The Cycle of Craft
Do you ever get the "End of the project blues"? It's the cycle of life played out in my crafts: on the wheel, off the wheel, on the needles, off the needles, on the loom, off the loom...One projects ends and another begins. Still I feel a bit sad when I get to the end of a skein of well loved yarn.
I put my heart into everything I do, so much effort. With a fervor, I work, consumed by the activity as the project takes shape, eager to see as the pieces come together. It's a joy, it's a thrill, it's a rush. An adrenaline rush. A high.
And then it's done, and I take a deep breathe. And I'm sad, but relieved.
Do all artists feel like this?
Often I keep a stream of things to do, socks on the needle. weaving on the loom, a half cut dresdans waiting for backing, squares waiting for piecing. It's easy to move from one to another, my mind bustling with ideas for this or that, and my hands ready to oblige.
Meditation by perpetual motion.
Other times, there's a lag between projects. A healing process, a recuperation. I read, I pray, I write.
Then it starts again.
The Juliet Scarf with my hand spun Angora yarn is complete. I am pleased, except I'm finding I'd like a lot less halo in the finished product. Not totally satisfied, I felt the need to tweak it just a bit. No sooner than it slid off the needles did another skein of yarn appear, begging to cast on, for this very same pattern.
I was two thirds into the work and I just stopped. You know when the the computer reboots for updates right in the middle of important project? I felt the need to write. Now it's three days since I started writing, and back to work I go. Black Alpaca on the wheel, the Juliet still on the needles, and my Mom's rug top on the loom.
I feel at peace again. Meditation by perpetual motion.
I put my heart into everything I do, so much effort. With a fervor, I work, consumed by the activity as the project takes shape, eager to see as the pieces come together. It's a joy, it's a thrill, it's a rush. An adrenaline rush. A high.
And then it's done, and I take a deep breathe. And I'm sad, but relieved.
Do all artists feel like this?
Often I keep a stream of things to do, socks on the needle. weaving on the loom, a half cut dresdans waiting for backing, squares waiting for piecing. It's easy to move from one to another, my mind bustling with ideas for this or that, and my hands ready to oblige.
Meditation by perpetual motion.
Other times, there's a lag between projects. A healing process, a recuperation. I read, I pray, I write.
Then it starts again.
The Juliet Scarf with my hand spun Angora yarn is complete. I am pleased, except I'm finding I'd like a lot less halo in the finished product. Not totally satisfied, I felt the need to tweak it just a bit. No sooner than it slid off the needles did another skein of yarn appear, begging to cast on, for this very same pattern.
I was two thirds into the work and I just stopped. You know when the the computer reboots for updates right in the middle of important project? I felt the need to write. Now it's three days since I started writing, and back to work I go. Black Alpaca on the wheel, the Juliet still on the needles, and my Mom's rug top on the loom.
I feel at peace again. Meditation by perpetual motion.
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