My fondest memory of Mother was being her in design studio as a little girl. Oh how I'd love the time in there with her. Those rolls and rolls of fabric lined up on her shelves, some from Italy some from other parts of the world...each with it's own character and sense of belonging. Those fabric rolls of bright and vibrant colors seemed to have a life of their own. They each had voices, some female, some male and some androgynous. Whatever life force those rolls had it seemed to beg my Mother to draw in for further inspection. Almost as if they were begging her attention to chosen for one of her gowns.