Tamarinda. A german sewing machine. My Christmas present. Now living in 53m2. I had to come up with something for her.
First it was sewing frills to cover all the room, the flat, the building, the neighboorhood…the city! All covered in frills. An art intervention using a metaphor of a granny-style industrial-proportions humanization of modern megalopolis. But intellectualizing these sort of ideas for those who enjoy reading brainy descriptions is so boring that, unless someone writes all rationals for me, I won´t cover Mexico DF in frills. No, please, do not insist.
Then I thought that designing pillows with characters was more reasonable for one night fun. If fun was the word. Cause this was the idea I came up with: (please click here), and it was such a pain to produce. Tamarinda got jammed once and again in the making. And I hate reading instructions (not to mention following them). Because I secretly wish every tool worked with just one on & off button, not needing to move an eyebrow for absolutely nothing but approving the presence in 53m2 of any new intelligent object, to make all the work for me.
Hours after uselessly trying a straight stitch, I ended up reading the complete handbook .
And it worked. So I questioned myself what would happen if I was a very poor woman with no resources but cotton production leftovers from the factory next to the bridge under which I sleep with my 7 sons. And where I found a sewing machine left by a mysterious passerby with no instructions, 10 years BZMHAM (Before Zara Mango and HM). A machine like Tamarinda. Let´s say, Tomatinda.
I was poor but found a sewing machine. Ah! And the passer-by is mysterious so my story sounds cooler. So. Would I learn how to use the machine just using my intuition, therefore having a tool to work in crafted clothing goods, using leftovers from the factory, getting myself out of poverty, starting up an empire of cloth crafts, and years later getting a Nobel Prize in Economy?
Or would I get so fucking desperate with the machine getting jammed all the time that I would prefer to stay poor but sane? Well. You guessed. But being positive, this is how I realized I can use my lack of patience as an excuse not to be rich, famous and laureate.