Summertime Clothes ##7
I like to think about the role that crafting plays in my life. I don't even really like the term, crafting, it strikes to mind an image of an elderly woman doing something like making tea cozies in the shape of kittens. I don't know what term I prefer, perhaps creating or manifesting. I don't like the term "art" because it sounds so pretentious, and the things I make would never hang on a museum wall. They hang on my walls, which is better, because I get to see them every day and touch them without getting yelled at. My objects are very friendly to touch as well as pleasing to the eye. I think objects should extend into multiple planes of sensory perception, to extend their influence, and when my mind is all filled up, it is happy. It's something I learned in neurobiology, that the waves of the brain in I believe beta wave sleep are measured, it is when multiple regions of the brain are producing synchronous waves of electricity. This is why, when I'm trying to go to sleep, I count numbers, but at the same time I imagine them visually, and the color they should be, and the way they would feel and smell. (I think I'm trying to be a synesthete here but, I don't think I really am.)
Anyway, back to crafts. The word in spanish, that I prefer wholeheartedly, is artesanía. It translates directly into "handicraft" and most frequently is used to describe the cheap little shits that people produce for sale at the markets for tourists, but if you hunt, there is true beauty in the markets unfrequented by los gringos. Things that have been created, by hand for people to place in their homes. Most of the high class families won't even touch the stuff, but the blue collar workers have no option but to go for these artesanías. It kind of reminds me of "artisan" and this strikes a much more pleasing picture to me, like a man with large hands lovingly carving furniture out of driftwood that will be in his family as an heirloom and tradition, loved by many grateful weary bottoms forever.
It's something to think about, these artesanias. I feel like there's alot of talk these days about "green" and what that entails, although it has cooled off slightly recently, but it seems to me that many people still live so wastefully, possessing items of furniture that are made of sad trees. I own used furniture for the most part, and the total price of all the used furniture in my room is under $30, for my dresser, desk, bureau, and chair. I did buy a few choice pieces at Target, but that was before I developed my awareness, and they are made of particle board.
Sometimes artesaniaing arises out of necessity.
A silly thief broke into my car and stole my bag containing my change of clean clothes, leaving the milk jug full of change and my stereo in place. The instant I saw the window I felt so discombobulated, like that feeling you get when you know something strange has happened that has altered the flow of your thoughts. I remember feeling similarly when I saw my sister get hit by a car. It seemed to be unreal, and I was terrified. I felt awkward and worried and shocked, and I sprinted across the street to tell my mom. It was like the night I accidentally left the front door unlocked at my old apartment, and when my bedmate got up to use the restroom, he noticed that it was unlocked and I freaked out hard. I convinced myself after checking the closets, that someone could theoretically be hiding in the bathroom cabinet, even though they would have to be approximately 12" tall for that to be possible. It's a violation on some level, and one that is performed without permission. That said, I'm not that upset about it, I understand that these things happen, but in that instant I was freaking out, convincing myself that maybe they had taken everything, my mix cds that span 4 years of music fluctuations and memories. My rearview mirror ornament that has coalesced since sophomore year of high school, and has spanned my two vehicles. My little artesanias. But they were there, and I moved on and had a fabulous night with my girls.
But as a result of this I had a large amount of glass in my car, and no window. I fashioned a makeshift window out of plastic dropcloth and purple duct tape. I could have chosen different items for this process. I could have left it plain and unadorned, used a garbage sac and some grey duct tape, but I won't let the silly thief take away my right to something that's a little pretty, that functions. Or my kickass night at a gay bar. It's the reason why I would rather spend 3 days making a bead curtain out of my old blinds that broke rather than purchasing one made of petrochemicals that is (probably) rather nasty looking.
It's the reason I will probably never be able to just sit down and watch a movie without having my hands working at something, making something, manifesting an object and transforming something that was simple or ugly into something more complex or pretty.
It's the reason I make clothes, or change them. A 5 dollar fugly shirt from Wal-Mart, that would probably have been thrown away if nobody bought it, into the hottest skirt I own right now, that took me out for a wild ride last night.
The strange yarn my mom got me for christmas one year into the most pretty earring organizer that you wouldn't be able to find in a store.
