Making Room for Change

I’ve been thinking about discipline lately, the kind that moves you toward a goal that is important to you. Here’s a great paragraph from Philip Toshio Sudo’s book, Zen Guitar:

“When we act out of self-discipline, we feel better about ourselves for having done so. In this way, discipline differs from self-denial. Many people deny themselves things they want in the name of discipline, when they’re actually acting out of stubbornness, martyrdom or fear. Those who act out of self-denial feel no better for having done so. The right thing done in the wrong spirit will manifest itself in other problems along the way.”

Part of the reason that I have no refashioned jewelry to show since December is due to exercising discipline in other areas of life:

Urban Detox Club’s Detoxification Program and Subsequent Life Style Changes in Eating and Food Preparation.

An on-line course at The Daily Om on Healing Sacred Sexuality Within the Self, which can also have the effect of healing relationships and community by the changes one makes within oneself.

Chopra’s Free 21 Day meditation challenge, where different kinds of meditation are introduced, each lasting 12-20 minutes daily.

My husband and I have also taken on some major DIY house projects.

And here are some ways I made time to take on these programs and projects.
1. Stopped all social media except for Facebook about a half hour weekly. Stopped reading professional learning forums and contributing to the threads.
2. Cut work by about 5-7 hours weekly. This was unpaid work that I do because of the nature of being largely self-employed.
3. Stopped learning how to use technology.
4. Stopped all crafting, although I did clean up and reorganize my work area after the holiday show which took weeks.

What can you give up in order to make room for something you truly want to pursue, learn or explore?

And for those of you who’d like to see more refashioned jewelry, I do have a necklace design in the works that was inspired by a stalk of brussel sprouts!!

The Quilts of Gees Bend

Today I am posting a “refashioned” story I wrote years ago, describing the work of a group of quilters who elevated the art of Refashioning to an epic high.

The year after my dad died, I arranged for a trip to the Corcoran Gallery of Art in D.C. with my friend, Carolyn.  At that point in my life, I had not yet learned to treat myself with the same care I gave everyone and everything else, so it felt like sneaking off for a forbidden tryst.   But I knew that it would be a Balm in Gilead.

We rode the subway downtown and walked to the museum in the beautiful sun and humid air.   The large doors of the Corcoran were flanked by lion statues which let us pass, and we glided across the polished parquet floors scuffed and darkened by thousands of heels and toes.

Cotton sacking, denim, corduroy.

An awesome African-American A Capella sextet sang in the Rotunda.  Black and white photographs taken of Gee’s Bend, Alabama and her folk lined the walls to the gallery.  The stage was set. The lights came up on the quilts.

Twill, double knit, rayon.

We strolled through the gallery, awed by simple genius, simple beauty, naked in their truths.   I felt humbled by women whose lives were hard, hard, and still expressed themselves in combining art with practicality.  I thought of my crafts’ area piled high with luxuries: fabric, beads, patterns, a work table, and lighting. Washing machine and dryer right nearby.  A dozen projects strewn, unfinished.

Wool, metallic knits, Dashiki cloth (Carolyn’s favorite.)

A handsome stranger paralleled my stroll. We exchanged fleeting, electric glances and good-humored comments, but interest evaporated as we watched a documentary on the quilt makers.

Polyester, synthetic blends, mattress ticking.

In the film, the women were interviewed as they sew: The introspection, action and will that mark their daily lives was evident.  I thought of how easy it is for my life to become all action fueled by an inflexible will that breaks my life into timed segments.  I know that introspection feeds all other areas of life.  Without it, I become a dried up and angry specimen, an over-blown husk, buffeted from side to side in the lightest breeze.

As I watched the movie, my concept of physical beauty changed. Broad, weathered female faces, fleshy necks, warts and moles, white hairs sprouting from skin were seen as comely for the first time.  There was a set of teeth like mine, a surprisingly attractive gap in the front.  Watery eyes appeared behind coke-bottle glasses. Elegant in their dialect, their verbal responses were direct and clear.

Chambray, nylon knit, old feed sacks.

The common roles of home and quilt became giant super-hero metaphors for both physical protection and emotional belonging, Both non-traditional and traditional geometric shapes and odd colors fit together like pieces of a puzzle.  Hand and machine stitches seemed to reunite body and soul.

Women’s ways, Women’s words, Women’s world.

Grateful, Carolyn and I turned away and waft back downstairs to enjoy a champagne mimosa buffet lunch.  We talked about our parents, husbands and children, our work, other relationships and the desire to balance it all.   Then we spread out four different deserts on our table and sampled each, slowly, deliciously, decadently.

Mother-comforted, tired and complete,  we Metro-d home, aware that the world was about to encroach again.  We squared our shoulders (now tension-free) and turned lovingly to embrace it.

(An earlier version of this story was included in a program that I wrote and conducted for the Renwick Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, called “Wrapping Home Around Me.”    The program was presented with their exhibit of quilts from the American mid-west.)