It seems like a fair number of people resonated with my last post, which expressed my feelings about being allergic to work. I had doubts about whether I should post a rant like that, but I am glad I did now. I feel less alone.
We are having a heat wave in Canberra and I’ve run away to the National Library. Quite simply, they have the best air conditioning in town. They have to, to protect the collection. I am here to chase up details in past lives, for example, the political climate around education policy reform in the eighties, and why a little inland school in Queensland evacuated some, but not all, of its students in 1942. This then, is what constitutes the tenor of my day.
I’d rather be embroidering. Why embroidery? Why now? I don’t have definitive answers to that at the moment but I do have some inklings. One. It’s making something. Two. It’s making something beautiful. Three. It harms no one. At least, I’ve not thought of any how embroidery could cause harm although I understand it has in the past. Something to do with linen threads needing to be worked damp, although I’d want a reference-able source for that ideally. Four. It’s achieveable with my current skills with a needle. I could not, for example, paint the dahlias I have almost completed.
Five. It’s small. When I have a father with a terminal illness, a mother with cancer, a sibling with mental illness, a job that I find tricky and my own chronic disease to manage, small is essential. Anything larger and I might drown.
Small, beautiful, creative, doable. Why not embroidery?