Woolful and a repost about imperfection!

So rather than today's I Made This, I have some news, and a repost!

The news is that I was lucky enough to chat with Ashley Yousling of Woolful for her podcast recently and it went up yesterday! You can listen to it here. I'm featured alongside the lovely Karen from Fringe Association, whose blog I featured way back in the very early days of this blog. Fringe is one of my favourite blogs, always informative and inspiring. And Ashley's podcast is wonderful. If you haven't heard it yet you can get them all from iTunes or from her blog. I feel really lucky to be included in such fine company!

Karen on the left and me on the right.

The repost today is of a post that was originally called Perfection in Imperfection, and I wanted to highlight it because I thought it went along well with the podcast. I Made This will be back next week but in a way this repost is really an old version of I Made This from me (I kicked off the series with this post). There are so many more of you reading now than there were a year and a half ago, so many of you may not have seen it.  

This quilt is one of the things that I am most proud of, and not because it is perfect. Rather it is because of all I learned and also because I love it. Everytime I see it it makes me happy and reminds me that I am able to create stuff I love with really simple techniques.

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So I finished a single bed quilt - it's the sample for the Anatomy of a Quilt class we were running - and after that will live out it's life on my spare bed. It's not perfect. Nor is it what I hoped or thought it would be when I started. But I really really love it!

Which has lead to a very photo heavy post!! Apologies. 

I had this idea when I started it. I had some gorgeous linen from Tessuti* - over two metres of it in fact. It is such a simple beautiful pattern that I didn't want to cut it up - I reckon it would have gone against the laws of nature.

*If you are ever looking for gorgeous linen then check out Tessuti - just stunning!! 

So a whole cloth quilt was the only way forward. I wanted super simple but without too much quilting as I still wanted the linen to be able to move and wrinkle. Nothing better than wrinkled linen. The spare room it was made for is a simple space so i wanted something that would fit. 

I had been practicing my hand quilting by making a few baby quilts for my smallest girl child and I really wanted to try something bigger. That said I didn't have time (and maybe not the courage yet?)  to handquilt the whole thing. So what to do. I haven't come across many quilts that use handquilting and machine quilting in the one quilt but I thought I would give it a try. My idea was some feature quilting in the middle and then machine quilting in off-white around it, so you would see the impression of the quilting lines but they would be played down. I used organic cotton batting which meant I could leave the quilting lines to about 5/6inches apart. Having the quilting lines so far apart meant I got to keep my favourite linen characteristic - wrinkles!!

There are so many issues with this quilt - which is going to make it a great teaching piece - sooo many issues....

But I really want to focus on how much I love it. The fact that it doesn't need to be perfect to be perfect. That it can be beautiful without being perfect. The fact that I learnt so many many things while making it. Things that I actually already knew in theory but I now have tangible proof of. Gotta love some in-your-face mistakes to help you really learn.

It was also a good reminder that even though your initial idea might not work - this looks nothing like what I planned - it can turn out even better. 

Have you had mistakes that turn out better than the original idea?? 

Felicia

Stash Less - I may have figured out the key!

The series where we talk about having a thoughtful stash.

Stash less has been a learning process for me. With practice, and with putting my ideas out there online, I've been able to more clearly understand my own behaviour and triggers around stashing. Over the last week or so, I've had a really big realisation; for me, the key to stashing less is actually a combination of having a budget, and having a plan. And not for the reasons I thought. 

I thought that the budget was a way to control my spending a bit, and my making list was helping me be a better planner. I was planning to ensure I was making the things I really wanted to make and to help me not be so caught up in my crafty whims. But what I've found is that the combination of the two helps to eliminate many of the reasons why I stash.  

Allow me to explain. My Making List 2015 is only a few weeks old, but it changed things for me. The first thing it changed was that I am not making so many random things. I did make some socks* but other than that everything I'm making are the things I should be making. This is unheard of. Often when I get the urge to start something, rather than starting something that needed to be made, I go blank about what to make and start something totally random. Then I feel pressure to finish the aforementioned random thing. Pressure that keeps me away from the things I really want to be making. 

Having made my making list I can see my plans are slightly unrealistic. That is a bucketload of knitting for a person who knits in life's gaps. But knowing that my expectations are probably unrealistic is kinda good. It means that I've gained some drive to stay focused, while being aware it probably won't all happen. I want to reiterate that the list is actually a list of things that I really want to make. These are all the things that I often postpone because I am crafting to my whims. There is still time for whims but by having the list I am making things that will be much more satisfying to me. 

