Window dressing

Astute readers will have noted little to no progress over on my To Do List. Other projects have gotten in the way, like pushy shoppers who yell out their orders at the deli counter without taking a number first. At least one project has been subcontracted out: courtesy of my generous mother I should have new pyjamas before the onset of winter. But as summer winds to a close and the sun is too low to penetrate our living room windows, we’ve begun firing up the (faux) woodstove on a regular basis and item #5 takes on urgency once more: we need curtains.

Last year, our tenancy was far too new to make such an important aesthetic decision. I casually fell in love with Osbourne & Little prints (at $160 a metre: ouch!) and flirted with a Florence Broadhurst design. I dawdled regularly at the Cloth site, stymied by the fact that they were closed when we visited in January. More ambitiously, I imagined commissioning textile designer friends to screenprint a custom pair, with wild weeds growing up from the floor. But by the end of August, light was creeping in again, and curtains were put on the backburner.

Last week, I imagined a plain linen pair, embroidered with a single line of couched text across the two windows at sill height. Something like my back-tack project last year, on a large scale. Mum found out about a discount furnishing fabric place and we headed out to investigate. Large tables were piled with $5- and $10-a-metre bolts, but it only took a second to realise that there was nothing to interest me there. Instead, we left with a quarter metre of faux fur for a mini giraffe project, and this sample: a medieval-inspired tapestry straight out of Musée Cluny. It’s about as far from my minimalist or nouveau fantasises as one could get, but I’m tempted. Not just tempted, but tempted to use the reverse side. Stop me now, or forever hold your peace.