Author: Betsy

Sayraphim Lothian, Craffiti, and Authentically Connecting

| Betsy

spraypaintcans

Sayraphim Lothian is an artist I really admire, especially her work around Guerrilla Kindness. As such, I was happy when she agreed to write an essay for Craftivism: The Art of Craft and Activism on just this subject! In her essay, Guerrilla Kindness, she writes:

Ultimately, guerrilla kindness is about discovering that people care about one another, and that someone out there cares about you. Therefore, guerrilla kindness work is about extending your community. It’s about reaching out your hand to a stranger and using your skills to make someone’s day brighter. It’s a handcrafted, joyous experience both for the maker and the finder. My work is aimed at creating tiny bubbles of joy in the lives of passersby, tiny surreal moments that might make people do a double take.

And I just like that so much, don’t you? A simple act that brings joy to both the maker and the finder *and* “extend[s] your community,” what could be more divine?

Therefore, I was happy to hear about a new project of hers, Craffiti, a show that opens tomorrow in Melbourne at the No Vacancy Gallery. From the No Vacancy website:

This new work marries Melbourne’s diverse Street Art scene with handmade, soft sculptures inspired by a selection of art adorning our city. The original sketches, stickers or stencils will be presented alongside the sculptures in the space. Running concurrently with Craffiti will be a Guerrilla Kindness project of knitted spray cans that will be left in cities around the world for people to find. Connecting the exhibition globally, in cities including New York, London, Christchurch, Brisbane, Perth and Melbourne, the cans will include a hand-sewn label with Craffiti @sayraphim on them. This label will lead local and international spotters through Twitter and Instagram to discover the relevance of their finds.

And even happier to be one of the lucky ones who gets to “connect the exhibition globally” by dropping two of her knitted spray paint cans in my town, Durham, North Carolina, tomorrow morning! As you can see from the photos in this post, a lot of love and talent has gone into making these spray paint cans and they even make that exquisite shake-y sound that all spray paint cans make as you shake them up and get ready to paint. (And I never realized before how satisfying that sound actually is… it’s the sound of creativity about to be born!)

The heart of this show, to connect, is not only something that really makes me wish I could teleport to Australia to see the show, but is also something that I think speaks to what humanity is all about, connecting. As when we truly connect to someone, we give a tiny piece of ourselves away to them and they leave a tiny piece of themselves with us, which is such a magic exchange!

bottomofcans

Therefore, I like to think that I’m more than just plain ol’ me, I’m also a bit patchworked together with tiny pieces of other people I’ve connected with along the way, their hopes, their lives, their dreams. Whatever we connected about a day ago, a year ago, a decade ago… it’s all there, still inside of us. It’s a silent exchange, a painless exchange, a heartfelt exchange. It’s a look, a phrase, an understanding. And one that allows us to deepen into our very essence, as in connection, we also get a boost of affirmation that we are being heard and seen.

I don’t think we are always as cognizant as we need to be about being heard and seen authentically. Because when that happens, we are integrating what we’ve learned from others with the deepest parts of ourselves. And this mingling allows us to grow stronger and stronger, by reminding us how earth-shakingly profound it is to connect with someone else, how good it feels to be heard and seen in a world where what we say on social media has such a short time of relevancy, because when we connect, there is no timeline. We give and take and exist forever through what happens when we are our most honest selves.

And through making, we do the same, as what we make leaves a trace of ourselves on it. We exist in our color and design choices, and in between our stitches. And we pass on those bits of ourselves to those who receive, find or otherwise come to ultimately own our work. There is magic in the making and passing on, as we are able to connect in a universal way that transcends geographic location. We are still being seen and heard, we just don’t know who is doing that seeing and hearing. It could be that guy at the bus stop or that kid panhandling for change or a mother out for a midday walk with her child in a stroller… people who we could never imagine connecting with.

Instead of connecting in person, we are connecting through making. And just like connecting in person, this dialogue, too, is good for our souls, as we give a piece of ourselves away without asking for anything back. And giving without expectation helps to further connect our feet to the ground and the soul of this earth, by allowing ourselves to have a little part in the mystery, the magic, and the wonder of this thing called life.

Remembering to Fall a Little Bit in Love Today

| Betsy

there is a river

The book was on my coffeetable because I was using it to hold up my iPad so I could watch a CreativeLive video. The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry. I hadn’t flipped through it in years, this book that was given to me by someone at the press, because that’s what happens when you know people in the book trade, you get books. (And it’s awesome.)

