life with a tortoise…

“In 1839 it was considered elegant to take a tortoise out walking. This gives us an idea of the tempo of the flânerie in the arcades.” -Walter Benjamin, The Arcades Project

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I’ve picked up The Arcades Project again, and have been reminded of how much I adore Benjamin’s views on the importance of the flaneur.

Walking around town never fails to incur a wealth of inspiration and tiny joys. I wonder if walking around town with me must, at times, seem like walking around with a tortoise, as I walk with wide eyes and frequently stop to further investigate my surroundings, taking my time as I wander down the path.

on remembering…

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Lately, all my thoughts have come back to this photograph. Not just at the actual image, but also the way the top seems to fade into nothing. I’ve been trying to dry a delicate felt rug that I made in the bathtub for days now. It’s made of fleece and due to some thinner spots, I don’t want to hang it up before I can mend it with a felting needle. The beginning of southern humidity is doing little to expedite the drying process.

Sunday night I gathered the fleece on the rug before me, stacked in fuzzy piles of various color and breed. Once I was done assembling the fiber, I took the lot to the bathtub to begin the felting process. As the hot water hit the fleece, the room smelled like sheep and flooded my mind with memories of the farm in Sussex, rural North Carolina flocks and even the land deep in Georgia my grandfather owned when I was a child.

The ridiculous juxtaposition of natural fiber and mod cons was laugh-inducing as I sang along to The Reindeer Section while stomping to mesh the fiber just like that old “I Love Lucy” episode with the grapes.

Already somewhat mawkish at this point, I thought of why I was making this particular piece- in order to find ways to recycle fiber that has become almost surplus in some areas of the United Kingdom due to a steadying decline in market price. I remembered an afternoon spent hiking in the North Carolina mountains where we came over a rise to find the entire landscape before us clearcut. One of those moments where you just feel a stomach-dropping sadness for what could have been.

Seeing the photo above gives me that exact same feeling I had that day in the mountains. Where you feel like you stumbled on the scene too late, unable to do anything truly useful. Despite my recent article getting nice remarks from friends and colleagues across the world, I’m still getting sad news from England regarding farmer’s incomes.

And as I do things like look at photos and stomp wool in the bathtub, I can’t help being struck by the fear that maybe it is too late for the English wool industry. But simultaneously being enlivened by the idea that perhaps in time, we will start to reclaim our cultural legacies instead of eschewing them for more, more and more.

an ever-widening circle.

Yes, that’s a self-portrait with a giant eyeball. In a mirror that is labeled “Look at Yourself.” I found it amusing because one of my main interests is ethnographic research and it just seemed all too perfect.

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Because I believe that in order to see outside you need to first look inside. And that you should use what you’ve learned to better understand the world around you.

I wonder about the ways in which people find me, a somewhat self-selecting group individuals who I have embarked on many amazing conversations with, sometimes collaborated with and always learned from.

While it’s easy to see why we connect with other people, sometimes it’s incredible to look back at the list of those who have contacted you. How suddenly without the academy you become a part of a circle without even realizing it.

When I started talking about craft theory and the cultural importance of handmade, I never could have imagined the wealth of knowledge and inspiration that I would come to know.

While I may be working on the slowest craft documentary project ever (see here), that doesn’t mean that I can’t introduce (as a group, one that is growing) the brightest minds I know of concerning contemporary craft theory:

Kate Bingaman
Maria Buszek
Otto von Bush
Tsia Carson
Diane Gilleland
Julia Kehew
Garth Johnson
Cat Mazza
Kirsty Robinson
Amy Spencer
Dennis Stevens
Stephanie Syjuco

Of course this list leaves out my favorite crafters, artists and friends whose work emboldens me daily…as well as I’m sure a few names that have currently escaped me! But as I look at my inbox and notice a growing list of people who are writing about the theory and sociological perspectives of craft, I can’t help but feel joy. And the acute anticipation of those who share similar views that I have yet to meet.

gettin’ messy with it!

In case you don’t already know, Kathy Cano-Murillo is a crafty powerhouse.

Over the years she has given me amazing advice via several online craft boards and has often amused me with stories of her handmade mishaps! It always comforting to know that I’m not the only one gluing my fingers together or doing things (as I did this weekend) like injuring myself with a felting needle!

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I was overjoyed to recently acquire a copy of her new book, Art de la Soul, which is a craft primer of sorts. I love the fact that not only does it contain a list of items crafty newbies might need when starting out, but also that it stresses that being a good crafter doesn’t mean you always produce good craft.

Case in point, this weekend while working on some rugs for part of a book, I made my little test square of felt in my bathtub. The final result was completely bizarre looking, kind of like Pac-Man. However, a less-than-satisfactory result made me look for ways to repair my efforts that I wouldn’t have had to learn if my test piece had come out perfect! While I may not yet be a feltmeister, I am more confident with the process now that they went a little pear-shaped.

As long as we continue to stress that creativity does not equal perfection, we will continue to create. And I fully applaud those who recognize that getting messy (and often messing up) with your art/craft only serves to expand your own production and knowledge.

house vs. home

This is the bay window in the back bedroom of my grandmother’s house. It used to be my great-grandmother’s sitting room and still holds a blanket she crocheted before her death. For years I thought that maybe somewhere in the definition of the word ‘home’ was implied that the longer you lived somewhere, the more it became yours. But now, I’m not so sure.

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What makes a house a home?

I know for sure that cardboard boxes aren’t part of the equation. As I’ve been almost constantly on the move for a decade now, I’m an expert of what home isn’t. While I still maintain that home is beyond bricks-and-mortar, that doesn’t mean that I’m not currently trying to make my house become more of a home.

But where to start? HGTV and Martha were the obvious choices, as both sites (empires?) have an amazing wealth of information regarding ways to make your domicile something you actually feel like spending time in instead of just a place to sleep and store your stuff.

For a project that I am currently working on, I am making rugs for the home. The second I placed the first one down, my tiny little cottage instantly became more cozy and comfortable, taking on more of my identity than that of a space that once housed industrial-sized sewing machines for upholstery work. There was a small room adjacent to the kitchen and in it, there still were a couple of tables for sewing room lying in the corner, which were due for their transfer.

The space is steeped in creativity in a way that few places I have lived have been, full of memories of thread and bobbins and piecing together. As I continue to add little handmade touches (my rug, my great-grandmother’s apron from the 40s and photographs of my relatives that I found in a chest last year that all have them either making something or showing off their handiwork), I seem to be tapping more into what it means to call a bricks-and-mortar place home while simultaneously aware of the fact that home is primarily about identity and legacy instead of an address.