Finding the How

The what and the why can be relatively easy. It’s the how that I find difficult.

How to manifest my visions. How to say what I must say. How to inhabit the state of flow from which sacred wonder arises, when energy and will and presence are scarce.

Every year brings strange challenges and gifts, but this year I’ve felt particularly disconnected from my creative work, as I’ve had to devote much physical energy to strengthening and repairing my body, and reorganising my personal space. I’ve felt a bit discombobulated and unfocused as a result, and thus the how has become more trying than usual. But all of the activity which has taken me away from art will, I hope, eventually lead me back to it, more focused, more motivated and inspired.

I have developed a great trust in the seasons of life, and am happy to turn towards what is needed, even if it seems like I am achieving little. This is a skill.

And during stressful moments this year I’ve managed to maintain an almost unshakable calm, which has given me a stability I’m not sure that I’ve possessed before. This fills me with some wonder. Inner change is often invisible, and yet it manifests in very tangible ways.

I feel sure that next year will be a new land, entirely mine to inhabit, and much will grow from its soil.

Happy summer/winter solstice! May the turn of the year bring you blessings.

August 2022

A Coalescence of Time and Yarn

I finished making this blanket early in the year, but have not had the opportunity to photograph it until now. I completed most of it during my six months away from social media last year, knitting a few rows each evening, which coalesced into this design inspired by Ukrainian Easter eggs. The tragic events of this year have made it even more poignant and precious, to have created such a thing. Though my maternal ancestry is Polish, I’m sure there is forgotten, or more likely denied, Ukrainian blood in the mix.

The human web we have woven is a complicated and knotted one, and I’m sure the tangles will get worse as the dominant culture collapses. But there’s a great deal of material to reweave, so many different colours and shades to knit into a new pattern, thus we are not short of bright, shining threads to do that work of renewal.

Even when I am unable to do much, except knit, or read more than is sensible, or overthink myself into a twist, I feel assured that there is meaning behind it, that I am still part of the overall pattern, and that maybe I am still weaving new life into being.