Let's talk about failure and comparison

In the last few years in my sewing journey, I've thought more about failure and what to do about it.  Let's face it, we all have projects that just don't turn out the way we planned.  We seam rip, we change out blocks, we alter our end goal, but sometimes, it's time to throw in the towel.

What to do then?  Full confession:  I've thrown 2 quilt projects directly into the trash.  For me, it was more an emotional purge.  I had to see them be disposed of - see that they came to and end.  It's not my 1st choice.  I recycle as much as I humanly can.  I hate to think about growing landfills.  But I also know that I can't single-handedly take on the earth's trash.  I sort my daily trash into what can be recycled.

But for those 2 quilts, I did what I did and needed to move on.

I've also had 2 sweaters that I've knit that I needed to let go.  One was never a good fit.  I put it on and found myself tugging it down all day as it bunched and pulled.

The other, the fit was perfect yet the color was a bad choice (it looked great on the model!)  But I found myself only wearing it only in the house to keep me warm.  And feeling guilty that I put all that labor, and money, into making it, and not loving it.

What to do with these?  The wrong color, I offered my daughter, who now lives in Denver where it's MUCH colder than Albuquerque.  She said yes, and yay for that!

The not-so-great fitting one?  Time to just pass it on, give it away.

So, back to failure.  I don't necessarily think of it in the negative.  It's an attempt at something that didn't work, and so it's time to move on, having learned some lessons.  Failure gives me strength, wisdom, lessons in humility.  Failure makes me a better human being.

I've also been thinking about how our self esteem is tied into this whole picture.  When we create, in a perfect world, we should be the judge of our work.  It's art - it's personal, right?

I've had 2 conversations recently that were interesting in their own right:  

*With 5 year old Nola, who, with her 8 year old brother Jude, were spending an afternoon crafting with me.  We were each making collages:  fabric, scissors, glue, paper and colored pencils and markers.  With a stack of scraps in front of us, we'd take one, fussy cut an image, glue it to paper, and so on and so on.  At one point Nola asks me "do you like mine?" followed by "yours is prettier than mine."  Gulp.  How do I address this?  Of course mine wasn't prettier.  That's nonsense.  But to a 5 year old,  life is about better, prettier, bigger, smaller.  It's absolutes.  So I thought about my response before just blurting out "yours is beautiful" and "no, mine isn't prettier".  I kept it short, but told her that art is personal.  It doesn't matter what other people think, nor do you need their approval.  The goal is that it's pleasing to yourself.  That it makes you happy.  To which Jude said, "The world is art and the world never stops creating."  When my eyes could focus again because they were tearing up, I wrote down that quote to remember it.

*With customer Jean, who about a decade older than me, so in her 60s.  As she shopped, she shared with me a picture of a quilt she was making, and asking "is this right?"  and "I don't know if this would look good",  and our conversation went in the same direction as with Nola.  I shared with her that if it's pleasing to your eye, (and doesn't have glaring holes/mistakes), it's right.  It's good.  It's the way it should be.  She told me she's from a generation that was taught with sewing, that it's right or wrong.  I get that, I do.  It's hard to undo.  I told her about the quote from Picasso: "learn the rules like a pro so you can break them like an artist".  Learn your basics.  Learn to sew a straight seam.  Learn to press.  Learn to cut.  Learn to read a pattern.  Then go in your own direction and make art that you love.

I told Jean I have no intention of entering any of my work in any contest/judged show.  (Maybe that will change in my lifetime).  I create from my emotions, my ideas.  They're mine to own and I don't need, nor desire, to have approval of others as to whether it's worthy or not.  I'm enough of my own critic, after all!

You?  If you're reading this, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Where the cool kids hang out: Part. 2

 I was fortunate enough to join the Bear Canyon hand quilters a few more times before they wrapped up their group for 2023.   In December,  John brought bread pudding bars, which were delicious (this man can do it all, I tell you!)

I met Theresa, who had just come back from Portugal, where she did a pilgrimage walk.

There was Barbara, who came to New Mexico in the early 2000s from Massachusetts, and lived a time in Florida before she returned to NM.  We talked about finding your people in quilting, be it a guild, group, or just a few close friends.  Some groups are clique-ish, some are too big and impersonal.  Find your people.

