I have wrestled with a piece for over 8 months and this past weekend I decided that enough was enough. The piece was titled an apt name: Uncomfortable in her own skin. No matter what I did to this black and white landscape of the psyche the message was not coming across. I stitched and tore out stitches. Redrew and reassembled her, stitched and tore out more stitches. Added hand stitching... Tore out hand stitching. The fabric has so many stitching holes in it I thought maybe that was the message so I started to distress it further. She just didn't want to be born. So this weekend I used my handy dandy blade and chopped her into pieces. What a relief. This frees me to pursue other visions. And maybe in the future when I can forget the torturous journey this one took me on, I will try again. I once had an art instructor who said that within each unsuccessful painting there are numerous smaller pieces waiting to be born. So here they are. I think the head was the most successful. Don't you?