Today I Rediscovered...

4.19.13   Today I rediscovered the wonder of Handmade.

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Last week, I was in Desperate need of some time off. Some time with no commitments, no appointments, most of all, no schedule. I have a very unhealthy relationship with the clock. As its tiny hands tick away the minutes and the hours, I feel more and more pressure each time I see its little face.  It fuels my feelings of inadequacy and makes me feel that I can never keep up. So some days, I boycott all time keeping devices. I've even gone so far as to put a sticky note over my computer clock so I can be in the moment, whichever moment that may be.

Anyhoo, on this particular day, I decided to while away some delicious free time at a local boutique/gallery. (by wonderful coincidence, it happened to be cold and rainy. All the better to be alone with my musings...) They sell only handmade items, from jewelry to greeting cards to clothing, etc. They also maintain a rotating art gallery in the back of their space. I can't say the art is ever "my" style but I can say it is always eclectic, unique and a great chance to expand my mind, by peering into the minds of others.

I won't divulge all the details of my time there (after all, they were my moments and my musings), but I do want to share one very important thing. As I wandered through that little space, I rediscovered the wonder of the handmade....As I turned over each item and took time to soak up the intricacies of its construction, I was just amazed at the singularity that is The Individual. No matter how simple the work of art may seem, I know that, even presented with the same raw materials and tools, I would never have decided upon quite the same use of them as did the Artisan whose work I'm holding. And that fascinates me.

When I interact with something handmade, I feel very linked with the Artist. I can sense the time that went into it, I can see the wheels turning in their mind as they bring something entirely new and unique into being, and I feel a real sense of awe at being allowed to share in the life of their brain-child.

I left that little space with my sensibilities refreshed and a little spring in my step, hoping I could continue to share my vision with the world, along with a generous helping of Wonder...

Shame, Paradigms + Reality Checks

It's time to tell a secret of mine. It's one I think a lot of you will relate to.

Early into this adventure, my husband started telling me I should share my actual work processes with my readers. Meaning photos, and even scarier: Videos. Why was this scary? To put it bluntly: I was ashamed.  I didn't feel like a real designer. I didn't feel worthy. I was ashamed of my little workspace, with its undecorated beige walls and stained carpet. I thought, I'm just a nobody. A pretender. A wanna be. I was sure real designers were organized and worked surrounded by beauty and inspiration. All the photos of my fellow Etsy-ers only reinforced my assumption. And my shame.

I couldn't let the world see where I worked. I couldn't let them see me in mismatched pajamas and a messy bun, working on my most basic-of-the-basics sewing machine. I couldn't let them see......Me. I wasn't there yet. I wasn't successful. I wasn't "real". I was just some grown-up kid who somehow dared to dream she could deceive people into thinking she had something.

Then something happened that shifted my paradigm.

My husband (supportive and devoted fan that he is) landed me a "gig", if you will. A meeting with a "real" professional: a fashion consultant and former owner of multiple boutiques. She was getting ready to launch an online boutique and, after interacting with some samples of my work, wanted to carry my products. This had to be real. She hadn't just seen pictures of my work; she had seen the real deal and still wanted them. I was in shock.  And nervous as...well, you get the idea. Anyway...

The meeting went well. We decided on dates. We signed a contract. And then I worked my butt off for the next several weeks, frantically trying to produce something that would measure up. (another story on that later) So the big day came. Time to deliver the goods. It was a strange feeling, I'll tell you.  All of my ideas, my sketches, my color choices, all of my cuts, all of my stitches, all my stress, all the work of my heart and soul were packed up into just 2 Rubbermaid containers. And now I had to show them to almost perfect strangers.

I called Ms. Professional's assistant and was told she hadn't made it into the office yet, but to go ahead and bring my stuff over. I was so nervous on the ride over (you know the kind where you're trying to keep it under control, but you feel nauseated and just all around on edge?). I could see it all in my mind: the office complex, the glamorous decor, the desks, the "professionals". Who was I to be going there? To be pretending I was some kind of "designer"? What the heck was I doing??

Nerves or not, I couldn't back out now. I had signed a contract, I had spent months working, and most of all my husband was in the driver's seat. Literally. I couldn't have turned the car around or gotten "lost" no matter how much I may have wanted to. I was just the passenger. And he wasn't going to let me off that easy.

So we followed the GPS into an unfamiliar part of town. Made a left turn off of the main road, onto a lonely tree-lined street. And pulled up to a house that looked.....Just. Like. Mine.  

-blinking in disbelief-

Seriously.

The office, which I felt assured must be so glamorous, so official, so "real", turned out to be a tri-level home built in the 70s. The very same house I lived in across town. I couldn't believe my eyes. Going inside only further unraveled my faulty fantasies. There was wood paneling (classic 70s) and an inspirational message scrawled across a dry erase board. The only thing hanging on the walls, if my dazed memory serves me correctly.

I was so confused. Didn't she say she had an office? Didn't she have a successful career and multiple businesses under her belt? Where were all the accoutrements that told her she had "arrived".....?

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I left there that day minus the 2 Rubbermaid boxes I had come with. I left there with some great compliments on the quality and originality of my work.  But more importantly, I left there with a firmer grasp on reality. The reality that success is a process, not a place. The reality that I am "real" if, and only if, I take myself seriously and stop undermining my talents and my being.  And best of all...I left my shame sitting by the curb, where all refuse belongs.