It's the most wonder-what-to-make time of the year — or used to be, for me. It was all tra-la-la-la-la and glue-guns and glitter puff paint back when I had the 9-5 office job. Messing with sparkle and colour was just the thing for fending off the stress of the day and the inky wet nights. My right brain happily buzzed as I explored how to make new kinds of gifties, from jester-style ski toques to mini twig wreaths. I even hosted an annual alcohol-fueled Craft Night for the Craftily Impaired. (Celebrity tangent: One year one of those half-gassed girlfriends ended up showing her little collection of homemade cards to an approving Eric "Will" McCormack at a bar later that night.)
But now I'm discovering that an emerging art practice is a major buzz-kill to what used to be a craft-tastic, shamelessly uncritical seasonal activity, a creative retreat from my daily managerial role. My extensive craft repertoire remains an important foundation for my work now but I have to move on. Learning quilling or book-binding is not moving my work forward, and the ol' right brain now needs a break at the end of the day. Those pure, fun seasonal jollies I used to get from learning to make a thing have now been replaced by regret for the time and effort spent on silly seasonal notions.
It's like I'm breaking up with crafting, but know I'll be seduced into a few more one-night stands before it's all over.
This may be a glimmer of what the struggle looks like.
But now I'm discovering that an emerging art practice is a major buzz-kill to what used to be a craft-tastic, shamelessly uncritical seasonal activity, a creative retreat from my daily managerial role. My extensive craft repertoire remains an important foundation for my work now but I have to move on. Learning quilling or book-binding is not moving my work forward, and the ol' right brain now needs a break at the end of the day. Those pure, fun seasonal jollies I used to get from learning to make a thing have now been replaced by regret for the time and effort spent on silly seasonal notions.
It's like I'm breaking up with crafting, but know I'll be seduced into a few more one-night stands before it's all over.
This may be a glimmer of what the struggle looks like.
| To get through this transition I've been getting that hit of passion for making by cruising some serious crafters' blogs and online magazines. My primal heart beats, "Me make! Me make!" but my right brain says, "Not tonight; I have a headache." Some crafty temptations, with seductively-free instructions:  |  Felted slippers made from old wool sweaters. I'm so tempted.  |
Table-top tree made out of cereal boxes (pant! pant!)
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