Bliss

'I’m sitting here on my floor, in my chaos, and feel happy, with a niggling anxiety at the back of my head that I shouldn’t feel happy, that I’m making do, that I’m content with trade-offs and little things when I should be striving for something big and substantial, that I should be making a mark on the world, in the world, and here I am, sitting on the floor, feeling happy, looking at a little piece of artwork I’ve finished, it just needed a tiny bit of work, a flourish really, a squiggle, but I needed to be awake and aware for that and get it just right, and now it’s a small hairy dress on a small self-made (and it shows) coat hanger, and I’m looking for a way to put it up properly here, and my living room is in chaos, hairs everywhere around me on the floor - reddish, blondish, brownish, grey, and materials, papers, pens, sewing needles and - newly acquired: giant spearlike knitting needles (a substantial part of my happiness) and big elderly-spinster-like lumpy chrochet needles (part of it too), and I chose them myself during a delicious if stressful and very tiring outing to town. I came back clutching my little John Lewis paperbag, filled with these instruments of pleasure, which I bought myself and brought home myself and haven’t been able to use yet, but hope to employ very soon, as soon as my arms feel strong enough really, and I will finally embark, yes it feels that big, embark on making a work that has been on my mind for years, which I have watched (lying down) taking form in my head and going through various practical and not-so-practical phantom shapes and now finally I think I’ve found a way of actually making it and making it work too, my big hairy dress. That is happiness too.'
I found this on my computer today, had forgotten I'd written it last winter. Such bliss. The picture shows what I started out with when I got into crocheting, tiny weightless hairy dresses that fit into the palm of my hand, made when I could hardly lift my arms. The vase was made by my friend Beatriz Araiza.