Making

There is nothing like the feeling I get when I am making.  I find I am oddly uncomfortable using the word make and thinking of myself as a maker to describe the things I like to do.  Sewer not sewist. Knitter not knittest.  Crocheter. See the silly?  No one calls anyone a knittist, but if you follow sewist...I always go back to the slightly older way of speaking of these things.  

And yet I make.  It's a tiny bit like my quandary of crafter versus artisan.  

I make a lot of things to clothe myself and these things are what fulfills me the most.  I used to love clothes, bright lovely dresses, crisp shirts, grandfather sweaters.  

I remember a dark green princess seamed dress I sewed when I was 14 and the way I could make it fit perfectly.  I recall what my Auntie Marian said too about how I ought to take up sewing for a living if I could make a dress like that.  I kind of wish I had.  Life takes some funny paths.  The thing is that her compliment, my own knowledge of just how good a dress it was, made me feel strong enough to conquer the world. 

To be clear though, even then I knew that I was not fussy enough with the details to be a pro.  The point of it all is to do for me and mine.  I'm into the hands on doing of a thing, the understanding of it, of becoming as it becomes.  I guess I am into the creation of it.  

This morning I am creating the rest of a sweater.