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Dec. 22nd, 2005 03:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeI'm trying to sew at the speed of light and it just occurred to me that I'm pinning the wrong sides together. Or rather, not the wrong side of the fabric, but the wrong edge of the piece. Crap. At least I realized it before I'd actually sewn it, otherwise I'd've had a very long seam to pick out from very small stitches at a very fast clip. And this lining fabric seems like it's about to tear at any second, despite how sturdy it is. Feh. Also, no costume is complete without having stabbed yourself in some fleshy part with a pin. At least once.
I love sewing. I do. It's something I can do and do well, after the four years of training, and it's something I enjoy doing. In no small part because when you're done you have something that you can see and hold, something that you've made out of pieces. Something that's useful and pretty and yours. And unlike writing or painting, I know I can do it well. I'm not sure why that knowledge is different from the other skills I have, but it is. I'm going to start sewing myself some new outfits for Maui possibly in May or June. A couple of blouses, a couple of pairs of slacks, maybe a suit jacket. Lightweight stuff. On a ritualistic aspect, because it's empowering and armoring. On a personal, psychological aspect, beacause it's empowering. This is something I've done. I don't completely suck.
I'm going to stick myself twenty dozen times till I have more holes than Bush's stay-the-course speeches, but I'm going to look damn good when I'm done.
I'm listening to Cirque du Soleil still and reminding myself to take the pins out before I sew over them at warp speed. I've already bent one needle today; thank the Goddess it didn't snap and sent a needle point flying across the room. I never would have found it till Christmas morning and then it would have gotten embedded in somoene's hand or foot. Merry Christmas. No, it's only bent, and I can throw it away later.
I'd forgotten how good it feels to be sewing. Brisk, efficient, competent. Then I'll stretch and do some weights and then I'll write, supported by this feeling of capability.
I love sewing. I do. It's something I can do and do well, after the four years of training, and it's something I enjoy doing. In no small part because when you're done you have something that you can see and hold, something that you've made out of pieces. Something that's useful and pretty and yours. And unlike writing or painting, I know I can do it well. I'm not sure why that knowledge is different from the other skills I have, but it is. I'm going to start sewing myself some new outfits for Maui possibly in May or June. A couple of blouses, a couple of pairs of slacks, maybe a suit jacket. Lightweight stuff. On a ritualistic aspect, because it's empowering and armoring. On a personal, psychological aspect, beacause it's empowering. This is something I've done. I don't completely suck.
I'm going to stick myself twenty dozen times till I have more holes than Bush's stay-the-course speeches, but I'm going to look damn good when I'm done.
I'm listening to Cirque du Soleil still and reminding myself to take the pins out before I sew over them at warp speed. I've already bent one needle today; thank the Goddess it didn't snap and sent a needle point flying across the room. I never would have found it till Christmas morning and then it would have gotten embedded in somoene's hand or foot. Merry Christmas. No, it's only bent, and I can throw it away later.
I'd forgotten how good it feels to be sewing. Brisk, efficient, competent. Then I'll stretch and do some weights and then I'll write, supported by this feeling of capability.