I loved the smell of her studio. The deep, earthy smell of fresh leather.
I loved the look of her studio. Rugged. Exposed brick with wallet cut-outs hanging. One green painted wall. The organized chaos of a true artist.
I loved the look of her studio. Rugged. Exposed brick with wallet cut-outs hanging. One green painted wall. The organized chaos of a true artist.
I loved the sounds of her studio. Her husband's mechanic shop on the other side of the wall. The clank of the design fork teething through the passport carrier she was creating. The words of the Gospel of Luke being read in the air.
I loved the friendship in her studio. The way that I listened to her story unfold - the weaving in and out of themes - as she strung together the needle and thread stitchwork on her project. The way we weaved through laughter and tears and the deepest desires of the heart.
I loved the idea of her studio. The way the whole room represents her perseverance and grit over the past year as she chased her dream of becoming an artist and finding leatherwork, though she had absolutely no experience before. And just one year later her Christmas orders are backlogged so far that her multi-colored hands give testament to her dedication to her craft.
I loved how watching her work brought me back to my Creator. Her mantra that she was created to create. The way her hands delicately knit together something so intricately beautiful out of something dead and useless, the same way our Merciful Potter molds the clay into a vessel worthy of being poured into. And worthy of pouring out into others. I'm grateful she has poured into me.
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