Remember the messenger bag I made a few weeks ago? Here it is deconstructed.
Yup, I wasn’t happy with it, so I took it apart. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. Undoing my work.
Yesterday I rearranged some artwork on the wall and hung up a new piece. After a few hours I decided I didn’t like it. A frame would help, but, if it were really good, it should be able to stand on it’s own. So I took it down and will most likely take it apart someday. Not to fix it, but to use the parts elsewhere.
I undid a piece a month ago too. It had small puckers on the back because I used an inappropriate backing fabric. I took out the quilting and redid the work with a new backing. Much better.
I’m OK with this. Maybe it’s a sign of maturity, but more and more, I don’t expect, or even hope, all my work will be fabulous. Nothing is so precious that I can’t just chuck it (and leave no incriminating evidence). I want to improve, and sometimes moving forward means moving backward.