Colour takes its own time.
I keep my dye samples in an old biscuit tin, folded around slips of paper with dates and impatient handwriting. The little squares look more decisive together than they ever did in the pot. There is a warm yellow that began as a kitchen experiment, a pale rose that almost disappeared, and several shades I can only describe as interesting brown.
Cloth, water, patience
I am Mira, an amateur textile enthusiast in Ahmedabad. I work in small batches at a table near an open window, using cloth left over from household sewing. What interests me is the conversation between a material and a colour. Two pieces that look identical before a dye bath can emerge with quite different ideas about the result.
This journal follows that curiosity without pretending every experiment is a recipe. Water, cloth, time, and preparation all leave their marks. I keep samples beside one another, write down what I actually did, and wait until the fabric is dry before deciding what happened. Wet cloth is a persuasive storyteller with an unreliable memory.
The dye journal describes my approach to keeping useful swatches. The about page tells you how the biscuit tin became a hobby. There is no perfect shade to chase here. A color that fades gently or arrives with an unexpected undertone can still teach me something, especially when I have remembered to label it.