Strange ideas come and go. Sequins and felt and needle and thread, so utterly foreign in my hands, occupied them for weeks, only to be forgotten when their intended unveiling rolled around.
This could mean:
This was a bad idea and I am being saved from humiliation.
Those hearts actually have another purpose.
I need to get better about making lists.
Abandoned props notwithstanding, my mind immediately started gathering other random objects. Strangely, I was carting around a yellow chair in the back of the station wagon. A wisp of an idea, wrapped in leather and suitably colorful. I ignored the nagging questions about does this make any sense? and What does it do? and Um, so what? and allowed myself to play, for the sheer silly joy of putting a yellow leather chair in the middle of a snowy bluff and dancing around with a remote shutter release.
I have no answers. Only a million questions and the intention to stop taking myself so damn seriously.