stitches of love & magic
The world feels like it is unraveling, like loose stitches in a seam that has needed attention for a while but has been ignored for far too long. I am constantly searching for ways to best respond to these times with well-thought-out action. It is an ongoing process.
I am part of a “Creative Cluster” group meeting weekly to nurture our creativity. The group is based entirely on Julia Cameron's iconic book The Artist’s Way, which was written more than thirty years ago.
Our group is encouraged to write what the author calls Morning Pages daily - three pages of unedited, stream-of-consciousness writing to clear the mind clutter and make space for whatever new insight might be trying to come through. A Marie Condoing of the mind and heart, if you will.
Meeting with others and being encouraged by their sharing and ideas has been heartening. It is coming together at a time when it feels like much is coming apart.
I love to make improvisational quilts. I call them improvisational because I have no plan, and they are definitely NOT perfectly measured, cut, or sewn, but they are still beautiful because they are made with love and hands that are itching to create.
My middle adult child asked me to make her a quilt when she last visited our little island. I was elated by a new project and also unmotivated at the same time. It is a lot of work hauling everything onto the kitchen table and turning my home into a sewing studio chaos. I had not done anything about the quilt since she asked a few months back. I feel frozen at times with everything that is unfolding around me.
And then, out of nowhere, this past very rainy weekend, I found myself at home alone and talked myself into cutting fabric for the quilt. Just cut some leftover fabric and see where it takes you. You can always put it away if it is all too much.
It was not too much. It was just the thing. I became lost in the colours and cutting of squares. I cut fabric while playing with my beautiful granddaughters on my kitchen floor when they stopped by to visit. My mind was soothed by the task. My hands were doing something productive.
It gave my mind space to wander and worry as I cut, with breaks of joy as I joined them on the floor for games, songs, and cuddles. Children are good for the soul.
Later, after several hundred pieces of fabric had been cut, I laid them out and considered what I wanted to create through the quilt and out in the world. I moved, adjusted, and edited the squares until I loved how the colours were laid out.
As I stitched it all together, I dreamed of what kind of world I would love to see for future generations. It gave my worries and sadness over the state of things a place to focus my energy: on creating, building, and stitching something together. The act of doing that felt in direct opposition to coming apart and tearing down that I have been witnessing on the world stage highlighted in the news each day.
I recall the first time I realized that we can infuse our creations with our energy, dreams, and love. A close friend had just lost his dad, and I didn’t know what to do for him and his partner, so I invited them to Sunday dinner at our house.
It was an ordinary dinner, but as I cooked, stirred, seasoned, and prepared, I kept thinking of the man we had lost - we knew him well, too - and how our friends must be feeling so bereft. My heart went into that meal. I was focused and grateful to have a tangible way to show my care by preparing and eating a nourishing meal together.
They came over, sad and tired, and we sat down to eat. I remember both of them commenting repeatedly on how delicious the food was and asking where I got the vegetables and what was making this meal so damn good. My girlfriend and I had cooked many meals for one another’s families over the years, and I could see that she was truly perplexed as I had cooked them this very menu many, many times before. But that time, it had my intention, my energy infused within it.
I knew what the secret ingredient was: intention. I had intended to soothe and nourish their grieving souls the entire time I prepped it. And they could feel it and taste it. And I never forgot that lesson.
One of my favourite writers wrote, “Every intentional act is a magical act.” That meal was magic. I made a little sign with that quote on it and placed it on my kitchen windowsill for years following that meal so that I would not forget that lesson.
I want this quilt to be magic as well. I want to use the creative process to dream a new world into being. I hope that this quilt will warm and comfort my daughter long after I am gone, and I hope and dream that she and all life will be living in a world so full of love and care that it is beyond our wildest dreams.
That’s how I am using my creative practice these days: to meet the times, process my fear, figure out what can be done, and to intentionally create magic. Stitching it back together…
