Such mornings are these-
a long slow blur from eyes opening to take in blue sky, a breeze lifting the curtain and soothing the face. And drift back, curled into my partner again, a warm tangle of legs.
The breeze blows me out of bed and in the bathroom, the water I splash on my face is heading under the city to the lake.
I tumble outside to spray water from the mountainside on my garden. Strawberries, endive, cilantro, they are surrounded by wild mint, yarrow, vetch.
As the day pulls me downtown, I pass striped cats in frame-less windows and walls of drooping hydrangea.
A stranger says hello and a funeral procession travels in scattered bursts out of town. At a coffee shop, I am letting the day and I catch up to each other, a long slow blur of blue sky.
Please believe me when I say that a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Or rather that I put down that weight and am walking away. Please don’t be sad because I wasn’t having fun anymore.
There is something about a process so tedious, and so much work, that takes the fun out of creating. Like I’m so busy scrubbing and steaming and rinsing and ironing that there’s not a whole lot of room for creativity anymore.
I want to be able to spontaneously sketch and scribble and twist wires and beads together without feeling like I am wasting my time and ignoring the real
work art that needs to be done. I want these dabblings to be my art.
Part of me knew it all along, but I stubbornly continued headlong towards the foggy notion of a successful craftsperson, of sustained craft in my life, under my roof. I gathered supplies earnestly, gleefully hoarding all manner of dyes and squeegees and fabric scraps, and I built a functional studio of it all. Functional, but not functioning. My studio has been hauled on many moves, and it seems like I leave a little more in boxes every time.
I’m ready for my loom and printing table, buckets and dyes, screens and rolls of fabric to stop looming in the corner of my eye making me feel guilty for not having the time and energy to plod away at them.
So, where does this leave us? I am selling my studio equipment to good homes. I do still have a lot of printed fabric in (ugh) various stages of completion. When it is ready and finally done, I’ll sell it or give it away as gifts. As for this blog, I imagine it’ll follow me on to new adventures. I’m excited to see where creating so much space will lead. And I’ll always be creating.