I stated in the list post that writing the list clarified that I have all the materials I need in my stash. Before I wrote the list I was buying materials "just in case I have time" or "because I really want to make X on a whim". This type of purchasing  now makes no sense as I really just don't have time for them. Win! Big win!!

This picture is a combination of a FOMA purchase, using stash that I was saving for "the perfect project" and making from the list!

So I've got rid of many of my reasons for purchasing. I'm not buying for time poverty reasons (to have things just-in-case I get the time) or for perfection (to have the perfect materials) as I know I already have the materials I need for the list. I'm not buying for having the pretty as I can see I have no use for it anytime soon. So the only reason I would be buying for stash would be for fear of missing out (FOMA) - and for me there are only a couple things I worry about missing out on - Nani Iro or Liberty releasing a new seasonal collection - and I'm trying not to wander internet shops so I am less likely to be tempted.

Oh my goodness! The joy of being free; free from desire and free from want!

Now I've heard a few rumblings from a few folks, in comments and whatnot, that a budget isn't for them. That they are the kinds of people that a budget wouldn't work for, that they like their freedom too much. And I'm with you. I love freedom! I love the idea that I get to choose and no one is stopping me. But the thing about stash less is that it is ME that wants to change my behaviour. So I'm the one creating the rules and wanting to put the brakes on. I've already talked about the freedom that has come from having the list, but then you add a budget, and the freedom only increases.

I set my budget at a level that meant there was some room for joyful purchasing, and I said I wasn't going to be super strict. I could still buy a grownup sweaters worth of yarn for myself if I wanted to, but as I can see I don't have time to knit anything for me that requires new yarn, I have extra cash to play with. I would really really like to stick to the budget and that creates opportunity cost; if I buy one thing I can't buy another. Knowing what I have to purchase for the list means that I am aware that I only have about $200 left for the year as a discretionary fund. Yes I may spend more than that. But I want to be really really careful to not overspend just to own the pretty or FOMA. I really want to put thought into it.

And here is the key….without the budget I could justify many many things for FOMA. And for owning the pretty. With a budget I have to make a choice with which kind of pretty I want the most. I need to really really want it for it to fit into the $200. $200 means maybe two purchases this year. And I want them to be for something truly special. I love that it has come to this. That this will be when I make a purchase!

The budget and my making list combined have made the process of stashing less feel like freedom rather than restriction. Freedom I have given myself. Such a useful thing to figure out.

Useful ideas, or not for you? Have they changed what you think about budgets? Or lists for that matter?

Felicia x

Click the link for other posts in the Stash Less series.

*Yes I did make socks. Totally random thing to make as it is the middle of summer here. But they are pretty! And make me happy so play on I say!

PS. There is another aspect of freedom that has arisen from not stashing. In the past I would buy because I wanted to own the pretty, but then it was like a big chain around my neck. I would see a pattern that I really wanted to make and more often than not I didn't have what I wanted to use in stash. Because I had purchased the pretty already I would feel pressure to use it and not be able to follow my creative whims. A big bummer and a clear case where the stashing itself is the restriction.

Inspired or discouraged?

So we have talked about it in passing, over numerous posts, in the last year or two. About the ability for the things we see on the internet, instagram and pinterest to be encouraging and inspiring versus sometimes being deflating and discouraging. And I guess I just wanted to ask directly for your experiences and how this affects your making. Do you get affected by it, or does what you see just inspire you to try new things? Does it affect what you then post pictures of? 

I created the retreat (and this space) to start to chat about people's fears and head stuff (including my own!) around craft. To that end I really want this space to be encouraging rather than discouraging. I started I Made This as part of that process and often talk about my many mistakes on the path to learning my craft. I'm truly hopeful that I have hit the mark, making you feel more capable and able to try and tackle things that you think are a bit above your current skill set. Or even just to feel you can make something you think is beautiful with the skills that you already have.

But maybe I haven't…?

One area I do struggle with this, is instagram. As hard as I try to post my everyday making, it is still the pretty 40sq cm of the making I end up posting, rather than the rest of the super messy sewing room. I think I end up using instagram more as a place for the pretty I can see, in the midst of the chaos. Like an online visual inspiration diary to look back on when I'm feeling overwhelmed by the constant mess.* I think I use it now as a way to feel like I have achieved something (other than tidying up tiny bits of paper and toy animals) in my day. As in "look I made a sock!". I'm not just a washer of dishes. I am a sock maker…..hmmm. 

The only tidy 40sq cm in my sewing room this morning. It made me happy in an isn't-it-ironic kinda way because the photo looked so calm. And in that tiny 40cm and that tiny moment there was a bit of calm. 