I flipped through the table of contents and the whole giant tome looking for something to grab me for just a minute. Something to tussle me awake from wondering about the future. And how human it is. So human that we don’t admit it for fear of seeming normal, not the unique snowflake-like butterflies that we all think we just might be… when in reality it is internalizing and digesting this fact that gives us depth and space to grow.

And for a second I fell in love with a Hettie Jones poem, the more beautiful than beautiful poem, Words:

Words

are keys
or stanchions
or stones

I give you my word
You pocket it
and keep the change

Here is a word on
the tip of my tongue: love

I hold it close
though it dreams of leaving.

I sat with it and remembered how when I was at college, in a 2-year program run by hippies in a dorm basement and we had classes like “Jack Kerouac and the Beats,” instead of “English Literature 101,” I wanted to be a poet. When I thought that running away from life, in its varying incarnations, was actually living life. When being like Hunter S. Thompson seemed cool instead of hollow and empty. When I took the wrong lessons from the Beats instead of heeding the right one, which was to fall a little in love each day.

And I flipped some more and came across There is a River by S.A. Griffin:

There is a cheerful ignorance
a chance meeting and
luck like gold that cannot be
mined or
stolen

a common atom

a dance

and stars that trick the
water with their
certain
magic

do not wash your wars in it
take your holy rituals to the
precious fountains built by your
agencies of fear

press your
wine from the fallout
and drink your
bitter victory

for yes

there is a river
a giving river that will
sing you safely

a river of
light

final
fast
and free

where you can
disrobe
and leave your casual sadness
walking sideways at the
shore

meet me there
whoever you are
and we will agree to
swim it
together

And along with the photo above in Instagram I wrote, “Oh, nothing, just falling a little in love with this poem (this is just the scrumptious beginning) by S.A. Griffin, revisiting my deep dark roots, when I was convinced I would be a poet and drink wine from the bottle at readings like the Beats and go on road trips where we would always stop to look at the stars every night, just because we could and they were beautiful. Re-remembering what it feels like to fall a little in love with something new every day. Recalling that tingle in my toes and half smile on my face, which feels both delicious and delightful(l). Have you fallen a little in love yet today? ❤️

And then realized that falling a little bit in love with something each day is my future. Taking the time to sit and feel how gorgeous it feels to have your breath be taken from you when you have a moment or a conversation or a feeling that seems almost too exquisite to exist. And that is my job, my purpose, my everything. And yours, too.

Maybe it’s a button you find on the ground, or the way someone you love exhales, or the effortless flight of a tiny bird from tree to tree. It’s to stop and notice that this, this is living. Noticing. Feeling. Digesting. So, I hope that you fall a little bit in love today and have the presence to notice that you’re falling. That this moment, this thing is happening. And that you continue to feel this and “hold it close” like Hettie says, “though it dreams of leaving.”

That you have moments that “cannot be mined or stolen” because they are yours alone to take and transform into new and better and braver moments. Because “there is a river / a giving river that will” show up if you just remember to let it.

On accentuating the positive and embracing failure

| Betsy

fiveforthenewyear

Anxiety. It’s something we don’t talk much about in the craft world. However, it’s something we all face in our own ways and also something you can learn to deal with with the posts at Observer website. We all have our worries, our fears, our insecurities. And to be honest, this is something that the craft world is not good at facing. We are excellent cheerleaders and friends and co-workers and always there to lend support, which has buoyed myself and thousands of others for well over a decade. I have never felt such warmth in a community as I have in the craft world.

However, we are not good when it comes to problems. To sharing them, embracing them, letting others know we are having them. And I think the internet takes a lot of blame here, because we’re all curators of our own feeds. And just like sex sells, so does beauty. And aspiration. I’m not saying we need to do a huge turn and start complaining. But I am saying we need to think about being more honest about our foibles, our flaws, and our troubles. Because if we don’t feel open enough to share a problem or a post that is less than perfect, how strong of a community have we actually built?

Can a full-functioning community be formed on just the positive?

Well, I definitely know it can’t be formed entirely in the negative, so high five for the crafternet not turning into a total jerkfest. While I know that side of things exists, I’m super glad it’s in the minority, so woohoo and hell yeah, way to go, kids! I guess I just have perfection fatigue. I can’t emotionally connect with a photo of your perfect house with nothing out of place, yet I can’t stand to take a photo with too many things out of place, either. Therefore, I, too, am part of the problem. I am tired of it and bored by it, but I’m also trapped by it.

I also think that this also has to do with the fact that we’re all still figuring out this here internet. Because things that go on the internet stay on the internet, I think we’re reluctant to show our imperfect sides because they conflict with who we aspire to be, not necessarily with who we are now.

