Originally posted March 12, 2009
I’ve always considered myself to be a creative person. Creative is relative, I suppose, but whether it was acting, singing, dancing, writing, or what have you, I’ve always been involved in one creative endeavor or another for as long as I can remember. I’ve tried my hand at visual arts to, with moderate success at best. I enjoy photography but won’t be winning any awards any time soon, and my drawing skills leave something to be desired. (Unless you’re looking for daisies, mushrooms, or cute little happy snails. If that’s the case, I’m your girl.)
And despite the fact that I love my job and my co-workers to death, the work I do doesn’t exactly get my creative juices flowing on a regular basis. It has its moments, sure, and I do get to do a good bit of writing, but for the most part I’m marketing the talent or creativity of someone else, not myself.
Because of this, I’ve found that now more than ever, I have a need to find a regular creative outlet on my own time.
Honestly I feel like this is a basic human need no matter who you are. We were born with an instinct to create. Not finding an outlet for that urge causes us to shrivel up, longing to be inspired by SOMETHING.
World, meet my new inspiration.
I’ve never before in my life felt an inclination toward sewing. My mother was a really good seamstress, so you would think that would have rubbed off on me as a kid. Alas, much like my relatively-new found love of cooking, that was a mutual interest we were destined not to share.
But right around Thanksgiving last year I felt this NEED to begin sewing, so the boy bought me my very first sewing machine as a Christmas present. My projects thus far have been modest and meager, but fulfilling all the same.
And I got big plans involving the windows in my dining room…
(Photo taken from Janome)