I recently started paying attention to what I do with my hands, which is to say, to make use of them.
Turning pages, clicking keys on keyboards, scratching my pup’s ears, tidying spaces, arranging plates and cutlery and cloth napkins on the dinner table. Tying up my boots And sometimes sitting still in my lap or at my side or clutching my beloved teddy bear.
Yes, these things are good things, but they are vastly temporary. The book gets read and placed up on the shelf. The table gets cleared off after the meal. The counter becomes a catch-all yet again. The boots get pulled off and traded for slippers.
I wanted to use my hands to create something that’ll stick around for a while.
And me, in my grandmotherly tendencies, found knitting.
It has become less of a hobbie and more of a passion in the last couple o’ months. I knit most every day, and when I don’t, my fingers sustain an itch to handle knitting needles and my ears miss the familiar click-clack of them at work.
Through learning the terminology and materials and stitches, I am also learning to be a process artist. I coudl write a big ole essay on process artistry, and I just might someday soon. But for now, a little introduction: process artistry is an apporach to art as a process and not as a means to an end. I am terribly guilty of looking at writing as the latter, and my work has suffered for it. My patience is thin and my work awfully short. I am understanding, through knitting, that the art is largely in the act of making, not the end result. This revelation has helped me allow God to lift the burdening pressure of the outcome and given me joy in the rendering of it.
And now knitted things remind me of two things I desperately need to remember: (1) the power of the handmade and (2) the power of the process. I wear these reminders on my neck and hold them in my hands.
*special thanks to my baby sister for taking my picture and letting me use her bedroom floor as a backdrop!