wienerdog tricks.

Where I Talk About Money at the Sewing Table [Next Up: Politics & Religion]

I have been haranguing myself for some time now, have recently come to a realization, and have now declared to myself that I will share it here as a sort of Special Sharing. [In the spirit of allowing you to learn from what it's like to be me.] 

I read over here at Sister Diane's and was blown away to follow this discussion about crafting and money and [even more uncomfortably] making money and [even more uncomfortably, I thought after reading the discussion] crafting while not even wanting to make money.

And I've been thinking about all this crappy money and crafting business business for so long. I've downright tortured myself about it if I'm perfectly honest.

The metaphoric sign hanging in my metaphoric window, metaphorically.

Here's how the torture goes: If I like sewing so much then shouldn't I do it as a job? Sure, what a good idea. Well, if I'm going to do it as a job, how much would I need to charge? How much would I need to make? [she scribbles numbers down, writes in a book, and then stop and stares] Oh. Well, that won't work. So if I love this so much but I can't do it as a job, shouldn't it be at least a Wildly Popular [as rated by Others] Undertaking that people sweep in and pay large amounts in small bursts to share in? Subquestion: How much would I need to see people paying in order to BELIEVE that it was a "Wildly Popular [as rated by Others] Undertaking"? Oh. Well, that's not happening.So if that's not happening, then this must be a Wildly Un-Popular Undertaking. So why am I doing it? And [here comes the downward spiral] why is it so lame anyways? And maybe shouldn't I be embarrassed of it? Who would even pay for what I do anyways? [slump.] I'll just give it all away as gifts. And right there is the moment that every single gift I give becomes a weird, inwardly apologetic moment of Consolation to me, sort of devoid of joy, a Jr. Varsity Happening.

 From my journal: wherein I blab to myself on and on about the circular nature of trying to price something. [you can click to see it bigger.]

 
This sort of dialogue can occur for me over a period of months or within a single day, is inevitably re-set by some sort of Pep Talk + Carbs and then I step out into another day, at any moment vulnerable to fall headlong into the same Pit of Crafting Despair. 

I have come to the conclusion, friends, that it's not so much money I'm always wanting, as it is the message that receiving money would give me: YOU ARE GOOD ENOUGH AND SMART ENOUGH AND PEOPLE LIKE YOU ENOUGH TO DO WHAT YOU ARE DOING. Sort of a Stuart Smalley Self-Talking To that would justify my hours upstairs surrounded by old polyester while my kids run around downstairs with knives eating nothing but boxed food and my husband languishes in a corner watching old Office episodes.

Somehow, in my mind, Money = The Internal Justification for Time to Sew [insert the name of whatever undertaking you absolutely love but make no money doing].

And that, I have come to realize is very, very tricky math. What happens, for instance, if the people around you are just like you and don't have or plan to spend a lot of money on anything they love to do? What happens if your personal aesthetic {*cough*} is unusual {*cough*} and not every single person {*cough*} shares it? [Insert photo of polyester baby dress here.]

And so, at least for now, I am unplugging that metaphor for myself. The electric socket that it's running through is marked Capitalism (Roughly: my supply not bumping up against a Demand = my non-viability.) And I'm hereby plugging myself into a different metaphor. This one includes bunnies and unicorns and people dressed in weird costumes jumping around a lot--something to do with the circus, maybe. 

This lovely imgage was garnered right here.

So I'm taking down my store for now and working to find the best ways to offer up the patterns I've got there and the occasional Made Something that I haven't given away already as a gift. Maybe it'll show up again someday in some other form, but not until I settle this issue for myself. Not until I get it straight in my head that I can sew if I want to and that my very soul is not for sale.

It's my circus party, and I can sew if I want to. That's my t-shirt today. Here's to you, friends, and all the circus sewing you're doing. I would, of course, love to hear your thoughts about all of this. 

*Editor's Insecure Clarifications: Am I slamming others who sell their stuff? Holy Toledo, No. Am I saying I'll never have a shop EVER? Holy Toledo, No. Am I a Socialist or something? Well, Holy Toledo, Very Often. So do I wish I could sew all the time and do nothing else but write about it? Holy Toledo, Yes. Will I wake up tomorrow and wonder if I am a nutbag for writing all this down and sharing it? Holy Toledo, Probably. But watch Jerry MacGuire and you'll know that wild declarations of truth, while they sometimes make us sick to our own stomachs, most often lead to better roads.

Time to Grow a Pair, Ladies

I know it's rough to consider such vulgarities, but I already warned you about my New Year's Resolution, plus I keep trying to write a different post and it just won't happen because, well,

It's time to grow a pair, ladies.

I am struck over and over again by how flabbergasted my sewing friends are by what I'll tackle at my machine: couch cover?! free-motion quilt? weird curtains from an old sheet? polyester what?

