An epic adventure starring a hapless curvy sewer, dangerous pointy needles, extra sharp scissors, a missing mojo and fabric. Lots and lots of fabric. WARNING: This post contains an image that organised sewers may find extremely upsetting.
You know, even now I am not quite sure how I got here. I think it was a combination of too much work, a giant charity branding project and other everyday stuff just piling on in that made me first lose my footing. I was a working twelve hours a day in my real job and slotting everything else in to weekends. At the end of September I started working weekends too. From there on in it was a steep decline, a short holiday, weeks of extra late nights at the studio, followed by building and launching a charity bookshop (goodbye the whole of October), working part time in the charity shop, baking for the shop – all little bits and bobs that chipped away at any moment of potential free time and left sewing at the very bottom of my agenda. More recently a couple of our friends became very poorly, and two weeks ago we lost someone dear. Yesterday, I woke up and thought, “Wow, when did I last make something?” Scarily, I couldn’t remember.“Forgive me sewing gods, it has been 16 weeks since my last French seam …”
So here I stay, midst the sewing thread tumbleweeds and pincushion cacti of the sewing wilderness.
Now, you long term sewers out there will know that serious crafting has ebbs and flows. When you sew, knit or make for many years you can go through odd moments where you just … stop. I have had a couple of these myself, normally after moving house, at the end of a bad relationship – you know the kind of thing – all life stuff that mean you need to take a little time to readjust and reset. Then one day it just “clicks” back in and you start making stuff again.
This time though, I am still waiting for the “click”.
Worse still, in these months of sewing abstinence something very odd has happened in my sewing shed. This well ordered and cathartic space at the bottom of the garden has been ransacked by what I can only assume is an undiscovered species of fabric loving alien. How else, my friends, could you explain this?
The best thing about having a sewing shed at the bottom of the garden is that it is tucked away undisturbed by the day to day household business. The worst thing about having a sewing shed at the bottom of the garden is that it is tucked away undisturbed by the day to day household business! This means that in the course of many weeks of; “Oh, I’ll just pop it in the shed.”, “Babe, where are the scissors?” “I think they are in the shed, go and have a rummage …” you are left with this result. Or, of course you may also have been visited by a new alien subspecies desperate to make fabric nests in which to repopulate the earth. Just saying.
I show you these photos purely in the interests of scientific research and in the hope that many of you will understand my current dilemma. You see I really want to sew, but it has been so long to be honest I am almost afraid of starting. Obviously, first I have to clear away the debris of hurricane fabric storm, but then … well, then I just don’t know. Sewing I think is like baking, you have to be in the right frame of mind, which is why making stuff when you’re stressed never ends well.
So my sewing sisters, any ideas on how to find my sewing mojo? Tips on what to tackle first? Or advice on how to remove aliens from your garden shed? All gratefully received.