I remember hand piecing these hexagons to make an image of bent over pine trees against a cloudy pink sky, the view from our bedroom window. It was 1984. I remember entering the quilt into an art exhibit. I washed it before shipping it off, and all the colours ran together to make the dulled colours you see here. I remember crying about that.
Now when I look at it, I see fragility. The fabrics have started to fray and disintegrate just because of time passing, not heavy use.
That's the story.