I loved free motion quilting this thing, but it was like riding a rickety go cart down a steep hill half the time--I was sort of careening a lot while I did it. And I ripped a LOT of it out from tension troubles while I was in the middle of the project--but then, really, who knows that once it's washed and all crinkled up? Exactly: Nobody.

I hear a lot of You are brave.

And I want to clear something up here: I am not gorgeously, amazingly skilled or anything. I'm just gutsy. I look around my house and ask myself, "What needs to be done around here?" Then I sew something for that.When friends say things to me like, "If I buy a headboard cover from target with an ugly fabric cover will you take the $200 worth of gorgeous linen that I'll buy at a remnant shop and make a new cover for it?"

To which I say: Sure! Why not?

Is this because I am an expert? Nope. It's because I'm willing to dive into the deep end. Because--why not? Where do I need to be? 

I just loved this bag, but I totally took it apart again after this post because--while I think the strap looks dramatic and all--it's just too blasted low. So I ripped it out, cut it off by about 6", and then re-attached it. No biggee. No animals were harmed by this re-do.

What are we afraid of? Are we a man woman or are we a mouse totally chicken person who thinks that everything we sew has to turn out perfectly? I want to stand up on my roof and yell that IT'S OKAY IF WE SCREW UP! And, sure, that's true everywhere except in neural surgery and at Christmas Dinner, but it's MOST OF ALL true when we sit down at our sewing machines.

Let's not be afaid--let's screw up! Together! Honestly, my best projects have emerged from projects that I had to think and re-think and rip and then re-think again. 

And, really, being a Perfectionist is just a fancy way to say that you're scared shitless of Doing It Wrong. 

I made this cover today for a little handed-over-to-me footstool and it's far from perfect (Here's my math about that: 3 good corners + one semi-weird corner = perfectly good enough to put your feet on.)

And holy toledo, this might all sound much crabbier than I intend it to, which of course is influenced by my current hormonal status (the exact moment of which I am aware of, as  you know, because of my skill with this). 

But I really mean it like this: if we're not enjoying the process of our sewing--the idea-having, piece-cutting, problem-solving, sewing-it-all-up and then tearing-it-apart-because-it's-not-quite-right-yet--as much as we're loving what we end up with when we're finished with a project, well, then, we're just flat out missing the boat. And also, if we're not willing to live on the edge a little and dive into a project that might not turn out perfectly, well then we're missing another boat there too.

And I would hate for you, of all people, to miss the boat.

Come get in the It's No Big Deal If I Screw Up boat. Who knows--maybe there will be some big fat hole in the bottom of it, but then we will fashion a CORK from WHATEVER FABRIC IS IN OUR POCKETS. It will all be fun. And we will do it together. Not to worry.

What I Did with the Scraps

I didn't waste a single square of the favorite of my great-grandmother's quilts. It was the oldest, rattiest one. I made this smaller quilt for my son, and then was left with three of these barely-hanging-on 4 X 4 blocks:   

So first I reconstructed one--had to take take all the pieces apart and start over just like my granny did when she started--and made a pillow . . . 

. . . with a chenille back, after which I thought to myself shouldn't all pillows have chenille backs? And then I answered Yes. A note: yes I did cut into an old chenille bedspread to make this. Yes. I did. And yes, it did involve a phone call to my pal Can I cut into that old chenille bedspread you are storing in my closet with all that life-changing fabric your mom gave you or were we going to use the whole thing for the monster bean bag you bought the pattern for 30 months ago? Yes, I could. No, she wasn't--well maybe she was going to use some, but she could spare a square. And I'd like to report that old cotton quilt blocks are begging to be paired with chunks of cut-up chenille bedspread.

Then with the second of the 4 X 4 blocks, I turned the blocks into long strips and made this little little quilt for my pal's baby--and I have to say, it's about the favoritestest thing I've made anybody since the beginning of Ever.

A stack of old flour sacks seemed the best way to compliment the 70-yr old cotton (since I had to leave her the rest of the chenille bedspread)--and I wasn't disappointed. Flour sacks rock. I cut big squares where I could (working around lots and lots of holes and stains and such) and then small squares that I put together to make bigger blocks. It was a flour sack melaaaaaaange.

They are so so soft, and they made a funky white/off white variety on the quilt top that I Iiked. The back was one big flour sack (well, oats, as it turns out according to the old stamp on the back)

And it was all just begging to be loopedy-loop quilted to make the whole thing sturdier and readier for baby wear. I last attempted free-motion quilting some time ago and it didn't go well, that's for sure. But I decided to go for it again because I wanted to maximize scrunchiness--and it worked. Well, I did have 16 or 17 Thread Tension Fights with Ro through the project (and we haven't fought like that in a while), but the end result was worth it.

After I washed it, the whole thing became wonderfully wrinkly.
The best part is right here . . .
. . .that yellow embroidery is my 8 year Man Boy's doing. He wanted the baby's name on the quilt, so he got the job done. And I think it's safe to say that there's nothing nicer to look at than embroidery done by 8 year old boys. Go ahead: think of something better. 

Exactly.