I spend most of my waking hours alone, so I’ve developed a system of “mental projects” to direct my thinking over time. It’s quite a luxury, really, to have a day or a month to devote to a kind of internal seminar (to stretch the analogy: I do consult reference material, sometimes even beyond Wikipedia…). One of my ongoing topics is That Which Will Last One Thousand Years.
In a homily presented several months ago, our priest referred to the Carthusian monestary built in Vermont during Bishop Marshall’s tenure (http://laycarthusians.homestead.com/transfiguration.html ). Bishop Marshall, it seems, insisted on architecture that would “last one thousand years.” The result is a compound made of giant rough marble slabs. I’m sure it will last at least a thousand years, but it isn’t my vision of beauty. However–the “last one thousand years” thing has been on my mind ever since.
Many, many, many things created by human beings have lasted a thousand years and more, but the great monuments of art and architecture don’t interest me in this mental project. I am focused on things regular people have made during daily life, things a person could make at home. Driving all of my thought and research is the desire to make something myself that will last a thousand years. I’ve narrowed it down to needlework.
I’ve always tried to make things last. Maybe part of my motivation is thrift, but I also have a personal impulse to conserve, burnish, tend. Is it the Capricorn in me? So, I found the extant one-thousand-year-old linen shirts and other household items to be reassuring. If some Nordic housewife made a textile that lasted a thousand years, maybe this old Swede could do the same. I gathered patterns and materials for decorative needlework: linen lasts, so does silk. Wool, not so much. I decided to make a band sampler, maybe more Elizabethan than Nordic, but something that will last.
Now is the hard part. Is it the Aquarius rising in me? I want it to be done. I love the planning bit, the research, the gathering of materials, choosing patterns, etc., etc. but the daily grind of the actual stitching interests me not in the least. Eventually, though, the work has to get started. Even more tedious is the fact that the work has to continue. The MOST irksome: I need to hone a few skills before the actual Masterpiece can be completed. Oh, how odious.
I have a small counted work piece with a tiny blackwork element sitting in my sewing bag. I have made arrangements to borrow Walter’s magnifying light so I can see the work. I’m ready to enroll in a workshop to learn some authentic techniques. But I keep dithering.
Lately, I’ve started to consider the real art in my daily efforts. I play the piano, many hours every week, and listen to music constantly. I’m a fine cook and baker; most of the “housework” I do involves preparing food for us and for other people–charities, church groups, friends, bake sales. My artistic products have always been ephemeral. Am I trying to swim against the tide? Or, is it possible to add one more element to the repertoire?
We’ll see. Right now, my excuse is that I can’t start any needlework projects until after Christmas. Plus, my hands are all rough and sore from dealing with firewood. I wonder if the folks who worked on the Bayeaux Tapestry had similar complaints?
Meanwhile, I’m making a supper of savory sausage and cabbage with a caraway seed/brown sugar sauce and fresh Irish brown bread. And maybe I’ll put together a nice apple dessert…
