At 25 I’m going through a quarter life crisis.
I have always had a vast amount of creative energy packed into my little self and over the past 2 years, the 9 to 5 has pushed my artistic, linguistic and metaphysical pursuits into a corner of my life so small, it might as well be a postage stamp.
I draw, I paint, I craft, I sculpt, I cook, I bake, I write, I sing, act and dance, and thanks to my mother’s tutelage and an excess of sample fabric in my household throughout my childhood, I sew.
Why among all my multiple interests and talents have I chosen to hand sew for creative relief and more so, blog about it?
The first part is answered simply – I do not own a sewing machine.
As for the second – I am an English Literature major and sooner or later, we all come back to write.
The principal part of the question though – the sewing. Why that?
This is slightly more complicated. And by complicated I mean daft. And by daft I mean easily explained in a series of not at all obsessive compulsive actions and events that were driven by the desire for a very specific sort of summer skirt in my very specific miniature size.
I was fortunate enough to have a joyous occasion to go back home for earlier this year, home being Bombay, India and equally fortunate to get a jump on summer shopping and find some wonderful dresses and skirts. Or rather Dress and Skirt. After having enjoyed them thoroughly I began searching for other skirts and such to fill my summer wardrobe and repeatedly browsed the usual suspects in malls and street stores accross the city. The city being Toronto.
I searched for weeks and nothing fit – neither my size, nor my budget nor my style.
During my pursuit for the perfect skirt, my daily reflections over tea and shortbread revealed another desperate search for…something. Some sort of release of energy. The gym wasn’t doing it and reading wasn’t doing it and putting together lovely outfits to show off on styleperdiem.com wasn’t doing it. I just needed creative relief – to make something from nothing- and I needed it as urgently as this skirt before the short summer was out.
Before Iconsciously comprehended what I was doing, I was in a fabric store, had bought three different fabrics and had dug up an old pattern I learned in the 6th grade from the bottomless pit that is my memory.
The hunt to buy became tangled up with the desire to make. The two ended up satisfying each other.
Measuring, cutting, pinning and putting needle to fabric calms me down. I withdraw into myself in the happiest of ways and it becomes as much relaxation as it does relief. It focuses the mind and slows down the heart rate and much to the joy of those around me, keeps me quiet like nothing else can.
And so, I sew.