I come from a long line of creators. Not the famous or recognized, rather, those ordinary, everyday people who see what’s needed—the functional and the beautiful.
My grandmother rarely sat still. She tended her vegetable and flower gardens, quilted, and crocheted doilies. My mother and all of her sisters shared similar creative endeavors. From baking to embroidery and all manner of crafty concoctions, a thread runs through my family.
This thread connects us, tells the stories of our days, and honors the people in our past and those around us now. What amazes me is the strength of those threads.
I see them in my children and grandchildren, as well as my cousins and their children. The threads expand to furniture building, welding, photography, writing, painting, and dancing. There are no limits to our creative adventures.
When I begin to browse the thousands of photographs I have taken or inherited, I see threads of many colors, thicknesses, and textures. Each has a story, like this patchwork quilt, originally sewn by my grandmother and restored by my daughter.
The quilt consists of remnants of fabric used for clothing or craft projects. Each square tells a story, a memory of summery dresses, a pair of shorts, an ill-fitting shirt, reluctantly worn to school because store-bought was a luxury.
All those stories live in one quilt, giving warmth and connection—a sense of belonging. A thin strand of thread, powerful beyond measure.
A song of life
The threads . . .
“I find myself returning again and again to the things that matter most.
People.
Stories.
Connection.
Those are the threads that run through everything.”
—Rebecca Kowalski, Photographer
I always welcome your thoughts, so please leave a comment
And always—
Be kind. Be brave. Be you.
All photos © Kathryn LeRoy
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