I’m also tired of initiatives that cost tons and basically offer a person on the other end saying, “you can do it!.” I’m not talking about business coaching, but about hand holding. We should be holding each other’s hands better, but in order to do so, we need to let more of our vulnerability show in order to more holistically connect. That people are lining up to pay money to be told “you, too, can do this!” speaks to the fact that we need more transparency and openness in our own community.

That people are only posting perfection and then others feel that they’re failing because their lives are not that perfect signals to me, a disconnect. One of our own devising. We’ve created a vicious cycle of want and distance. We find ourselves wanting to be like other people, even though we are wanting to be how someone else is purposely presenting themselves vs. how they actually are. And the distance that it’s creating keeps us from interacting authentically and from showing any vulnerability.

That’s what I want out of my community. Shared vulnerability. And that’s why I posted that photo above, a recent Instagram photo. I want to talk about my failures and my goals and receive help and tips as I go, not just receive a “way to go” once I get there, because going on that journey alone is beginning to tire me. Now don’t get me wrong, the “way to gos” have their place, but when comment threads have 25 “way to gos” in them, what does that mean? That we’re scared to share our own related story? Too busy to say anything else? That we don’t feel like our story has a place there? That we’re too thinly spread? Or maybe everyone else is backchanneling all these discussions? I guess I just feel that we get so stuck on selling ourselves and our competencies, we forget to share where we’re not moving forward. Or when we do share, we fear that we’re sharing too much.

Last week in my newsletter, I spoke about two different initiatives. One, a secret Facebook group about growth and failure. We’re still figuring it out and it may fail, but I hope it at least gives people a place to share where they want to go and what problems they’re facing. And somewhere to talk about the process of getting to where you want to be. (If you’re into it, add me on Facebook and message me that you’d like to join!) And the other, I’m starting to do freelance work, and even have a little freelance website set up over here. I’ve been editing for years and love helping people find their authentic voices and strength in their own words. And it’s scary. I literally feel like I’m standing on a very thin branch, even though I know that not everyone feels comfortable with their written words, whether they’re still percolating in their head or whether they’re on a website or about to go to print.

And I’m wondering why no one else talks about how freakin’ thin that branch really is. How scary it is to find yourself without the infrastructure that a day job provides and to create a new one. Because there is no path to follow if you’re working from your own heart. There is no promise of a net, yet you know the only way one will appear is if you jump wholeheartedly. Holy hell! And how, yes, how the threat of failure becomes excessively real in a way you never even imagined, because you’re so busy being terrified of hitting the ground that you can’t even imagine that the net will appear. So you stand there, paralyzed, waiting for someone else to make the decision or possibly a heavy gust of wind, when in fact, nothing is going to happen if you don’t decide to move.

But maybe I’m just speaking to myself here. Maybe I’m on that branch all alone. Maybe it really is just me. But, you know what? That’s okay. Really truly honestly okay. I love my friends and peers and colleagues, especially those that are crafty. And I adore beyond belief the community that has been made. But I need to say that I am scared and terrified and really truly not sure everything is going to work out. And as much as I love the “you can do its” and “way to gos,” sometimes I really just need to hear a “me too.”

So here’s a little tiny callout for more “me toos” in the world. Maybe you need to hear a “me too,” too. If you do, let me know either in the comment section or via email. I’m glad to lead the tiny charge in the hopes it can make a crack in the foundation that leads to more shared vulnerability and to an even stronger community. Because we need “me toos” as much as we need “way to gos” in order to grow to our fullest potential, in order to see and hear that we are not alone. Or maybe it’s just me and that’s okay, but I needed to say this anyway just in case one of you out there is thinking “me too,” too. Because it’s not just you, it’s me, too.

CAFAM, Male Quilters, and the Death of Ironic Craft.

| Betsy

First of all, I want to say that I think all the quilters participating in CAFAM’s Man-Made: Contemporary Male Quilters are both amazing and amazingly talented. It’s a show I’d like to see; however, its title is one that I think needs some unpacking, so it and its ilk can be vanquished to the past once the show is over.

Every time gender orientation is used to denote a separateness in craft, it’s just one skip and jump away from exploiting difference as a moneymaker vs. celebration of that difference. When the craft resurgence began at the start of this century, the supposed irony of it was a continued topic of note. When I was talking about writing my uni dissertation on knitting and community development, one of my advisors was literally gobsmacked and said something to the effect of, “I would expect you to be researching punk rock tattoo parlors instead of knitting!” He couldn’t wrap his head around it.

