Have I turned into my mother?
Posted on April 18 2016
My mother was a seamstress
There was a time when she worked from home, doing alterations or sewing clothes for people. I remember strangers coming into our house, changing clothes, and then, standing on a box while Mom stuck them with straight pins. They left, and she'd sit down at her sewing machine to get lost in her craft.
Her Bernina was a powder-coated baby blue. And, it was the perfect canvas for my first personalization on metal: using her seam ripper, I carved "TESSA" into the front of it. She was somehow not impressed.
She sat by the warm light of a mid-century, hinge-necked floor lamp that belonged to my paternal grandfather, who was a doctor in a rural Missouri town. He used it for gynecological examinations, which would explain why it was so warm. That lamp is mine, now, and used to live in the original Hattie Rex shop, shedding light on three generations of work and practice.
Becoming My Mom
I've never really thought I had that much in common with my mom. But, remembering those days, of her working with her hands to create something beautiful and unique, of her welcoming her clients and working with them to give life to their ideas, I realize that even though I work in a different medium, we're really not that different. In fact, maybe I owe my mom a big "THANK YOU" for showing me what was possible. Thanks Mom.