After leaving teaching to stay home with my boys and give this whole creative business thing a go, I've answered lots of questions. Mostly to other moms who think I'm crazy to wake before the crack of dawn (and it probably is crazy...) to create and build this thing. Like why, as in why in the world would you choose this? Hobby? Misplaced dream? Desperation?
And you know, there are two answers. The first is easy. It's the drive instilled in me from a family of farmers & constructions workers to get up early and make things happen. Build it, grow it, work it.
But the second is a little more difficult. I only first uttered it to my best friend a few months ago. And once the words came out of my mouth I almost wanted to grab them and stuff them right back in. Embarrassing maybe, but soul baring definitely.
I make because I want to. I need to.
Making is my therapy.
It's my way of letting go & holding on. It's my own daily mini achievement, in a life early on where there were few. When I first learned to sew, it seemed like magic. Beyond the bungled stitches and mismatched seams, there it was - something that came from me. Like a little mark. A statement. And then, I gave it away and that felt even more incredible. And I went on, throughout high school and the surprise of college, making with fabric, wood, words... all because I needed to.
Taking these scraps and putting them together in a way where there was beauty & usefulness seemed to me like an awfully powerful metaphor for my life.