A friend who has purchased a new house and is debating paint colors posted on FB the other day what a difficulty the selection process is.
A commiserating woman commented that she had tried 14 different shades before finding the perfect one for her kitchen.
As you can see from my quilts, I love color. I can also be a bit of a perfectionist in that I strive for perfection, although I seldom reach it. (Did you know that's the definition of a perfectionist? One who wants to achieve it, not one who necessarily does achieve it?) But 14 shades seems obsessive to me. Overly controlling. Preternaturally afraid of making a mistake. Crazy, even. (Or perhaps she's worried that paint -- all of it, everywhere -- will be discontinued according to the Mayan calendar, and this was her last shot?)
I had to leave a snarky remark myself, something to the effect that I limit myself to three choices in order to facilitate decision-making, and that I feel there is more than one perfect color for everything.
And yet, I'm looking at the quilt I posted last night -- which did prompt a pre-order and a lighthearted discussion of whether the term "organic" can be used as a definition for willful or accidental imperfection (yes, it can) -- and I can't decide what fabric to use to make the missing block. It's one of the tiny horizontal blocks. It takes two pieces of fabric -- three cuts of solid and two of batik.
I'm stumped. Sure, I have enough fabric to make several blocks to audition, as they say. But isn't it funny how something so small has become (pun ahead) a roadblock?
I intend to have the answer by Monday.