In the flat they occupy in Istanbul, my sister sits at a table that she had made, if memory serves, from a pair of old Singer sewing machines she found somewhere. Reading old National Geographics I discovered that Singer has a wonderful history in many of the remote places of the world. They invented a portable treadle sewing machine which, transported on donkey back, traveled with its attendant tailor, from village to village doing work as required.
I don't know the stories about the pieces shown below. Maybe some day I'll make them up.
My sister tells me that this charming older couple, a pair I call the Art Collectors, are gone now. They hosted us my last night in Istanbul, when we had flown in from Izmir. I felt very large and clumpy, with a cast on my leg, and not at all suited to this lovely apartment, the walls of which were covered with little pictures. I wanted to wander around and look at them more closely, but I was afraid I would knock over something precious.