Imperfections

I made a little pouch for my sewing materials out of some scrap fabric.

The outside fabric is from an old book cover my grandmother made me ages ago, which never actually fit any books I owned. She based the size off books *she* liked to read. I kept it around for a long time because I liked the pattern, but I was never able to use it. Until I decided to use it for something else, instead.

The inside fabric is just from an old pair of pajamas. Like probably most people, I used to throw clothes away when they got ripped or torn. But then I realized, it's literally easier to sew up holes than to go out and buy replacements. So I started doing that. And when something gets wrecked beyond salvage, I may as well re-use it if possible.

I drew the Emperor reversed not long ago. It's true, I'm a perfectionist and I need to stop being that way.

But this pouch is far from perfect. It closes with magnet clasps that are *very* hideously sewn in place; the stitching is visible where the top flap meets the body; and I didn't actually bother to measure anything, just went on instinct, so the top flap closes really awkwardly. But I realized that's okay. It's sturdy and it serves its purpose. Why should I stress over making it some perfect little jewel you might find in a store, or whatever?

I really like how imperfect it is. It makes me happy.

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