It's a kind of Saint Sebastian of the sewing room. I found it in the back room of a consignment shop and knew it needed to come home with me. Not that I ever needed another pincusion - I already had a couple of versions of the classic red tomato - but I have a weakness for hands, and this one had such sweet violence about it. Or violent sweetness? Faded silk flowers and rusty pins. Hmm.
I wonder if the person who made this really liked sewing. This could be a message of resistance, a comment on confining roles, or a veiled expression of self-hatred. Or it could be just a pincushion, made for the annual hospital bazaar out of felt and tulle and notions. For a long time I thought I would use it in a video project - and maybe I will someday.