, but the kavorka can never be taught, it is a gift from God bestowed upon the lucky few.
For the ladies you must understand that my sexiness comes with a price, and you will always be second to my first love. The feel of the fabric between my fingers, the hum of the machine as I gentle caress the pedal, the sensual feast for the eyes from the exotic explosion of colors. No, I will never be able to completely love a woman after discovering the romance of the quilt. Yes, I will allow you to touch my chest and smell my beautiful hair, but heart will always belong to another.
-SMQ
For the ladies you must understand that my sexiness comes with a price, and you will always be second to my first love. The feel of the fabric between my fingers, the hum of the machine as I gentle caress the pedal, the sensual feast for the eyes from the exotic explosion of colors. No, I will never be able to completely love a woman after discovering the romance of the quilt. Yes, I will allow you to touch my chest and smell my beautiful hair, but heart will always belong to another.
-SMQ
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