Janet brought one of her "Encouragement Quilts" - I learned about these when I interviewed her in July of 2022 (see blog post)  She continues to make small quilts and hand them out to those in need.  How do you know who to give to?  I asked her.  She puts her hand on her heart and says "God tells me.".  

John sharing his bread pudding bars

Unrolling a quilt

Janet

Evelyn's table runner

I look forward to seeing more of the 'cool kids' in 2024, and am grateful they let me 

hang out with them.

Where the cool kids hang out: Part. 1

I took myself to the Bear Canyon Senior Center on a Tuesday morning to visit the weekly group of hand quilters.  A few regular Hip Stitchers participate and it's been on my radar for quite a while to pay them a visit and see what it's all about.  It was well-worth it and I can't wait to go back (hence, the 'Part 1' in the title of this post)

First of all, I love to be in a room with folks wiser than me.  Don't get me wrong, I love the energy and knowledge that comes from being around younger folks too, but wisdom and life experience have their own attributes in this world, and when I'm with elders, I want to soak up every bit of the lessons from the lives they've lived.  They've been through the angsts of life that we all have to trudge through.  They've seen it and done it and witnessed it - the drama, the history, the losses and wars.  They GET it.  (see previous blog post on Janet, who is part of this group)

Now?  Just a weekly Tuesday morning of hand quilting.  A bit of community, a bit of meditative time spent in the quiet company of others.

There was John, the lone male in the group.

As I chatted with him, he went for his phone and started showing me pictures of his creative endeavors, of which there are many.  He served in the Air Force, and now has the time to explore:

*Nålebinding:  heard of it?  Neither have I. Incredible!

*Clothing for Para Dolls/Japanese Anime dolls.  

*Cosplay costuming

*SCA costuming

*Turnshoes (this will blow you away)

*Quilting

And I'm sure there was more, but I had to rest my brain after taking in the enormity of his talents, which seemed to just come naturally to him through curiosity.  He's quite the Renaissance man.

Then there's Evelyn:

While living in Washington DC she became involved with Quilters SOS - the largest oral history collection about quiltmakers in the world.  READ THAT LAST PART AGAIN.

Did you know about this organization?  Read all about it HERE

Evelyn interviewed quilters with Daughters (& Sons) of Dorcus in D.C. - the oldest group of African American quilters.  Read more about them, and Evelyn, HERE

(Evelyn told me she made her 1st quilt in 1968, by the way - the year I was born.)

In the above picture, she's hand binding Hanukkah table runners she's making for gifts for family this year.  We talked about the joy of making gifts that are appreciated by the recipient.  I've talked with numerous customers over the years about this.  What a difference it makes to give to someone who knows what went into the making of a gift.

Also in this group were Janet, Jane, Doris, Lois, Carol & Barbara. 

I'm grateful for the time they gave me, sharing and answering my many questions and taking pictures and video.

And I'll be back to visit more - I'm quite enamored by them all.

Gratitude

 It’s that time of year - sharing what we’re thankful for, blah blah blah.  (sorry, that's the cynic in me)

For me, I go inward even more than my usual introverted self does.  I try to dig deeper into my gratitude.  Yes, all the wonderful customers/friends…..those 2 flow into each other.  Yes, I’m thankful for the roof over my head, and food in my kitchen, and a quilt under which I sleep.  Every single day I’m thankful for those things.

But I need to go deeper, and draw out:

Gratitude for those who challenge me - those folks I come across and we have an encounter that’s difficult, and leaves us each feeling uncomfortable and each wanting to be right and vindicated. Those folks, those encounters, remind me to be humble, and feel humility, and apologize if I have done wrong, and also to kindly assert myself if I need to in order to grow.

Gratitude for my achy back, my stiff bones, the arthritis in my hand.  Grateful for THAT?  Well, yes.  That pain is telling me that I’ve lived many years, and now it’s time to slow down just a bit and pay attention to the pain and take the time to stretch and do some yoga and take my vitamins and be more mindful of my health.  This isn’t an admission of old age, or throwing in the towel.  But I am the age that I am and my body speaks to me in the pain, and I listen.

Gratitude for the heavy grief I’ve felt for months in the aftermath of my aunt’s passing.  The pain and sadness is hard.  Really hard.  But in that pain is a pure love for her, and my mom - the 2 women who raised me, who shaped and molded me, who passed down so many of my traits, and who are now gone from this world but are still with me in many ways.

