The other day I stumbled upon the most beautiful little shop filled from floor to ceiling with gorgeous treasures. Folded in a basket near the front was this quilt. The first thing that caught my eye were the thousands of minuscule perfect stitches that covered every inch of it. Then the shop keeper turned over a corner of the quilt to reveal the embroidered signatures dating back to 1870. This beautiful piece of handwork was passed from aunt to niece, maybe mother to daughter. I fell in love with it instantly. In a world that has lost appreciation for all of the love and labour that goes into something created by hand, these small masterpieces from times past hold a special kind of magic. When I run my fingers over these stitches I'm transported back to a time when women sat by the hearth bent over their work and stitched through long winter days and nights, watching as something slowly took shape beneath patient fingers, maybe dreaming of the daughters and granddaughters who would one day cherish it, but never rushing. I can only dream of the kind of patience it would take to create something like this. I'm going to hang it in my studio so I can look at it every time I sit down to work and be inspired by it's beauty and magic.