surface filling stitches have always been enchanting to me.
they feel like a journey.
wandering threads traveling across the linen.
they feel like a freeform squiggle, where there is no wrong move.
the entire purpose is to make a mark. and so you make one. and then you make another. and they don't have to lead into anything, they don't even have to connect. they don't have to be the same color, they don't have to be anything at all. they don't need to be fancy, like detached chain stitch, or delicate french knots. they can be. but they can also be haphazard and strewn about.
they feel like meditations.
they feel like a softly spoken whisper.
they feel like a landscape, but peered at from a distance that you can't quite make out where things align, like your perspective is skewed. and again, there's no wrong answer. maybe it's an aerial photograph being emulated. or an underwater coral reef. but maybe it's just nothing at all. just marks on fabric. and that is perfect too.