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Manifesto

July 18, 2007

I’ve recently come to a not so stunning realization.

 I love to make things.

Crafting makes me very very happy.

More than just knitting and crochet, I’m finding that I enjoy all sorts of making things practices. I learned to tat recently, I’m trying to learn to sew (I need some help to figure out the sewing maching, still), and I’ve been having a lot of fun recently decorating one of my crafting boxes with decoupage. It’s such simple, silly seeming stuff but it really brightens my day.

I’ve never really had a creative outlet. The title of this blog didn’t come out of nowhere. I was terrible in middle school art class. I can’t draw or sculpt. I can see what I want to express in my head, but my hands just won’t do it. This is upsetting to me since there really is quite a lot of art in my family’s history. My great grandfather was a pretty good painter, and we have several of his paintings up in our house.

But then there’s Nana. My mother’s mother. I remember when she and Pop would come to visit, she always had crochet with her. She taught me to make a chain, which (being 8 at the time) I promptly made long enough to wrap around the bottom floor of the house…I got in trouble with mom for that, but Nanny thought it was cute. She passed away before I could ever ask her to elaborate on that chain stitch, and as the years went by I found out that she was also an excellent sketch artist, scultpor, embroiderer, seamstress….Nana could do anything. I couldn’t even master the art of the stick figure.

Nana really dwarfs us all to this day. My mother is a wizard on the sewing maching, but she always brings up that she’s not as good as her mother. Same with my Aunts. I know I’m nowhere near as talented as she is either, but I can deal with it. This is something that makes me really happy. It’s an outlet. One I’ve never really had before.

If only they’d had a needlecraft unit in middle school…maybe then I wouldn’t have been such a miserable cuss during those years.

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