African Mud Cloth

Procraftinating

Definition: Working on craft projects when you should be doing laundry, making dinner, or cleaning house

The art of simplicity is a puzzle of complexity. - Doug Horton

Several days ago, I was sipping herbal tea, flipping through my projects box when I came upon a homey piece of brown paper. A bit crumpled, filled with rows of fading geometric designs.

My heart skipped a bit. Have I just reached the cusp of my journey toward decorating nirvana?

What if...

Could I?

But before I go on, let me fill you in on the story behind my current design drama.

For the longest time, I've been obsessed with African mud cloth design. In fact, the whole time that we spent in Honolulu, I had nightly internet binges on how I could emulate this scheme in our home decor.

Mud cloth is made of cotton strips woven and stitched together. It is later painted with beautiful patterns using a special kind of mud. As the mud becomes dry, its color changes from dark brown or black to gray.

It has become very popular today because of its unique and exotic color and design.

I like.

I want.

So, rewind to the beginning of this blog...

Lo and behold, enlightenment had dawned on me. Heretofore hiding in plain sight was the mud cloth pattern of my dreams.

Let me show you.

Isn't it beautiful? I love the simplicity of the design. Understated. Stunning.

Should I?

YES, I SHOULD AND I DID.

I framed the brown parchment and my project was done. 

Just when I thought the dining room couldn't get any cuter?

It did.

Just when I thought I couldn’t love it any more?

I do.

Here it is - my longed for, now found, and very own unique mud cloth centerpiece.

Taking a closer look, though, I re-discovered something.

Something that made me tear up and sigh.

Something amazing.

That looked like this.

Can you see it?

It’s a little hard to make out.

Untitled Print by First Granddaughter.
Photo: V.E.V., August 2021

You’d never even notice it if you weren’t looking.

A name. Isela.

Dated 2016-2018 (info I added at a long-time-ago archive time after consulting with First Daughter).

A moment in time.

It made me think of the curly-haired girl, five years old at the time, who left the mark of her tiny fingers on this piece of art. 

Choosing the right shape. Dabbing it onto brown sepia paint. Stamping each on a crinkly piece of drab wrapping. Aligning forms.

And I remembered.

Sometime ago, I received a fingerprint greeting with this inscription:

My hand will do a thousand things for you. And you will remember, when I am tall, that once my hand was just this small.

First Granddaughter's Right Hand Fingerprint, 4.25" long with 5" stretch, at three years

And a foto.

On the back, she signed her name, each letter painstakingly written, Hebrew-style, from right to left.

My dear First Granddaughter, you already have done more than a thousand things for me.

Tiny, crafted projects. 

Little slices of yesterday.

Timeless treasures that will be locked deep in my soul.