Why do I sew?

wtf not?, originally uploaded by LauraXJune.

It's a question I've thought a lot about lately.

I learned to sew before I could read or write. My mother taught me my ABCs by having me crosstitch, then embroider them -- onto aida remnants. My grandmother was an interior decorator, and an accomplished seamstress. She made all of my mother's clothes when she was a child and teenager -- and the photos and examples I've seen of that work are truly impressive. She could make slipcovers for couches, curtains -- anything -- and often, she didn't work from a pattern.

My mother did not inherit her love of the machine. She was, however, incredibly adept at handsewing. By the time she'd gotten around to teaching me, she'd needlepointed, embroidered, and cross-stitched many a giant sampler for my grandparents and close relatives. Examples of her work are now something I covet and hope to collect.

So I learned to hand-sew first -- and I took to it fervently. While I have no real ire for trend-sewers (and love to teach beginners), sewing has always been a largely solitary thing for me. My mother would offer input, and then, my friend Emily learned as well. Throughout elementary, middle, and high school, we two were the ONLY people our age that I knew, who sewed. Through college -- it was the same story. I've taught many a friend how to sew, only to be reminded over and over that it's just not for everyone.

In 8th grade I took my first "sewing class," introducing me to the machine. It was not an easy introduction, and in many ways, we still have an awkward relationship, and I'd often just prefer to handsew things!

Over the years, as I've become more skilled, sewing has ceased to have almost any practical function. Now, I sew because I sew, in much the same way I read books. I consume fabric and needles and patterns. I alter them to my liking or I don't. I follow some of the instructions, disregard others.

I am often reckless in my sewing. In my grandmother's garden you see above -- I simply didn't measure the seam allowances. (I'm insane, I know!) Born to be mild, indeed.

So yeah, I sew probably because it's in my blood now. When I was about 20 I learned to knit and crochet. The first thing I ever crocheted to completion was a blanket for my new dog, Sal (whimper). After that, I took up quilting in graduate school, around the age of 25. It's come the slowest to me, partly because of the fucking machine, partly because I'm impatient and quilting doesn't reward you with visible progress as quickly as decorative sewing often does. Part of me thinks sewing might be a way to leave a trail behind me, but since I am pretty careless about where I leave that trail (most of my previous sewing projects are scattered about my mother's now defunct home, I would assume), that's probably not quite it either.

This summer, I'll go back to my mother's place, and collect all of our sewing projects, and then I'll photograph them. There will be the embarrassing ones from the 1980's, when sewing Precious Moments and teddy bears while watching Days of our Lives seemed liked the best idea on the planet. There will be the awkward phase, where I started to learn the weird stitches, the brief obsession with candlewicking Christmas tree skirts. There will be memories of things I did, just because I could.

You know, whatever.

Little update: sewing makes me incredibly happy. My mind shuts down. I don't have anything but the best feelings in the world about it -- I love talking to people about it endlessly, I love hanging out in fabric and craft stores, and I've found that people that sew are some of the best in the world. That shouldn't be forgotten, I guess.

The photo above is of my long-running battle with remnants, which I hate and feel guilty about. The rest of the set is here.