The only opportunity I have had to sneak in any felting at all this month was an assignment from the psychotherapy portion of the course where we were given homework to create an image of our Id, that part of the psyche Freud identifies as the impulsive little devil sitting on one shoulder (with the good angel of the super ego supposedly sitting on the other.)
Could have done it in crayons on a bar napkin and it would have been fine, but if you know anything about the addiction that is felting, you know I couldn't pass the opportunity to dust off the needles, even if for just a cutesy simple little thing like this.
All mouth and eyes, my Id will say anything, eat anything, imbibe anything. And what a gorgeous coif in radiant, silky kid mohair!
My wife laughed and immediately pointed out: Hey, it's just like you. . .no ears!
