Thursday, 8 March 2007
Who finds crocheting exciting?
This morning I opened and rummaged through several boxes to find one of the pieces that I’d been working on before I moved. Of course it was in the last box and before I opened that one I had moments of sweaty panic that I’d lost the piece and some others packed in the same box. But here they are, all wrapped carefully in layers of apricot-pink tissue paper… Funny, it’s only a plastic case and although I knew exactly what it contained it felt almost like opening an old trunk brought down from some grandmother’s attic, promising faded lacy dresses and such like. This makes me think of my mother’s mother, the grandmother I never knew as she died when my mom was still a toddler, and it’s good to think of her here as I was thrilled to learn a while ago that she had been a needlework teacher at a primary school. A link to her, tenuous, yes, but I like it. I hated crocheting and sewing at school, my small sweaty fingers working on something incongruous like oven gloves or an apron. And now I’m crocheting away and finding it exciting. I guess part of the excitement comes from exactly that, crocheting being something so quaint and lame/tame and domesticised, but it can be turned into something else, opening up in all kinds of directions. Isn’t this wonderful about making art, you can take something and change it a little bit and create a piece that holds the old and something else, something new, unexpected.