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A smell of dust, piled-up rolls of fabric, the steam of an iron, a ray of sun coming through a window: a man or a woman, carefully dressed and with pins stuck into a breast pocket or a flame-red pincushion, smiles and welcomes clients, the raw material for the creation of their sculpture. Copper thimbles, steel scissors, wooden tables; old sewing machines creak, a thread passes through the fabric; the orchestra of the needle.