Gratitude for depression.  Whoa, that’s a hard one.  Without the depression there wouldn’t be the joy that I hold onto each day.  I wouldn’t feel so deeply the good and the bad.  We simply can’t have one without the other.  And I wouldn’t listen, really listen, to others, whether that’s a customer complimenting Hip Stitch or one who says he/she will never shop here again.  I learn from both.

So, I wish you a season of contemplation, calm, deep breaths, moments of pure quiet, and much, much creativity!

Hefty Hems and Letters

 A day spent in my sewing room started with a simple project:  a shower curtain, made from Blaze Ori. 

I call the bottom a hefty hem.  I made it 2.5" in height.  A bigger piece needs a bigger hem.  A skirt, top, casual dress doesn't need as hefty a hem.  One inch will do.  Curtains?  Hefty!

And then I moved over to my desk, that was my mom's.  And write a few letters to friends.

I have 3 women in my life who exchange regular notes/letters with me.  This is a great joy in my life.  Especially as over the summer, I've acquired love letters from my grandfather Fred to my grandmother Julia, in 1928.  And have read, and read, and read them.

And although my correspondence with these 3 women, whom I each admire in different ways and they make be a better person, is not as frequent as a text or email could be, I love the slowness and deliberateness of our words to each other.  We don't have to blurt things that pop into our heads, like we can do with social media.  

So, I sit at this desk  and write, and think of my mom, and find great joy in this moment.  And think about creativity, and that it's not just in one art.  Sewing, writing, reflecting - all embrace the creative soul:

Photos of ones I love.  Pincushions.  Notecards

Journals, notebooks....can't have too many!

This desk where I sit

Letters and notecards written to me. 
Blank paper waiting to be filled.

From this life to the next

Written in May, 2023:

I've flown to Las Vegas 3 times in the last 2 months, all to sit by the bedside of my 92 year old Aunt Sue as she moves closer to death.  The 1st time was a last-minute flight after a fall and a broken hip, when death seemed imminent. When I said goodbye, I cried and she cried and we thought it was our last time together.

The next 2 times,  death was still imminent,  but I've grown to love this time with her.  I enter into a bubble, in the assisted living home.  It's a place where everyone who lives there has lived their lives:  worked in their careers, raised their children, gone through the hustle and bustle and worry and stress of life.  They're now just, well, waiting, for the next chapter.  If they're strong enough, they wheel, or slowly walk, and see their neighbors, or go outside to sit and listen to the birds, or sit for a meal in the dining room.  If they're not, it's a bed and sleep and some tv or some music or just lost in decades of memories of life.  If it's the worst, there are no memories.

I met 91 year old Norma, who is a Cherokee Indian, from Oklahoma.  She told me when she was young she went to the Pow Wow in Albuquerque, in full regalia.  Now, she doesn't see too well, and her daughter visits her when she's not traveling for work.

I met a man who worked in accounting in Boston.  Our visit was brief and I didn't get his name.

I met Ken, who lived across the hall from Aunt Sue, and would check on her as he went down to the dining room for dinner.

And my Aunt Sue, who was an elementary school librarian and a lifelong athlete.  Because of her, I love to read, and have a mean tennis backhand and swim like a fish.  Because of her, I love to travel and see new places.  Because of her, I am lost in a good book.

She had a hard time, the last decade, as her body started to give out.  She rarely rested in her life.  Walk, swim, golf, tennis.  Becoming elderly and full of pain and her body weakening made her afraid, and thus, angry.  It was a hard time for all of us 4 niece and nephews, who were her family.  Hard to love her sometimes.

And then, the fall.  The broken hip. The acceptance.  This is the last chapter.  She's ready to go.  There's no fight left.  And what remains is just peace.  And gratitude.  And lots of sleep.  And an occasional smile or chuckle.  (especially when I took my diary from when I was 9 years old and read it out loud to her)

I take knitting.  I've made 3 washcloths.  Given 2 to her, just because they're bright and a small square to hold, a pop of color.  A quilt may be brought next.  Something small in size and bright in color.

I am her namesake.  One of the stories she told me frequently over the phone in the last few years was that she was the 1st to hold me when I was born.  She helped my mom, her sister, raise us 4 kids.  (I joke that I'm her favorite, but secretly I want that to be true)

She is between 2 worlds now.  She sometimes knows I'm there and sometimes thinks I'm my mom.  She asks me where someone is, and I remind her they've passed away.