Love to hear your thoughts on this one. What do you see or read that encourages you and inspires you? What deflates you? Does your making change based on what you see?

Felicia x

*Why are small humans so messy!

PS. I mentioned on Friday that I was going to post a knitting tip post today, but it hasn't happened - apologies! While I was searching for a good youtube link to link to, I couldn't find what I was looking for. So I did an impromptu video tonight (when I should have been making dinner for the kids - jaffles anyone?) to go with the post but have now got a little stuck trying to upload it to my new youtube account. So it will have to wait until Friday - apologies.

I Made This - Martine Lynch

I Made This is a weekly blog series that features makers from around the world and aims to talk about the things we are proud of; of the objects we make that have meaning to us and the journey we take to make them.

I ended last year with an I Made This from my good friend Jenn, and I am going to start the year with another good friend of mine Martine. And there is a reason why I want to share their stories. Both of them are newbie crafters and have only been making for the last two years. Which is part of why I find them so inspiring. Neither of them has years of crafty experience under their belts and so they totally have the newfound joy of making for themselves. They are finding their feet, sorting through their stuff and finding their confidence. It is a total privilege to watch. They show that you can be at the start of your crafty life AND make amazingly beautiful stuff that makes your heart sing.  

Martine on the road trip from Melbourne to Darwin - 6am in Kings Canyon. 

It turns out that my first knitted sweater, coincidentally my first knitted garment for my boy, feels amazingly special. He is SO chuffed, and I'm chuffed for him, and for me.

Knitting it was a twelve month marathon in the making. Casting on occurred while on a beach holiday last year, and I happened to bind off and sew in the ends sitting at the same table, twelve months later. It's kind of ridiculous but the learning has been incredible. 

Before I talk more about the sweater I want to give a little backdrop to my story, and let you into my thinking. I started knitting two short years ago with the loving encouragement of our dear friend Felicia. For a good ten months I sat in awe of her ability to make such beautiful things. It is only through her "of course you can do it" motto, that pushed me from knitting kilometers of garter stitch into knitting garments that I like, and that my children would wear. I now have made several cardigans for my two girls, starting off with easier capped sleeves, progressing to full sleeves and then to lace. Totally fun when you have a 'master' at your finger tips and a small community of makers in your mix.  Learning craft together, and benefiting from this new found love, as our hands make. For the first time in years, I have felt dizzy excitement over something that I created. Sounds kinda sad? It's not. I have a lot to be grateful for in my world, but this feeling is different. Even though so far the final products are worn by others, everything about the making is for me, Martine. It's not about the role of mother, social worker, or wife. Just, ME! 

Back to the sweater. This project is different to the cardigans for a few reasons. The knitting was kick-started on a Thelma and Louise style car trip from Melbourne to Darwin, where I got to be me for the first time since having kids, and then came with me on our family holiday in Darwin. Not long after that trip, my trusted master went on a lengthy family sojourn for six months and I had to work the tricky bits out alone. I had to sit with how I process things and work out ways of breaking through my expectations, my fear of making mistakes, my frustration in still being a learner, procrastination...ugh. 

So, here's what happened. I got stuck when I had to start the shoulders. What the hell was I supposed to do with those floppy ends? How was I to sew them down to create create arm holes and an envelope neck? The designer assumed I knew. My first strategy was to put the project down and distract myself with making two cardigans. My poor boy, he was so understanding, he knew I was stuck. I then got sick of not knowing and googled everything I could, read what felt like hundreds of blog posts etc. Then I had that light bulb moment, when I realised that I had to let go of the fear, and actually just give it go. So - lesson 1- often it doesn't make sense until you are doing it. Big. Then I read the pattern again and she did tell me how to do it.  I just wasn't ready to trust that I could do it. Very big moment.

From here I was OK. I just worked through each challenge. I did the first armhole three times. I did the whole arm twice because I somehow lost a ball of yarn and had to rethink colours. I redid the short rows on the second sleeve.

Then one final stumble - I started beating myself up over the time. "By the time I finish it will be summer" and the realisation that I have worked through so much and "it might not even fit him by winter". The filthy mood this created slowed the jumper down again. l processed these thoughts quietly and then woke up one morning early in December and decided I would finish it regardless  - "if it doesn't fit, I'm pulling it". BANG. Liberating - lesson 2 - I know how to do it now so why not. Feelings of exhilaration came once I got over this hurdle, because it meant completion.  

Who would have thought that in making stuff you get to know yourself better?

The good news is it does fit, and even has some room for growth. His comment was "mum, I really love it! I can't believe how nice it is."

