Bricks.

Bricks, bricks, everywhere. I live in an old brick mill, I work in an old brick mill, I live in a city built almost entirely of brick. So they're in my brain.

Yesterday when I started designing some posters for work, brick imagery began magically appearing on the page! Which got my thinking, why?

Bricks were the building material of choice for discerning mill owners in 19th century New England. Skilled bricklayers created massive textile factories using millions of small, compact red bricks.

Another brick in the wall. Sometimes I look at these old brick walls and see incredibly durable craftsmanship from an industrial age that was rapidly eroding other crafts. Sometimes I see postindustrial decay. Sometimes I see thousands of anonymous workers trapped inside two-foot thick brick walls for thirteen hours a day. Sometimes I see historic preservation and stunning architectural beauty. Breaking down walls, building them up.

I guess I'm just weirdly metaphoricized this morning. Liking the idea of building strong, sturdy walls from so many different pieces, but at the same time, loving the idea that We Can Do It is about to punch a big hole in that wall, at which point Smug Mill Girl can escape the patriarchy of the Lowell factory system! Yeah!

...Or maybe I need a change of scenery.

Come find Lowell Women's Week on Facebook, and visit in person in March!