Fixing an Emotional Mistake
10.24.2018
So far on this blog I’ve been writing about encountering mistakes I make in craft. Today, I’m turning my attention to how crafting can be a remedy for an emotional mistake, instead of the other way around.
A few years ago, I made my mom a scarf out of a beautiful piece of Liberty of London pomegranate printed fabric. There were many, many reasons it was a thoughtful gift, and one I thought she would find special. In my memory, when I gave her the scarf, her reaction was… tepid. She said a lukewarm thank you, and she commented on how I didn’t do the right kind of hem. Fancy scarf hems are supposed to be hand slip-stitched, she pointed out, not machine hemmed. Later, my mom insisted that she’d reacted warmly to the gift, but the whole thing still left me disappointed.
For the last few years, a small remnant of that fabric has been sitting in my scrap pile, practically radioactive in its symbolism of yearning and futility. I haven’t been able to use it, and I haven’t been able to throw it away. As the years have gone by my relationship with my mom has broken down further and further, to the point where I allow her practically no access to me. Still, this little scrap of fabric is just sitting there, daring me to find a way to make something with it.
A few weeks ago, an opportunity presented itself to use the fabric. Given a day to do a project related to imperfection and mistakes, I turned to this fabric as inspiration. I thought I could apply the idea of kintsugi–golden joinery, or making an object’s scars a part of its beauty–to this tiny emotional disappointment. In kintsugi, rather than avoiding a blemish or imperfection, the creator draws the viewer’s attention right to it through its golden embellishment. This seemed the perfect frame for validating my reaction to this disappointing moment, despite the fact my mother would sooner erase it.
I wondered if I could make something for myself that I would actually enjoy out of this sad little scrap of fabric. What emerged from that day is this scarf. I do find it beautiful and wearable, but more importantly, it allowed me to take the energy I spent on my mom and to turn it inward as an act of self-care instead. Through this project I feel a small shift in my relationship to this story from “here’s a time my mom was really disappointing” to “here’s a time I used my own creativity and emotional intelligence to upcycle my disappointment.”
My favorite part? In homage to my mom’s comment–one she’d like us both to pretend she never uttered–about how scarf hems should be hand-rolled, I trimmed one side of the scarf with a hand-stitched golden hem. 🖕