Zombie Blogger Reporting for Duty
We had rain and snow overnight, and the roads were pretty icy first thing this morning.
I drove the child to school and came back and reheated this:
Three colors of green Maypole wool and white, microwaved in the leftover blue Easter-egg dye I used on the child's hair last night.
I don't know if this yarn is still available, but we used to use it all the time for overshot weaving (cough) years ago. The label says "durably mothproofed hand washable Maypole 'Nehalem' 100% Virgin Wool Worsted Hand Weaving Yarn, 3 ply 2 oz. approx 280 yards, a product of Oregon Worsted Co., Portland, Oregon".
It's a little on the thin side for knitting, but it will felt. The bag underneath the bowl was knitted from green and brown thrums of a stuffer-weave warp I wove in high school, then felted in my front-loader washing machine. I think I ran it through about three hot-wash/cold-rinse cycles (with the regular laundry) until I was happy with it. All those ends, vanished.
And I want to say a word about the bowl the yarn is in.
Several years ago, when I was newly downsized from the full-time working world (er, the one that pays money, not the one that is 24/7 and involves things like cleaning vomit at 3am) and still half-expecting to get another full-time job any minute, I took some ceramics classes.
Basically, I paid money to play in clay. We had access to kilns and glazes and wheels, a good teacher who was a working potter, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself, although I did NOT get to the point of producing this bowl.
No, one night in my second round of classes, one of the real potters was talking to the instructor about six bowls she had made. These bowls. She was happy with the shape, but two of the glazes had reacted inside and turned black.
Before I could say anything, she dropped the whole stack in the metal "cracked" trash bin that we used for things that broke or sagged in the kiln, and walked away still talking to the instructor.
I was stunned. After a second, I unfroze and went after her, but she had left for the night. So I went back and took out the four that had not shattered, and I took them home.
They are excellent bowls, a good shape for soup or oatmeal or cereal. But they have this black pencil-lead color in some areas of the inside.
Most people are creative, even the ones who insist they aren't creative and who would deny they are artists. And many creative people are too darn hard on themselves. They look at their work, and all they see is the parts that turned black, not the nice shape.
Are you creative? Would you call yourself an artist? Or does that word make you uneasy?
If you sometimes admit, even secretly to yourself, that you're creative, are you pretty hard on yourself? Do you drop whole stacks of your own work in the "cracked" bin for minor flaws?