The photos of antique strangers that I frame and place on the wall. (although this is more feeling sorry for them, as I hope that pictures of me are never in a box in an antique store for 5 cents each).
The junk jewelry I find at any number of flea markets.
Mmm, life. It's delicious. Today has been really good. Really happy and friendly and emotional and positive. I spoke with my mom for so long, she is so weary and tired and sad. I think I helped her a bit, and I know it helped me to go through my own response to my dad's passing, the extermination of the toxic influences in my life, and the looking forward to new adventures and exciting moments.
Anyway, back to crafts. The word in spanish, that I prefer wholeheartedly, is artesanía. It translates directly into "handicraft" and most frequently is used to describe the cheap little shits that people produce for sale at the markets for tourists, but if you hunt, there is true beauty in the markets unfrequented by los gringos. Things that have been created, by hand for people to place in their homes. Most of the high class families won't even touch the stuff, but the blue collar workers have no option but to go for these artesanías. It kind of reminds me of "artisan" and this strikes a much more pleasing picture to me, like a man with large hands lovingly carving furniture out of driftwood that will be in his family as an heirloom and tradition, loved by many grateful weary bottoms forever.
It's something to think about, these artesanias. I feel like there's alot of talk these days about "green" and what that entails, although it has cooled off slightly recently, but it seems to me that many people still live so wastefully, possessing items of furniture that are made of sad trees. I own used furniture for the most part, and the total price of all the used furniture in my room is under $30, for my dresser, desk, bureau, and chair. I did buy a few choice pieces at Target, but that was before I developed my awareness, and they are made of particle board.
Sometimes artesaniaing arises out of necessity.
A silly thief broke into my car and stole my bag containing my change of clean clothes, leaving the milk jug full of change and my stereo in place. The instant I saw the window I felt so discombobulated, like that feeling you get when you know something strange has happened that has altered the flow of your thoughts. I remember feeling similarly when I saw my sister get hit by a car. It seemed to be unreal, and I was terrified. I felt awkward and worried and shocked, and I sprinted across the street to tell my mom. It was like the night I accidentally left the front door unlocked at my old apartment, and when my bedmate got up to use the restroom, he noticed that it was unlocked and I freaked out hard. I convinced myself after checking the closets, that someone could theoretically be hiding in the bathroom cabinet, even though they would have to be approximately 12" tall for that to be possible. It's a violation on some level, and one that is performed without permission. That said, I'm not that upset about it, I understand that these things happen, but in that instant I was freaking out, convincing myself that maybe they had taken everything, my mix cds that span 4 years of music fluctuations and memories. My rearview mirror ornament that has coalesced since sophomore year of high school, and has spanned my two vehicles. My little artesanias. But they were there, and I moved on and had a fabulous night with my girls.
But as a result of this I had a large amount of glass in my car, and no window. I fashioned a makeshift window out of plastic dropcloth and purple duct tape. I could have chosen different items for this process. I could have left it plain and unadorned, used a garbage sac and some grey duct tape, but I won't let the silly thief take away my right to something that's a little pretty, that functions. Or my kickass night at a gay bar. It's the reason why I would rather spend 3 days making a bead curtain out of my old blinds that broke rather than purchasing one made of petrochemicals that is (probably) rather nasty looking.
It's the reason I will probably never be able to just sit down and watch a movie without having my hands working at something, making something, manifesting an object and transforming something that was simple or ugly into something more complex or pretty.
It's the reason I make clothes, or change them. A 5 dollar fugly shirt from Wal-Mart, that would probably have been thrown away if nobody bought it, into the hottest skirt I own right now, that took me out for a wild ride last night.
The strange yarn my mom got me for christmas one year into the most pretty earring organizer that you wouldn't be able to find in a store.
The photos of antique strangers that I frame and place on the wall. (although this is more feeling sorry for them, as I hope that pictures of me are never in a box in an antique store for 5 cents each).
The junk jewelry I find at any number of flea markets.
Mmm, life. It's delicious. Today has been really good. Really happy and friendly and emotional and positive. I spoke with my mom for so long, she is so weary and tired and sad. I think I helped her a bit, and I know it helped me to go through my own response to my dad's passing, the extermination of the toxic influences in my life, and the looking forward to new adventures and exciting moments.