This kind of reaction quickly led to a reframing of feminism, in that now we could use a drill and knitting needles and pay our own way, there was no need to shy away from work in the domestic sphere. I was one of many who wrote essays and columns about this, about the transitions that feminism had taken to get where we could knit our own items and not feel guilty (as some of the women I knew did). Given that being young and knitting was seen as such a cultural juxtaposition, it was ripe for the intrusion of irony.

Therefore, all the needlework done by our grandmothers was seen as uncool and of times gone by, because we, the tattooed, pierced, thrift store-clad ones, knew what was hip. But what we forgot to see was that one day, our work will also be seen as uncool and of times gone by. We will become our grandmothers. And instead of taking our grandmothers’ work and praising it for skill (because it’s still skill even if you don’t like the aesthetic choices, right?), it was mocked at large, as something done of a different, less-hip era. And we should be ashamed of ourselves, because irony is not cool, it’s a tearing down of someone else’s vision in order to elevate yourself, nothing more.

So, in this light, when I saw posts about this show at CAFAM, I was astounded that this was still an angle with which to reach people. That this was still something that is deemed necessary. That the best curatorial solution here was “Look! It’s dudes who quilt?! Isn’t that hilarious/awesome/a novelty? This is so creative!” vs. let’s show some quilts made by people that are inspiring/working with different materials/whathaveyou. Because choosing irony, choosing gender vs. method or skills, as a marker of things to display is a cheap shot in the light of all the other amazing things people are creating.

And while I wish for this show to be successful and for all the artists within it to gain useful contacts from their being showcased, I also wish that we could put irony to bed. Forever. That we could start looking at craft objects that were created with different aesthetics and see them as valuable for their skill. That we stop putting our grandmothers down in the name of success, because it sounds hip or funny. That we start taking from history in a way that celebrates it vs. mocks its outdated fashions.

Because I don’t find irony funny anymore, especially when it comes to craft. I want to share skills with my relatives, not make fun of their aesthetic choices. I want to stop seeing places, businesses, and museums try to make a quick buck off of irony and show us some badass historical skills instead. Or what people are doing now that needs to be celebrated despite what their gender orientation is. I know that people that look like me may not be expected to knit or make things by hand, even now, 15 years on, but we do, and it’s awesome. We should be turning the “What? You knit?” questions around and asking, “Do you make anything by hand?” and share knowledge instead.

But first, we need to work on our relationship with the past a bit, vs. trying so hard to forget about it. We need to stop using the past’s aesthetic choices against them, because all those felted cozies will look just as out-of-date as those shell-art lanterns in a few years. We need to be okay with the fact that people of all orientations like to craft and that’s not weird or particularly even worth celebrating. So down with irony and its celebration, up with celebrating those that make at all in 2015, because it’s still a beautiful choice. And just by the act of making crafty things, we are all united, no matter what gender or age. To me, that’s what’s worth holding on to and celebrating, our connectedness, not what may appear as different to some.

The Riot Grrrl Manifesto, Craft, and Community

| Betsy

The amazing Alien She show that has been traveling* around the United States just opened at the Orange County Museum of Art. In reading an article about the show, which is stupendous and I highly recommend seeing, over at Fast Company (this article), I clicked over to the link for the Riot Grrrl Manifesto, which is here.

Then I wrote this over on Facebook, which also belongs here, too.

riot_girl_manifest_Kopie

The original Riot Grrrl manifesto by Kathleen Hanna from BIKINI KILL ZINE 2, 1991 [is] good reading and mega inspiring. Although I saw (and had some) a lot of early RG stuff, I hadn’t read this until today.

While some of it is on the angsty-side, there’s a lot of good points, which were much more needed 20 years ago. This is my favorite:

“BECAUSE we are interested in creating non-heirarchical ways of being AND making music, friends, and scenes based on communication + understanding, instead of competition + good/bad categorizations.”

I kind of feel like we did that with craft, y’all. I know we differ on whether the craft resurgence came from RG origins, but we created a very inviting scene once upon a time, one that still exists. We showed up for each other and collaborated and owe a lot to what RG fought for and sweated over. (Well, them, and thousands of other feminists prior!)

I am proud to be in a community that helps others grow and succeed, one that celebrates the good fortunes of others, instead of taking them down. I feel lucky to have found craft when I did and know I owe a lot of what I have due to timing and little else. I am grateful to have met some incredibly awesome people down this road, people whose work I greatly admire and am lucky enough to call friends and peers.

So, I guess my next question is, what are we going to do next? xx

*You can see me in the show if you go! I was one of the people the incredible Faythe Levine interviewed for Handmade Nation. While my interview didn’t make it to the film, I was well chuffed to see that my photo pops up in the related photostream, yeah!