It started for me as a hobby and became an obsession.  I come from a long line a sewers, my maternal grandmother, aunts, uncles, my mother and even my father took a turn in the factories of NYC in the mid to late seventies.  I remember being told not to touch my grandmother’s iron black Singer sewing machine permanently affixed to the awkward green table, 36 inches marked along the side.  I broke needles, wrapped thread into unremovable angles and jammed bobbins in the updated Singer that my parents had for household fixes.  I struggled to make straight lines and now I make dresses.  

I cubicle jokey by day and a handcrafter by night (into the wee hours).  This is my story.

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