An elderly neighbour died recently.
Drapped over her coffin at her funeral was a beautiful patchwork bedspread.
She had spent the last year of her life making it, often just a few stitches a day.
Each patch of the quilt was symbolic.
The quilt was the story of her life;
I like to think of my life as being a collection of experiences each of which could be represented by an object ... perhaps a picture or memento of some kind ... and that they could somehow be incorporated into a tapestry or a collage ... something which could be hung on the wall...