Stitches of Connection ~ don’t leave me halfway…

Photo by Odiseo Castrejon on Unsplash

I had to clean out the spare room several days ago. The closet had become unmanageable in a way that could be dangerous to any unsuspecting soul who had the misfortune of opening the door. I suspected the closet was representing the inner workings of my mind somehow, so I needed to address it. 

I decided to empty it of all the crammed and jammed items which mostly consisted of my sewing stuff: fabric stash, notions, iron, ironing board, various worn-out clothing items so patiently waiting to be mended (probably not ever gonna happen in my lifetime but I don't tell them that), and a partially made quilt that I started about 9 or 10 YEARS ago. 

I don’t even own the bed frame I had based the quilt’s colour palette on any longer. Somewhere during its creation, I decided that I didn’t like the look of the quilt. This happens often whenever I am working on a creative project. Halfway through I decide it is not beautiful or good enough in some way and I put it away or quit. But there is an energetic cost to abandoning these projects. A trail of unfinished inspiration.

When I work in my art journal and am unhappy with an image unfolding on the page, I often want to close the journal and walk away. And that’s precisely when a little voice from somewhere deep within whispers, “Don’t leave me halfway…” And I keep going. Inevitably those pages become my favourites. And each time I am surprised at what unfolds on to the page. 

I think the messages we receive around the making of art and creative practices are stifling. We are told only a precious few of us are artists or are artistic or creative. You are either born with it or not. Your creations are only valuable and justify the time taken to make them if they can be bought or sold. A quilt made by a factory has perfectly even stitches. How can anyone compete? 

Ironically the beauty in any art is the evidence of its originality made possible by exactly the homemade-ness and imperfections and humaness of it all. The process of creating the thing is where the real value is found. The process of making something with my own hands is where the satisfaction lies. I have missed the forest for the trees when I believe the narrative that because I don’t make money from it, it is not worth doing.

I love being older and knowing (and continually learning) better now. Humans are meant to create. All of us. Not just a special few. 

I remember when I would first spend time in this stunningly beautiful land that I call home now. It was as if the natural beauty created by Nature herself, was taunting, challenging, calling for me to create something. My hands itched to be making something from nothing. 

I have worked with children in some capacity for my whole life. They pick up a paintbrush with authority. They dance with abandon. They sing with their whole hearts. And never once do they question their ability or their right to be doing the thing. When did I lose that? How do I reclaim that? How do I protect that creative confidence and impulse in the children I know and love? 

I pulled that abandoned quilt out and had a second look. That little voice stated the obvious: I had left this quilt halfway... I had walked away in frustration and defeat because of the perception of it not meeting some kind of perfectionist standards for quilting. My uneven stitches and squares, imperfectly sewn together, had resulted in a quilt that embarrassed me. So it was banished to the back of a closet never to see the light of day again… until it was time to move houses. 

When I was boxing up my previous home to move here, that half-made quilt almost did not make the cut for coming with us to our new home. When I came across it I considered placing it in the giveaway pile but something in my heart stopped me—too much time had been invested in this thing. 

When I started creating the quilt a decade ago, we were tight on funds because our business needed to find a new commercial space and so we were watching our pennies closely. The fabric was mostly sourced from second-hand men’s shirts I found at a thrift store. I deconstructed the shirts and repurposed the fabric. So much time. So much effort. I could not throw it away or give it away. So the unliked, half-made handmade quilt was reluctantly placed into the moving boxes labeled “Sewing Stuff.”

I began working on it again after my closet-cleaning episode brought it back to my attention. As I stitched it together these past days, I remembered my precious Nana. She made quilts too. And not the perfect kind. She made improvisational quilts. One had my name stitched on it and lived on my bed throughout my childhood. I loved that quilt. I am so sad that it has been lost through the decades. What I would do to sleep under it once again and have her handmade creation keep me warm…

Every so often as I was sleeping under it or using it for fort-building with friends I would get a prick from a stick pin left behind in the quilt. Pins were often mistakenly left in sewing projects by my Nana who could not see so well. We all knew to be cautious whenever she would make us something from her sewing machine because for sure there would be forgotten pins somewhere.

Pulling this quilt out and working on it has brought so many beautiful insights and much satisfaction. I feel connected to my Nana, an ancestor now, who made many blankets and other creative things for her family while she was alive. 

She loved making things with her hands. I am sure this is why I do too. I felt connected to her as I remembered, with gratitude, the hours I watched her sewing as a kid. My job was to thread the needle of her machine as needed because her eyes were not able to see well enough for that particular task. I felt super important each time I did it for her. 

It is deeply satisfying to not leave this quilt halfway. I am seeing it through to completion. And with an extra decade of living that I have done since I began the quilt, I have now come to love the imperfectness of it. It proves its handmade origins. Each uneven stitch and uneven edge is what gives it its value, its essence. A human made this. I have a teacher* who offers a class called, A Quilt is Something Human. And that it is. 

There is an energetic relief and joy at completing a project that had been long abandoned. I have created space by completing this quilt. Energetically, I can move on to other projects. This one has been given the attention it is due. Commitment. Completion. Closure. Reflection.

It has inspired me to keep going. To keep making. To keep creating. I can feel these unhelpful beliefs around my creativity and art-making dying and I am celebrating that death. 

I look around my home right now. Art journal with pastels on the coffee table. Sewing machine on the kitchen table. Canvas on the floor. It looks like a studio gone wild in here. 

That makes my heart happy and my itching hands are soothed.

This past Spring Equinox, I made some intentions about what I wanted to prioritize in my life this season. As I write this, I am reminded to not leave my intentions halfway either. So many connections. This quilt has become a teacher. Every time I use now, I am reminded to see things through to the other side.

Go make some art! 

*Cody Cooke-Parrot is the teacher (amazing teacher — go take a class with them)