Listening to the Work

How Long Did it Take you to Do That!?

And Other Questions that Nobody Has Ever Asked Me

That's what I'm going to title my memoir, folks.

While no one has ever looked at my paintings or embroidery and felt compelled to ask me how long it took, it's something that I think about often. There are a few things in life that can teach you how precious time is, and among them is caretaking. In the wake of welcoming my kiddo to the world, I learned how to get extremely creative and flexible with my time. An entire book can be read in a few weeks if you get maybe 10 minutes of reading in while you're all sitting down for a meal. Is that an A+ parenting move? Maybe not. But it's beside the point.

Which is…despite knowing that time is invaluable, I sometimes put hours and hours and days into my work. And my mind reels a little bit.

This piece here (which is far from finished) could've reached this stage in a quarter the amount of time if I had used a stem stitch instead of a couching stitch for the labyrinth walls. I could've filled in the goddess shape with textile paint, but no…I used a spiraling backstitch. I could've done it smaller.

But I didn't. I savored every slow stitch because the work said to.

Have you run into that phenomenon?

Logic may dictate that you approach a piece a certain way. Your plan may involve certain colors.

And you start, you're excited, you're about to make a mark aaaaaaand- no.

The piece says "no. Try this instead."

So you find yourself reaching for a different color than you expected. You take the long way around. Hours and hours later…it almost doesn't matter if anyone noticed the time poured in. There's an innate satisfaction that comes from listening to the work rather than telling it what and how it must be.

When I start to freak out a bit that I’m wasting too much time, I remember that good collaboration takes however long it takes. And you can’t collaborate if you’re not listening.