There is a small piece of art that hangs on my bathroom wall. Attached to a piece of painted cardboard is a tiny cream colored weaving set atop a bed of copper mesh. Small beads, secured by careful knots, hang from the fringe. Stapled above the weaving is a long piece of metal with a turquoise patina. In the middle of the weaving, a rusty washer is affixed.
The back of the cardboard reads:
Allie, Just messing around! love you - Mom
(5-2020)
Every time I look at this small wonder I am struck by the beauty we create when we let ourselves play, and when we left our craft be compulsive and compulsory. Closely examining every detail of this small wonder, I am filled with an indescribable love for my mother, her hands, and what it means to make.
Because of (and thanks to) my mom, I’ve been making my entire life. Not always consistently and often with lots of angst. Much of my sewing, weaving, and entrepreneurial endeavors has been centered around my ego. I created in a rushed frenzy to see if others’ perception of my finished product would finally ensure that I was a human worthy of love and belonging.
I have created businesses, courses, and countless garments. I have drawn, and dyed, and knitted. Probably like you, I have cooked a thousand meals, arranged hundreds of bouquets. I’ve curated a home, a body, and a life.
So often I hoped that the thing I sewed or weaved or whittled might actually, finally, deliver me to the land of eternal happiness.
We all know how this ends.
For every human, we are creating in nonstop, perpetual motion. Through every small step, every thought, every movement of hand, we create our realities. When we channel this human experience through form and vibration, we have the profound opportunity to transmute pain into staggering beauty.
Through several (temporary, albeit profound) ego-deaths and the weathering of age, I am starting to understand the purpose of creating: not as a destination and not at all about the finished item I create. Everything dies, after all.
Instead, what has slowly unfolded for me is the understanding of how making (with my hands, my voice, my thoughts), has kept me alive for 39 years. The process of the creation is my lifeline. And I am creating my life.
If you are a creator of any modality (and spoiler alert: you are) and crave a deep community-driven introspective practice around your craft, I am calling you in. Bring your paintings, your collage, your exquisite meals, your on-point curriculum. Bring your songs, your woodworking, your poems, your profound (or not) thoughts.
Once a week, in an intimate group on zoom, we will be sharing what we make and how it keeps us alive. This is a devotional practice to yourself and your craft where, over time, you’ll witness how your craft is actually crafting you.