And that's alright.  I have the honor of spending time with her while she prepares for the next world, in peace, with memories, with love.  She is dearly loved.  It's important that she knows that.

Update/July 2023:  She passed away June 8, 2023.  My brother was by her side.  I asked him if I could FaceTime when he said it was near.  I cried and told her I loved her and my last words to her were "I'm your namesake.....I'm your namesake."  She passed from this world 20 minutes later.

I made a bag to hold the box that holds her remains.  We will gather in September in Alabama, where she retired and lived for 30 years.  In the deep South, she was known as "Miss Sue".  My siblings and I will spend a weekend together with her remains - celebrate her at a mass, visit the bay, eat at her favorite places and be together there one last time.

The bag is made from fabrics that reflect her time on earth:  playing tennis, golf, books, travel.  It started with the dimensions my brother sent me of the box containing her remains:

I choose some of Reut's hand echo printed fabric for the lining:

Update/September 2023:

And then we 4 all met in Alabama for one last time with Aunt Sue:

At the Fairhope Library

In a rocking chair in her last assisted living home in Fairhope. 

(There were 2 ladies rocking in the other chairs.  One said to me "I knew Miss Sue")

With Bucky, the renowned bartender at the Mobile Bay Grand Hotel, where she worked

At the Sunset Grill in Fairhope, where she was with us all at the center of the table and we bought her a beer and toasted her and shared memories.

And then we packed her in my brother's suitcase, where he took her to Pittsburgh and laid her to rest with her parents at the cemetery where they're buried.  I'll visit that place one day.  And I have the bag, stitched with fabric and thread and lots of love, and a memory of our final goodbye to our dear Aunt Sue.

And we 4 scrappy Kauffman kids will always be thankful for her presence in our lives:

Binah Waite Williams - The Fabric Journey

Why her?  Why her work/this artist?  I’ve known Binah for about 8 years - seeing her at a mutual friend’s gatherings.  I was both drawn in and intimidated by her.  Drawn in to her rich storytelling voice - it lulls and hooks me.  Beyond the voice, though, are the stories.  Many stories.  What I admire most about her is her curiosity about anything and everything.  She just dives in to learn more about something that intrigues her.

Intimidated?  A bit - her wisdom, her wealth of knowledge.  Her knowledge about Black history.  Intimidated as a white woman - will she look down on me? (no)  Will she think less of me?  (no)

I haven’t lived her life, nor she mine, but what I respect about her is that there are no pre judgments.  No pretentiousness. She is a gifted, inquisitive artist and her art flows from the world around her, both present and past.  Goddesses, rivers, slavery, West Africa, Black history in New Mexico.. - the stories of the history pour out of her through her art and her voice (literally, that voice.  It will draw you in).  I was compelled to bring those stories, that art, to Hip Stitch, so you, too, can know Binah, and hear her voice.

We began our journey from art to fabric at a Mother’s Day brunch hosted by our mutual friend Dagmar, in 2022.  A conversation, followed by a text or phone call every few weeks.  I visited her at the home she shares with her husband Gordon, in early November 2022 to see her artwork in person and narrow down what pieces we’d put onto fabric.  On that chilly day, she made me hot chocolate and told me stories, and I took copious notes and took a few photographs but knew then I wouldn’t be able to re-tell in any way what she had in her to share.  Stories of Black history, stories of her life growing up in New York..  Those are her stories to tell, so I won’t try to retell them here.  Though here are a few highlights of her words to me:

Cloth is sacred, the symbols, the making of it.  It conveys a message.

“We are in a time of great light”

“Are you connected to your world?”

The process is more important than the outcome.

People don’t think of the process in this culture.

Pieces of art, hers and Gordon’s individually and together.  Here is “Coyote Medicine” that they made together during the pandemic:

And Gordon?  He, an artist himself.  Next time you’re in our store, admire the shelves running along the length of the store that hold our color way - yep, he made them.  Here he is working on a pair of shoes they created together:

We parted ways that day, hoping maybe the fabric could be ready to go by the new year.    Not yet.  Maybe February?  Not yet.  Strike-offs, color adjustments, communication with the printing company, resizing images - on and on.  And here we are, ready to go.  And I think Binah would agree with me that the journey til now has been worth the wait.