I was watching her hands. The movement, how she took the thread from outside and brought it inside. Crochet, one beautiful piece out of it. She showed me her embroidery around the headscarf. Put it around my head and told me what is the most beautiful way to wear it.
I was sitting in her living room on the floor, on pillows with several beautiful patterns. We were not the only one. Around us, more women were sitting in a circle on the floor, on the pillows, on the carpet. Together we chat and laugh. But there were also moments of concentrate and silence, when a woman was making her own embroidery. For me it felt like a meditation, a waiting moment.
Between the sitting women, the children were moving and asked for attention. One little girl was playing with her doll. This doll wears handmade clothes with pink flowers, very beautiful, almost a princes. What kind of dreams this little girl has? What kind of future? What are her hopes?
I will never forget the moment when I was walking outside in the village Saleh. Sehan was standing on top of the roof of her house when she saw me and waved to invite me inside her home. This invitation was an entrance for me. For a few days I came back and took part in her daily life. She learnt me, how to make the embroideries, to look to the colours and patterns, to choose the beads and the thread. I try to understand her life through the sharing process and to feel the material.
The daily life of Sehan combined with waiting, dreaming and hoping. Crochet, the image of her life.
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