I once had a landlord who mentioned that old chestnut, You scratch my back, I scratch yours while I was signing a lease, and delightfully went on to say You kick me, I kick you. Memorable, yes, but not exactly charming, so the first part - definitely not the second - came to mind when Jan Halvarson of Poppytalk kindly asked if she could grab the shot and story from Susie Sheffman's *that one great thing* pick to post on her fantastic blog. I said of course, and then proceeded to bug her into contributing one in return. So here goes!
Jan Halvarson: I have fond memories of my Swedish grandfather whittling away on a chair outside in the back deck on warm summer days. I would be playing in the yard, and he would watch me and whittle away. He made this frame, and I really don't even know the back story, nor does anyone else, but it's just always been around, following me everywhere I go; always there. And as I write this I'm realizing how profound that is. I remember it having three hearts, and I'm sure at one point there were four, but now only two remain. I love how he painted them gold, and left the rest. It's housed a favourite black and white photograph of my mother, at times my drawings and right now I love it best just left as is. Without even knowing it until now, it could very well be the inspiration to why I love handmade so much today.
In the photograph the frame is shown with a collection of found driftwood I wrapped a bit of yarn around and a crochet covered rock from artist Margie Oomen.
