Handiwork
I made slipcovers for my doll house furniture when I was ten.
I had a nice matching set for the living room—a sofa,an arm chair, and an ottoman—all in a gray and pink floral pattern. I didn’tdislike the furniture, but on a rainy Saturday, I decided it was time to switchthings up a little bit, so I dug out some scrap material—navy blue—along withsome thread, a needle, and a pair of scissors from my mother’s sewing desk.
A few days later, my doll house family had a nice,newly reupholstered living room set.
I’ve always been a crafter. From the early days ofKindergarten macaroni ornaments, to making my own prom dress last year, I’vehad a knack for creating things. For drafting sketches, drawing plans, makingcalculations, gathering supplies, adding finishing touches. There is somethingso satisfying about holding something you, and you alone, have made—somethingthat was just an image in your mind until you set about to bring it intoexistence, to create something new, something different. I’m sure there arehundreds of doll furniture sets out there in that same gray and pink, but thereis only one with fitted (albeit with sloppy stitching) navy blue covers.
There’s a sense of pride there, however small.
I’ve been lucky to have the time, the energy, and theresources to be artistic, to craft things. My family has always encouraged myefforts whether I be sewing a Christmas gift or building a bookcase. As myprojects have evolved, I’ve come to realize that making things, useful orotherwise, is very much an important part of who I am.
It allows me to make use of my imagination,creativity, logic, and technical skills.
And it’s not just about making something for the sakeof making something. I feel a connection to my mother’s family, from a rural villagein Sweden, when I make candles. I feel a connection to my grandmother, whopassed away last year, when I use the thimble she gave me when I was thirteen.I feel resourceful when I use leftover wood scraps from our new barn to makecoasters for the coffee table. Crafting for me is not just a hobby, notsomething I do when I’m bored. It’s a way to use my environment, to discovertools, and shortcuts, and new ways of looking at things. It’s a chance for meto use my head and my hands to make something pretty, or practical, or fun.
I don’t plan on majoring in art, architecture, design,or anything remotely craft-based. I don’t want it to be my career. I think apart of me is worried that I’ll lose my love of making things if there’shomework involved, or if I have to rely on it for a paycheck. I want it to staya pastime, to stay a way for me to relax, enjoy myself, and cultivate a senseof independence. I’ll never stop being a crafty person—I’ll always have a boxof colored pencils, or a sewing kit, or a cordless drill on hand. I don’t knowwhere I’ll be in twenty years, or even ten. But I know wherever I am, whateverI’m doing, I will be the person I am because of that little girl, patientlysewing together tiny pieces of fabric on her bedroom floor: creating somethinggreat, something new, something entirely her own.
