Only Connect: Slow Cloth and Community

This is the second post in a series on 10 qualities of the Slow Cloth approach. This was a tough one; I've been trying to write this post all week, not sure if I'm saying too much about myself and whether what is so meaningful to me just sounds banal in this context. Maybe so, but let's give it a try, and see if my disjointed thoughts make any sense.

Let me start by saying I'm not much of a joiner. I've been outside the margins for pretty much my entire life; it's not what I wanted but that's how it turned out. My early life was randomly peripatetic, highly unstable and anything but normal; there were no consistent relatives, friends, or schools. I was the only girl in a family of boys, and therefore the lightning rod for my family's gender-related baggage and hostility; I was also separated from and accelerated out of my age group in school and scorned by my parents for wanting normal social activity. This didn't make me a very good candidate for a happy marriage and family, so I don't have children; much of the conversation among my friends in the last 20 years or so has been about things I can only observe, with both the sadness and freedom inherent in that. It's taken me most of my 50 years to even begin to tell the truth about my life and experiences, and to really begin to heal and allow myself some happiness.

The things I am good at and passionate about -- art, textile crafts, yoga, writing -- are most often solo activities, and whether that's a chicken or an egg, I don't know. I like to be invited to the party, and most of the time I'm really happy to be at the party once I get there, but because my nature is introverted, I need time alone or in very private company the next day or week to regenerate.

Too much information? This is all a roundabout way of saying that community is a concept that's been elusive for me. I am by no means an expert at it, and when I experience it, in ways other people take for granted, it can be revelatory. And not always comfortable. Yet I am a firm believer that community matters. In the world of Slow Cloth (which my keyboard wants to abbreviate to Sloth . . .that can't be good, can it?) we are all linked by some form of community, and for many of us, it's one of the great unexpected rewards and pleasures of making things with fiber.

Some of my very best experiences of community have been facilitated by common interest in textile art and craft. Like everything under the sun, this isn't new. Quilting bees are the best-known form of the special camaraderie that happens. Gen Y-ers didn't invent knitting gatherings. And today the internet and blog world has expanded infinitely our capacity to connect through a shared love or use of fiber. For many of us who work alone, this is a fantastic gift of community. Few of even the most introverted among us have the resources or endurance to be Georgia O'Keeffe alone in the desert; we have to find that happy medium between solitude and society.

I've refrained a little from referring to "those who stitch" as female, but mostly, we are. So when we gather, virtually or physically, both the way we connect with each other and the traditionally female activities that we do while connecting tend to be undervalued in society. A man might put "relationship management" on his resume as a valuable skill; it's what women do all the time. Creating community consciously, with intent and integrity is definitely valuable and life-enriching.

Formal or informal, communities always take work and there are always complications and challenges in the ways we relate. As the world gets smaller and the news gets more ominous, none of us will survive alone. There's a lot more to say about this, but that's enough for today. I don't have a conclusion except to say that I'm glad for the ways that textiles and cloth help me stay connected. The analogy of the thread that holds things together, often in a beautiful way, is a good one.

Photo of Gee's Bend quilting bee by Andre Natta. Some rights reserved under Creative Commons license.

Comments

[beadbabe49]

thank you for your beautiful post...I didn't find it disjointed at all and applaud your courage to be so frank about your background. As an artist for many years, I have no difficulties sharing my work in my blog, but I have a much harder time with personal information, yet often it's the personal information behind the work that draws people back to look at more work.
anyway, bravo and thanks also for this whole slow cloth/craft thread!

[Paula Hewitt]

I can relate to your comments about needing time by yourself to recover from social interaction. the worst part of being married with kids is the lack of personal space. luckily I dont work so I have time free and clear during the day to 'get over them' - if i worked as well i dont think i could cope. When i did work (premarriage) I often told friends i was going away during my holidays and stayed at home cooped up with books etc and just recovered from being with people. Having said that the sense of community associated with textile craft is one of the things that has drawn me to it. i cope better with people if i have a common interest, blogging is particularly good, because it is community on my own terms - i can join in when i want, and as much as I want. I need to think about this more.

[Lainie]

Beadbabe 49, thank you so much. Your words mean a lot to me. It's actually very new to me to say these things "out loud" -- having someone hear them and respond so graciously, and not just call me a whiner, or crazy, is very helpful.

Paula, I meant to link to an awesome article from 2003 in The Atlantic, "Caring for Your Introvert" -- the best explanation I've seen, and very funny. If you haven't read it, have a look: http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200303/rauch

[Jane]

I've been following your blog for some time now but this is the first time I've been moved to comment. I relate so much to your comments about being able to tell the truth about your life and experiences. I know how much courage and strength it takes to confront these things in the privacy of your own head, let alone talk out loud about them and I think you are very brave to comment on them here.

As for community, most of my time stitching, which for Japanese embroidery definitely comes under the heading of slow cloth, is spent in solitary enjoyment. But coming together with a group of like minded people for our classes twice a year is such a highlight. I think this form of community is a wonderful thing, no one judges anyone else and everyone, no matter what their background, is made welcome.

This has been a longer comment than I thought it would be so I'll just add 'you are not alone' and wish you well on your journey.

[everyday sewist]

Me too. :)

[jeanne]

what an enjoyable post this one is. were we joiners, i'd say we 'bout have enough for a club. i'm a solitary kind of gal, too. one who has always felt guilty about that, embarrassed for my mother having a child like me while living in a culture that assigns all sorts of importance to living out "the more the merrier," a culture that placed much judgmental emphasis on how many people you were seen with. crowds, clubs, groups generally exhaust me.

i am reluctant to reveal much about self, yet do so enjoy the community of bloggers who share common traits and passions. having always been one who needs a little room for thinking (in whatever form thinking may take at any given moment), blogging is for me, like the chair the woman in rita dove's poem called "daystar" takes out behind the garage to sit out the children's naps.

[Marit]

I am deeply moved by reading your post, and can connect to what you write. Most of all I am inspired by your philsophy on Slow Cloth, and the way you so beautifully express yourself. I think a part of me is into working with textiles as a meditation and healing prosess, a way to connect to myself and of course trying to create some beauty to surround myself with. Just everyday beauty, not necessarily great art. The picture from Gee's Bend grabbed my attention. That's the kind of beauty I am trying to adress. (Clumsily, since english is not my first language). Thank you so much for sharing.