And as I recently re-discovered it, I realized that it was finding craft that finally made to uncover the facts that a) it’s okay to be alone and b) it’s okay to like being alone sometimes. Craft taught me that I don’t have to fear either the silence or the cacophony in my head when I’m working on stitch after stitch after stitch. I don’t have to even worry about the future, if I just keep stitching. Breathing. Living. Moving forward.

May you feel okay to be alone instead of fearing it, and enjoy dancing alone whether it’s at home by yourself with the curtains drawn or in a club or to a lovely song in the grocery store. Or stitching or walking or laughing or cooking or going to see a movie or all the other 10 million things you can do alone.

Performed by Tanya Davis, who you can learn more about here.
Directed by Andrea Dorfman, who you can learn more about here.

What a wonderful world, indeed.

[Apologies for the giant video, but there wasn't a resizing option...]

For more photos and information about KnitRiot, check their website: http://knitriot.blogspot.com/

Also, check out the LA Times article about them over here.

Plus, how cool are the uniforms in the second photo?

[Note: how much his creation differs from that of German POW Jim Simpson. Not making a political statement, just interesting. Also: I'm not technically sure what the heck the guy above is doing, as it looks more like he's making friendship bracelets than knitting?]

1st and 3rd photographs: Bain Collection, 2nd: Harris & Ewing Collection

*To figure out what I’m talking about above, watch the video. Definitely a technique I haven’t tried when teaching people to knit?

I made a lot of mistakes. I mistook pain for authenticity and thought that to create was to also destroy. That there was no one without the other. And, as a direct result, I’m lucky to be writing this. I could bore you with tales of close calls or of loved ones that didn’t fare so well and lost, or details half-remembered or eulogized in partial memory by people that claimed to be “Artists.” With a capital “A.” It’s neither romantic nor exciting nor even interesting. It’s boring in that it mistook destructivity as the ultimate catalyst and origin of creativity. Those days, those years, are nothing to be proud of, even though I have scores of friends and colleagues who have the same tales. It’s just wasted time, wasted promises, wasted breath.

But it was craft, that saved me.

You see, there is no myth of the tortured crafter. Its roots in utilitarianism, need and progress had little time for chaos. Little time for upper middle-class time wasting in the pursuit of the perfectly executed cocktail or party or hazy work. While we were all destroying ourselves and claiming to be authentic, the real authenticity was covering our beds, in our kitchen cupboards, hidden in dusty trunks. The real authenticity, the real creativity, was craft.

I often joke that my life didn’t start until I was 26, when I started knitting. Well, it’s not such much a joke as it is the whole and honest truth.

Those nights of wrapping wool around a needle to create something with my own two hands sutured me together more than all the reams of paper I had written in haste trying to recall what had happened the night before thinking that I was onto something. That I was really living. Those holey crooked scarves were not just creations that kept me warm, they were reaffirmations that creativity was real, true and honest. As I watched the fabric grow in my lap, the scarves getting longer and longer, I was pushing away false myths and idols, and embracing something more stronger and powerful.

And with each night of knitting, I moved more and more into the sacred space of creativity. I joined the women of Gee’s Bend and the arpilleristas of Chile and a long line of my own female ancestors as my fingers created and bled and made items that weren’t called art and were deemed a lesser creation. In time, as I began to learn more about myself and about craft I began to see the truth in craft, even though it’s not always aesthetically pleasing for galleries and white walls.

The creative work of soldiers and warriors, Afghan war rugs, the Just Work Economic Initiative, Emerge, Fine Cell Work, Vollis Simpson along with others taught me the true power, potential and gift that is craft.

They taught me that true creativity begets joy not pain, and is born out of hope, not destruction. They obliterated the myth of the tortured artist and allowed me to see craft for what it is. A gift. Positivity. Enjoyment. Fulfillment. Love. Life.

While I’ll always love the former list of creatives in this post, I’ll always draw strength and the spirit of life from the latter. Because craft is not about destruction or pain, it’s a gift to be invited in, savored and celebrated. And in that celebration, thankfully, there is no space for negativity and false hopes.

There’s nothing but love and creating and laughing and living, in full, in beauty and in the light.