bouquet

The Story of Miniature Boutique

Rumi says: “The door opens; just know how to knock on it… I do not know when … Just know how to stand at that door.”

 

In this story, getting started on a tired, bluish october day, it was as if moments met with their destinies… All those experiences, all those collected feelings put on my craft. My hands gave birth to my art that built me. My hooked needle began to dance with my yarns.

How could I know that destiny was knitting a demure surprise for me when at a friend gathering one of my friends asked me how to “knit a slipper” by showing the knitting pattern in her hand.

When I got back home in the evening, I realized that my soul also awakened as I was trying to form an image of miniature slippers on my friend’s mind. I understood that my vivacious heart was no longer in its cage when I realized that I hastily took out all the handy used and leftover yarns and crocheted little colorful booties and bags one after another, and that my eyes were exhausted and that I ground hours.

 

My childhood seemed to have come back … Every new product, every little miniature forming in my hands became my little game. I was combining small and delicate pieces with each other, trying to harmonize colors, and designing summer and winter variations. The smile filling my face as I was watching the things forming in my hands, the pleasure I was experiencing and the first and most natural reactions that the people around me gave to my little ones led me to share my work with public, name the things that I formed and match them up with a project.

 

When I left that first enthusiasm behind, I had drawn my path; I was going to open a miniature boutique and merge my taste and design with my talent just like a fashion designer. My difference from everyone else was using yarn instead of fabric; and crochet hook and scissors instead of machine; in addition to my ability to convert imagination and skill to miniatures.

 

From then on, I have been speaking with my beloved miniature clothes and shoes. I tell all the details and delicacies that my soul hosts and secrets by means of them. When I take my hook in my hand and choose the color of my yarn, I go to another world with the excited birds flapping their wings inside me; and I reach a great gratitude and happiness.

 

As a person having an attitude of not living one day of my life the same as the other, in this period of my life I change and renew the rough abrupt huge proud and spiteful burden of the world with small things. Is this not the essence of happiness anyway?

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