You remember my hopeful little boatman?
Last time I wrote about this project, I was feeling pretty confident that I’d finish it in a few days. And I might have, too. But then I took a wrong turning.
The hat.
As you can see, I came up with the notion of filling it with a couched lattice – mostly because I’d never done one and I wanted to try. But then it turned out that I really didn’t like the effect. (Loved making the lattice – will definitely use it again some time – but it was just wrong here.)
NOT that I admitted this at first. No, no. Instead, I swung into what I’m realising is a fairly typical pattern for me:
- Tell yourself how beautiful the thing looks. Smile when you see it. Run your finger over the stitching, and congratulate yourself for having made such a brilliant choice. Look forward to finding time to work on the project – any day, now. Really.
- Stop making any progress on the project, because keeping up the pretence of Step 1 takes so much energy that thinking about it at all is too frustrating. (Anyway, it turns out you’re too busy, and everything else seems more urgent.) Engage finely honed avoidance functions, and leave the project resoundingly alone.
- Start feeling guilty about lack of progress. Attack self for laziness, lack of commitment, incompetence. Berate self for inability to just get on with it. Contemplate one’s essential inadequacy (of which this is merely the latest node in a burgeoning network of proof). Decide one was mad to think one wanted to do more embroidery – not at all – knitting, now, that’s where it’s at.
- Knit lots.
- Realise, finally, that you actually kind of hate the lattice.
- Resolve to remove the lattice. Feel the sweet relief!
- Remain inert for approximately three further weeks. (I’m not entirely sure why this step has to be in here, but apparently it does.)
- Remove the lattice.
Woohoo!
(I attacked it with scissors and tweezers, then rubbed sticky tape over the fabric to catch the fuzz. It now looks like the photo at the top of this post.)
It’s possible that I am overly attached to the idea of myself as a “good” designer/embroiderer. You know, one who never makes mistakes.
My inner perfectionist is a consummate professional, you see, and takes her job very seriously. Her job: to protect me from suffering the consequences of a mistake, which she does by stalling my creative progress whenever we drift into uncharted territory – such as when I’m making something up as I go along.
(I’ve just realised: this, of course, is why drafting a piece of fiction and declaring it finished are both so much harder for me than editing my drafts. Hmmm.)
Meanwhile, my job is to try and fan the creative sparks that come my way, and build them into little flames – or, preferably, roaring conflagrations.
It’s a delicate dance.
It’s possible that I am overly attached to the idea of myself as a “good” designer/embroiderer. You know, one who never makes mistakes.
Oh, I know that trap. Deadly, and all the more so for being so terribly seductive. Advice from my therapist: detach my self-concept from whatever mistake or potential mistake it is I’m getting all twisted up over. I have a mantra which I’ve been trying: “I am not my rightness. It’s okay to get things wrong.” Sometimes, it even works, heh…
Heh, we were talking about that very thing today, and yesterday, here in this house. Not the couched lattice, the thought process. When you get stuff right, it’s because you are naturally good at stuff. When it goes wrong, it’s not because you’re naturally bad at it, it’s because you didn’t try hard enough. But trying hard means you’re not naturally good at stuff, as does making mistakes. But then when you get it right, it’s not because you tried hard or fixed errors, but because you are naturally good at stuff…
Ailbhe onto something. That does indeed look like the thought process. Having it laid out like that might make it easier to short circuit before several weeks go by. One can only hope ;-p
Step 7 also looks suspiciously like the problem of plastic boxes of moldy food in the fridge. I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to accept the fact that I’m not a big fan of leftovers. I’d rather try harder to cook the amount we might actually eat. But if there are leftovers, even tiny amounts that aren’t really enough for a meal, my partner insists on putting them in a box in the fridge. Weeks later, I start searching through the accumulated plastic boxes and throwing out moldy food.
It seems that it is unacceptable (the monsters might be making this decision) to throw out/compost/give-to-pig Perfectly Good Food. So it goes in a box in the fridge. Once it is moldy (even a bit moldy) the ban on giving it to the pig (substitute whatever happens to it in your house) seems to lift.
I’d like to cut out the middle man, personally, but it is proving incredibly difficult.
To return to the embroidery, and step 7, maybe one option is to gain some acceptance that time is necessary to move from a gut feeling that this isn’t right to the ability to physically rip it out. Knitting is worthwhile interim activity (as would be working on a different embroidery project). A rotation of projects might be all that is needed.
Fabulous example of pattern mapping! Mapping my patterns is kind of hard for me, as I often have trouble identifying their components, so seeing examples such as this one is incredibly useful. Thank you, Léan, for sharing it!
I hate undoing things. Sometimes I can adapt and it works out well.
@Katherine: Yes, yes, yes, great mantra. I must adopt it, because my rightness often seems pretty adamant that it’s me
@Ailbhe: Oh, boy, yes. I grew up with the Doctrine of Effortlessness, and it plagues me.
@JoVE: Ha! Cut out the middle man, indeed! Yes, Perfectly Good Food must not be wasted. I have it about best-before dates. For instance, if we have dips, jams, preserves, tins of stuff, etc. that nobody likes and will never be eaten, I still can’t get rid of them until the best before date has passed – after which they’re instantly fair game, which is completely illogical.
@Josiane: Happy to be of service
@Mollydot: I’m actually fine about undoing things, once I overcome the resistance. Wait, that sounds circular. What I mean is that it isn’t the thought of “undoing my work”, as such, that stops me. I’ll cheerfully frog knitting if it’s not going right, for instance.