I’m swept across a canvas to create something new, or rolled across a wall to give it a brighter hue.

I dance in circles, a whirl of colors and scents, transforming chaos into order. I make the crisp embrace of fresh dawn lie within folded fabrics.

I have an eye but cannot see, yet thread must often pass through me. Though small in size, my work is fine, joining torn edges line by line.

When toasting I rise, I'm shattered when I fall I can fit in your hand, Or be on the wall. I can sit on your face To make things more clear, Or travel great distances To make things look near. What am I ?

What is a calendar's favorite snack worldwide?