The chosen pattern, is 'Softly (you)' by Solenn Couix-Loarer, the yarn is Rowan Felted Tweed DK in Clay for the main body and Seafarer for the stripes and sleeves.

Craft as a manifestation of love and loss.

Setting the scene: I wanted to write the post as I feel that this must be a somewhat common experience for us as makers, and wanted to share mine; the experience of crafting through grief. I've thought about whether I should post this for some time, and want to start by saying that I am in a good place with it - I wouldn't be posting about it if I wasn't. x

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How to begin. I guess this story begins when we lost our third baby during the pregnancy. Until that day I had never experienced the heart crunching weight of grief. 

I remember the day we found out that there was something really wrong with her. I couldn't speak, I couldn't think. I went to a cafe I knew a little and sat there, silent tears flowing for many hours. I guess I was looking for solitude, but didn't want to feel alone. I don't think I really looked up. I don't remember looking up anyway. Some wonderful woman who worked there didn't ask me a thing. She brought me coffee, water and later some lunch. I have no idea who she is but I'm incredibly grateful to her for her care that day. I was fully focused on trying to remember how to breathe. 

That day passed as did a few more. We did all the medical things we needed to do and I went to see a counsellor. I told her that I had already brought the yarn for her blanket. That I had made my first two the same baby blanket and I had already started hers. The fact the yarn was sitting there really bugged me. It annoyed me, made me really angry. The counsellor kindly suggested that maybe that was something to explore…. She suggested that as part of the process, I could finish knitting it. I could use it as time to actually feel all the things I needed to feel but didn't want to sit with. Wise woman that she is, she persisted when I told her it was a stupid idea. 

I came to it slowly. Over the next few months I picked it up now and then. I picked it up when it annoyed me, or when I felt sad. Sometimes I knitted only a few stitches before tossing it aside. Other times I could really sit with it. Stitch after stitch, yarn running between my fingers, making something for her. The her I wouldn't get to meet. 

I'm not sure how far I got - it was 5ply and I wasn't speed knitting - but one day I pulled it out. I don't really even remember doing it. I remember not wanting it on the needles anymore. I balled it up and again the wool sat there for a bit. Now it was in a box. With my hospital tag and her scan. I saw it when I opened my wool cupboard door but I didn't touch it for a while. Till one day I picked it up again. I decided I couldn't make her a blanket she wasn't going to use, like my other kids, because she wasn't like my other kids. I wasn't going to get to meet her. But I did want to make her something. Something special. So I started to knit her a cardigan. Somehow it felt more manageable. I started again but somehow, at some point, I couldn't keep knitting. I put her half finished cardy and all the balls of unused wool in her box and that felt enough. Eventually I moved the box out of the wool cupboard, and there it stays. There is something about the half finishedness of it that fits.  

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The following year someone I loved, lost someone they loved, suddenly and unexpectedly. A shocking death that left behind a family and two very small kids. At the funeral I was six months pregnant with our smallest kid and I could not stop my tears. I remember feeling embarrassed because I didn't know them that well, but my tears were for my friend and those small people and in retrospect, they were for the baby I lost. Again I couldn't speak.

I remember driving home from the funeral feeling an overwhelming urge to do something for my friend, but I knew I'd lost my voice. I remember changing direction and stopping off at the wool shop. As I'm writing this it almost feels trite. How could wool be helpful? But it was all I could think to do. I could make her something.  

I chose some buttery alpaca that I knew she would love and would suit her olivey skin. She had beautiful skin. She often wore scarves and loved yellow. And I knitted. I was often in tears as I knitted but that was a good thing. It was a form of meditation on her loss and the love I had for her. And my loss. I felt like I couldn't help her at the time. I was too caught up in my own grief that all I could do was cry. But I could knit. It gave me a place and a space to put all I was feeling into something useful. Stitch by stitch. The feeling of the yarn in my fingers was comforting. 

I sent it to her a few weeks later and I really hope she understood what it meant. 

She died a few years later after a short illness. Part of how she prepared herself, in the months leading up to her death, was to sort out her possessions. She left me all her craft; tatting, fabric, scissors, thread. All sorts of things. They came to me in a box with a label on the top; my name in her beautiful handwriting. I love that she did this, that she chose me. Now, included in many things I make, is some little thing that came from her. Lace on a birthday dress, buttons on a cardy. 
 

For me, making became part of the process of loss. The object created holding my memories, my intention and love. The rhythm of the process providing space to acknowledge my grief, and a place to sit with it.

I'm sure many of you have used craft in similar ways. 

Felicia x