I feel I’m going to start many of these stories with sentences like “When I was little… or “My mom/dad/friend taught me this or that…” I’m understanding that is the point in a way of doing this “Artist’s Way” course. We’re to get in touch with that little person residing in all of us, leaving behind our “adult” selves and lives that are ridden with responsibility, obligations, work and bills to enter into a world that only our child’s mind can see. For me, it’s a world full of bright colors, imagination, possibility, exploration, and all things sparkly. In that world, I am balanced. I’m a bestselling author, an Academy Award winning screenplay writer, world renowned pianist, an excellent pastry chef, jewelry designer and in my “free time” I still love more than anything to run my fingers through someone’s hair, to feel the blade of my shears close on went strands, and hear the stories people tell me.
The majority of my adult life, for as long as I can remember actually has been nothing but work, and responsibility. Yes I have my writing, running, and my social life which are all fun things but there is this other part, this tiny little piece that desperately wants to be heard. I am most terrified of her. I run from her, I put food in her mouth and distract myself from her voice. She, I feel, is trying to pull me into her world and then what? It’s unknown. I can’t see an outcome of any sort. She’s wanting to tell me her definition of fun. I believe this will change my dim idea of what the word means and God forbid I allow any change to take place.
I am deeply embarrassed that I cannot identify what is “fun” to me. I want to know though. I want to find out. It’s part of why I’m taking this course. I have the help and support of other people to help me along the way. I’ve finally admitted that this isn’t something I can do on my own.
A week has gone by and it’s time for my second artist date! A few weeks ago, I drew a picture of a messenger bag I wanted to sew. On the bag I drew a ladybug. That idea morphed into thinking about what I already had in my possession that I could use to create something on a smaller scale. I thought that if I truly wanted to sew again, I would start small, see if I still liked it then maybe think about taking a class to learn more. No lie, the very next day I received a Groupon in my inbox offering a half priced sewing class at a fabric store up the street from my house. I knew then that my artist date would be to sew.
I needed thread, a needle and some scissors that would cut fabric. On Wed, after writing, I decided to stop procrastinating and get my tail outside to the bus to go to the craft store. I felt a little resistant to going. I felt that it was going to take forever to go up there, get what I needed and come back. Plus I was hungry and wanted to stop by a favorite restaurant, the Chicago Diner.
What else was I going to do instead? This is a day off and I deserve to spend time with myself. While standing at the bus stop, listening to all the crap in my head about not having time, about it being cold and about this plan being worthless because I haven’t touched a needle and thread since I was in middle school I stopped that worthless chatter and replaced it with “I am worth this time. I deserve this time and I’m going to take it.” All negativity stopped there.
At the Diner, I enjoyed my lunch and walked to Michael’s craft store. I’ve never been to this one before and upon entering I lost my mind. I got sucked into walking up and down nearly every aisle in the store, mesmerized by all the glitter, markers, crayons, paint, paper, scrap booking materials, books, yarn, thread, and stickers that I could ever want. I bought a pack of heart stickers, some blank cards cut out in the shape of ladybugs, on top of the scissors, thread and needles I came in for. I so enjoyed picking out the colors of thread. I remember doing this when mom needed to go to the fabric store. I used to make friendship bracelets with this kind of thread. (I think it’s for embroidery.) I chose a magenta, green, purple and blue bundles of thread. I was giddy when I left and caught the train to North and Clybourn where I stopped by Whole Foods for grapes and vegetables to have later.
Once home thoughts of laundry began to enter my mind. Dishes need to be put away, and this is how it starts. My endless distractions begin to crowd my mind and infect my plan of sitting still and sewing. I remind myself that my “chores” will be there when I’m ready to deal with them but for now, I’m sewing.
I pull out a giant bag of clothes that I was about to give away and decide to use them for this project. I found a tan, corduroy messenger bag that a former roommate left behind and made a plan to cut out shapes out of different garments to make the ladybug. I’d sew the pieces together then sew them on to the bag.
I pulled clothes out into my hallway, into the living room, and eventually I was sitting in a pile of them on my couch. Bits of garments were now chopped, examined, and arranged for evaluation on the bag. I added and subtracted circles over and over again on the “body” of the bug. This worked, but that didn’t. I liked this color but not with that color. Move this over here, then over there, and add this one, get rid of that one then damn… I think I got it.
Now for the thread. I figure out what color will go with each “dot” and begin. I pull apart the thread to make it “skinnier” and push it through the eye of the needle. I tie a knot at the other end of the thread so it stays put when I make my first stitch and get to work. I have no idea how, when or where I learned this. I don’t remember if I taught myself this part or if mom did. Anyway, it’s damn near amazing to me that I sank right back into it.
I sit among the pile of cloth I so haphazardly tore apart and push the needle through the fabric, hearing it’s satisfying “click” as it came through on the other side. I carefully pull the thread until it locks into place and bring the needle back down again making a stitch a little smaller than a half inch. Over and over again I repeat this process until each “dot” is sewn into place. I take my time with this. I’m slightly unnerved that I’m sitting in a mess I will have to eventually clean up but ultimately I’m perfectly content, immersed in my project, and quite pleased with the results.
When I finish the parts, I sew the bug onto the bag. Once it’s complete I hold it out in front me utterly pleased with myself…
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