I think that it isn't until you lose everything that you can appreciate what you have.
Suddenly you can't invite people back, or have them stay overnight, you have to live by others rules imposed upon your life, it all seems to be loss, bleak.
But the reality is that there is still a lot left, skill, expression for talent, a time of reflection on the road ahead, not having a home means I am free to go in any direction I choose. For the first time I don't have to think about anyone else, just me.
I was lost in accumulation, getting more and more stuff filling the studio until it was overflowing, suddenly its time to stop, take stock and look at all the stuff and wonder what is it all for? What have I created?
What I discovered was a mountain of materials, fabric, paper, wood and wool, a project half completed here and there, I am ashamed at the way that it has all accumulated.
It is so easy to get stuck on the next project, the next big idea, the next item to buy.
I think today we are so bombarded with ideas and stimulation, that it all becomes a whirlwind, flitting from one project to the next, rushing because half way though we spotted our next project and we want to start that while the enthusiasm is still going. Flikr, blogs, books, magazines, websites, programmes, it all is whirring around until there is no productivity because there is no joy in the creation, it is all output.
I lost the joy of creation, the actual process of putting paint on canvas, that feel as the paint slowly slips streaks of strong vibrant colour across the virgin white square, while drowning out the inner critic who whispers it was a 'fluke' last time. It takes courage to begin again, to believe that it will all work out.
I like the quiet comfort of the wool round hook, creating a blanket.
Suddenly I find again the joy of creating out of necessity, to make my life more beautiful or comfortable because I need it.
It isn't so much that I need another granny square blanket, more the memory of a time when I was loved and safe, and cared for, with every stitch I am comforted. While I can create, I am still here, still have something to make the world a more beautiful place.
Then I forget that I have lost so much, I am in the present, creating anew, stitch by stitch, beauty comes from my fingers, and I know that it is just a gap, that space in between.
