Posted in "Daily" pages
Since I was a small child, when I felt sad, or stressed, or frustrated, I made things. It gives me an incredible sense of peace to take raw materials and turn them into something with my hands. I have used yarn, paint, wood, paper, and wax. I’ve used plants, creating a garden layer by layer, year by year. I’ve taken young horses and turned them into capable and well trained mounts. Not a day goes by that I don’t write something; that’s my primary art these days, and has been for years. Whenever I need to remember who I am and what’s so special about me, I make something.
I bought the original of a Cat and Girl comic about a year ago. It struck me with the line, “When you create, you build something. You take your ONE corner of the world, and say ‘Chaos can’t have this!‘” One of the characters says this in response to the question, “How do you stay warm in the cold shadow of death?” That’s how I would answer the question, too. It’s hanging on the wall of my cube, to remind me.
I was given a spindle and roving over the holiday, by a friend who felt guilty it’s been molding in their stash for years. Someone bought it for them after they took a spinning class together, but it’s been untouched ever since. I was happy to give it a new home.
Spinning is a new pastime for me. It’s hypnotic and rhythmic, and doesn’t require the foresight and attention that knitting does. It’s very much a meditative action that requires you to be in the moment, listening to the whisper as the spinning yarn grips and tugs at the unspun fibers, pulling them into itself, forever twisting more and more length out. I give the spindle a whirl and let it drop slowly towards the floor, lengthening and twisting. Then it stops, and I wind the yarn up, and do it again. And again. And again.
There is hunter green and navy blue roving. I spun my way through the blue, twisting it into a slim single, within days. The green has taken a bit longer, but I finished it tonight. And then I plied the two singles into a two colored yarn. Seriously. I took fluff and a spinning top and turned it into yarn; there’s some strange magic in that act. It’s blue and green, thick and thin. Very much a first effort, but also serviceable. And I love it.
It’s far later than I should be up. I must say, I find it amusing that after I so boldly made a declaration about writing daily, life threw me a curve. The past couple days have been a bit of a death march for reasons that I’m not going to go into here because, well, I’m not going to go into them here. I’m not writing about work or my personal life, and that’s all I’m going to say about that.
I am up, though. I’m up because I made something. I came home, having slain dragons and feeling pretty zorched by the effort. I wanted to relax, and do something quiet for a while, and then go to bed early. I picked up my spinning. And now I have 135 yards or so of yarn, with which I will make something else. I’m tired, but I’m going to sleep well, in spite of the agita of the past couple days. I remember who I am. I’m a person who makes things.