In my last post, I wrote about failure, and as I now re-read that post, I can see how crafting has helped shape my views on success. I think I’m just now waking up to how uncomfortable I’ve always felt with the notion of success as the opposite of failure. In fact, in titling this post, I’d originally written “from mess to success,” but that implies that one necessarily leads to the other, which seems to contradict what I just wrote! I’ve long suspected these concepts to be less opposites and more in a relationship with one another, and I’ve certainly believed them to be completely subjective notions.
If that last statement is something I really, truly see as foundational, then what do I see as success? Many times, I see a project waiting to happen within small, perhaps even insignificant objects most of us would ordinarily discard. The project I wrote about in my last post is a fine example; the materials I’m using in that creation are simple foam board insulation, scraps of colored paper, and glue. Here is where I am in the process of that craft:
It’s certainly a rewarding feeling to see the vision emerge, and in addition to feeling anxious and excited to complete the project, I’ve already received interesting feedback on what it “is.” As I glued the “brown” section as now completed, my husband commented that it immediately reminded him of autumn, his favorite season. His comment provoked surprise in me, as I had not even considered the connotations this creation could inspire. Yet, at the same time, I still carry a feeling of worry over whether or not it will all come together. Perhaps that mingling of uncertainty and immediate personal connection has something to do with real success?
As another way of meditating on the idea of success as subjective, I found this craft online this week and instantly felt the urge to try it:
http://www.joyinthejumble.com/2011/05/mothers-day-brunch.html
(Scroll to “The Decor” to see the hydrangea pomander).
When I viewed this example, I mentally checked off the items I already had to create it:
Corsage pins: check.
Brightly-colored paper: check.
Patience to cut said paper into tiny, intricate shapes: Uh-oh.
But just as soon as I felt a twinge of despair, I remembered a previous post about my hot-glued silk forsythias. And to the dollar store I went. As it turns out, one need not use paper for this craft. I found several interesting silk flower samples (each for one dollar!), some which are replica hydrangeas and some which are not (the pink and purple flowers are supposed to be orchids). I delighted in ripping the silk flowers from their plastic stems, much more so than I likely would in cutting endless shapes out of paper. And so for a time, my workspace looked like this:
To a casual observer (who might note that this space is really a dining room), this may have looked like, well, a total mess. Stems and fake leaves sat next to picked-apart petals. My bead box splayed open to reveal crystals and pearl beads, many which insisted on rolling right off the table. Various cutting instruments were dusted with specks of Styrofoam, which constantly flaked off the little globes I stuck the pinned flowers in. I could literally feel the OCD tendencies rise up within me as I worked. Yet the “mess” was necessary and deliberate; without it, the creation would not have happened. Now, that end result sits atop the very (once-messy) space in which it was born.
I can’t help but go back to that forsythia post (those are the very same plants in the background of this photo). As much I can appreciate the logic of the need for mess, the mess itself still unnerves me. I physically feel uncomfortable with it at times (with the forsythia, the instigator was the hot glue; this time, the Styrofoam flecks). Yet, at the same time, I need to be honest with myself. The thing is, at times, I sort of like the mess. For example, this came up when I first worked with clay. I remember feeling surprised at how cold it was. And the earthy smell, the grit, and the muscle it took to turn the blob into a pot or a mug was utterly satisfying. To be immersed in it was at the same time simple and magical. The mess itself carried a feeling of suspension, of a knowing that went beyond logic or seeing. I never quite got the hang of creating a perfect piece of sculpture. One might say I didn’t succeed at working with the medium. And yet, it felt like I did. I succeeded in understanding what it meant to be in the mess and to find a way, not out of it, but to live with it and in it. That recognition has proven powerful beyond words, and maybe, it’s just too large to fit under a narrow title like “success.”
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