Primrose Tropical Bluebird
I have been so caught up in the recent bout of craft show crazies, that I have gotten away from the reason I began this new journal in the first place.
My real inspiration comes from the simple act of making something beautiful. It took an overcommitment (well, time will tell!) to get me back to my crafting table--or, should I say, the dining room table. In truth, my real crafting table is buried in files and catalogs for my "day job"--a bit too symbolic, really. So, I'm back at my old haunt, the dining room table, pretty papers and embroidery thread scattered down its length. Dinner this week has been interesting--the kids have loved every minute of it. Who doesn't like a Chinese food "picnic" on the floor?
I think I have resisted my return to crafting for so long because I have a fear of failure, and a fear of facing my weaknesses. I don't like to do things half-way. When I love something, I want to immerse myself in it. I want to be great at it, to make an impact, to really create something amazing. I make really good starts--but if I get tripped up along the way, if I don't live up to the crazy ambitions I have set for myself, I crumble. And hide. I know I am not alone in this.
Being a grown up is hard work. I think the lesson of my life is to face my weaknesses head on, own them, and confess, often. Confessing imperfection is particularly difficult, especially if there is another person involved. Sometimes I dream up the most perfect "I'm sorry" I can think of (like Anne of Green Gables!), but they don't always work the way they're supposed to. The important thing is to get it over with, to do the best you can, to make a new start. You can only control so much.
Tonight I pulled out my box of feedsack scraps. I bought them a few years ago, inspired by the amazing work of one of my very first Blossom consigners, Janet of Primrose Design. I am completely in love with her embroidered feedsack pillows, like the one above. I do not in any way possess her skill--I am so intimidated by my new sewing machine that I have only tried to use it ONCE since I bought it over a year ago (read: hiding again). I love to pick through the crazy colors and patterns, and I like to think that I am connected to a great tradition of women (re)creating new and wonderful things from the bits and pieces of their everyday lives. Again, it is intimidating. Someday all of these lovely little remnants will be used up. Who am I to risk an ill-placed stitch?
But this is the beauty of crafting. When my kids pull out a paper and crayons to draw mommy or a tree or the cat, their joy is not dimished just because it doesn't look exactly like their subject. It is the simple act of creating that is the thing.
Dining Room Table "Studio"
The perfection of craft lies in its imperfection. These are not the products of machines, but people. In each crafted piece might live a dozen pulled stitches, false starts, a hidden knot underneath, a clumsy circle, a thread color that (luckily) worked out in the end, a pin-pricked finger tip. In every piece there is the story of what it means to be a woman, a mother, a wife, a human.
Lots of restarts and an unsightly underside at times, but, in the end, worth all the trouble.
"Tomorrow is a new day, with no mistakes in it." Anne, with an "e"