Project D, § 2: Grueling pace

That one late night came back for an encore the second night in a row, but progress continued to be made.


I understand why I was working so late. It wasn't just because of the deadline of the art show approaching, but it was also my getting into the flow of the production of the project and my desire to see where it would take me. I kept asking, "What's next? What's next?" despite my efforts to maintain my desires for where and how I wanted the project to end.






While I sewed, I realized the tension of the thread changed mid-stitch. Was it the fabric choice? Needle type? What?! It became very frustrating--I was ready to keep going but the tools of the trade were rebelling! I fiddled with the tension dials and let out some choice words... so involved... but it was something I needed to get used to.

The scrap thread pile continued to grow...


The hands came together...


And another needle broke.

AND, as you can see in the above image, my zigzag stitch decided to drop the right-hand stitch quite often. As I was trying to work through the issue on scrap fabric, the needle broke. What a gross noise.
CHUNK CHUNK CHUNK

I decided to choose practicality over formality and go with the single stitch for the last few hands, since the zigzag stitches were no longer forming. Eventually, on the second-to-last hand, the single stitch began to not catch. The bobbin was full, the needle was sharp, and the stitches no longer caught.

Did I run my machine into the ground? In the end, I did what my family members before me had done in regards to money, possessions, and food: you make do with what you have.

I broke out the glue gun.

Project D, § 1: A sewing project

While I was home with my parents for the auctioning of my grandpa's possessions, I asked my mom to help me figure out my sewing machine. I received him almost two years ago and just had trouble getting the hang of how to work it, and in my frustration just let it sit. While Mom helped me through my learning curve, she gave me some buttons and fabric she had in her sewing kit from the 70's and 80's that she knew she wasn't going to use again.

My project already had family in mind, so my mom's contributions significantly helped this project's progress; the more family I could include, the better.

I used fabric from my late great aunt (cut from clothes from the 60's-70's) to make some human forms:


My dad was able to buy a window frame at the auction (it was just leaning up against the house)--score one for Grandpa... and as a background, Mom's square of fabric is used:


Throughout the process of sewing, threading and re-threading the machine became second-nature :)


Slowly but surely it began to come together.


...but it took a long time. Before I knew it I was working on the project for seven hours straight (beginning at 8pm or so, only to look up hours later and find a clock that read 4am).

Snags... no pun intended:
Broken needle



This could be caused by various things, yet it was often trial and error to figure out the exact cause, and often involved re-threading the machine a few more times...

Coming together!


* * * * *

My thoughts on this project seem to revolve around still finding the balance between family and school life. Lately I've felt the need to mend relationships between others, mend my own feelings, and still find comfort. Working with the fabric has so far provided a means for me to feel more connected with family while focusing on school (i.e. the images in the project are school-related).

HOW TO: Feel Miserable as an Artist

Originally posted by Keri Smith on her blog, Wish Jar: Explorations of the Familiar


YES!!! Although my ENFJness leads me to guilty-as-charged on #10 quite often still.

Project C, § 1: A New Step

Lately my self outline has drifted... and slowed down... substantially. A new project concerning secrets and the shadow has wiggled its way into my mind.

I've been reflecting on what all makes us who and what we are, including experiences, family roots/background, the people we meet, places we go, lessons learned, and secrets kept. May initially appear an elementary thought process, but in reflection of this brief list I found that "lessons learned" stuck out to me. Perhaps this because it's something a few of my clients and I have been talking about in sessions--turning mistakes into lessons learned. Not all of my secrets are mistakes; only a small fraction to me might be considered as such, but the majority that I used to call mistakes have turned into...you got it...lessons.

An image and poem began to materialize in my thoughts regarding secrets and all I had learned before, which resulted in quick painting and praying for my gallery-hanging-dreams to come true (i.e. hang a canvas from the ceiling facing down... you look up and see it. There's more to it than that but if it can be displayed at the show, you'll just find out there).




I forgot to document whilst speed painting.





Alvin watched from afar.

Still evolving...

Project B, § 5: There's more...

So, I f i n a l l y added a few bits to the legs of my outline.



What I had to say seemed to fit there: they both regarded (not) going places.

At our last documentation day, Monica asked me what a secret was, since it often is seen as being about shame. Her question got me thinking about why I keep secrets, and whether secrets mean that no one--aside from yourself--knows them, or if they are secrets to everyone except for a small number of folks.

This then brought me back to my initial question in my research about secrets, or our "darker side": In the process of encountering our shadow/secrets, when is it that we move on? Is it before we put it out in the open? Is it after we tell others, or does it take even longer? Many might say that by telling other people, it's better because you might find others that share your trouble or have a larger support group.

Through this process *NEWS FLASH* I have found that, for myself, it may depend on the secret. Some of them, my husband doesn't know yet but I intend to tell him soon (i.e. next week when he's back in town). Some of the secrets on my outline I told him before I wrote them down, or the day after, but I was still coming to terms with them. Does that mean they're still a secret, since he knows? To me: yes, because there are reasons I don't tell other people about them.

Is this a social thing?
Is this an emotional thing?

These questions remind me of our clients and the counseling relationship, and relationships in general: People tell us things the way they do for a reason, and there is a reason that some things are shared and some things are not.