Last night, while I efficiently and creatively spent my time browsing Pinterest, my mind somehow wandered, and I began thinking about creativity and what it means to me.
I love staying up when everyone else is asleep.
At night the house is very quiet, and no one needs anything from me, and I am at last able to think coherent thoughts, without those likeable urgent interruptions. (*"Juice, mom." Mom, can you play with me?," " Mom, I can't find my ...," "Mom, tell him/her to stop!,"" I'm bored, Mom..")
Sitting quietly at the clean dinner table with my laptop, a cup of coffee and a sleepy dog at my feet, I feel so content, that I tend to stretch the night as long as I possibly can.
I feel most creative at night! Don't you? And I am not talking about the Pinterest kind of creativity, (you know what I mean,) but the real, tickling fingers kind of creativity, the kind that makes your head spin with ideas and your heart beat fast.
Sometimes at night I get into this creative zone, millions of ideas racing through my head at the speed of light, and I just can not wait until the morning, so that I can get into the studio and execute some of these ab fab ideas.
Alas, when the morning arrives, and despite that urging need to create, my body is much slower than my mind.
Add to that two kids who rightfully demand my full attention, a dog, the cast, the husband (When he's around,), household issues to resolve, shopping to be shopped and stuff to be, well, stuffed, very few hours of sleep at night, and you get a very tired, neurotic doll maker. A little frustrating, I must confess.
The last couple of weeks, both kids have had a tummy bug. They were as miserable as can be. We all were. There wasn't a lot I could do to help them. Viruses are nasty.
I had such big plans for work, but obviously the kids come first, so I just let my creative alter ego roam wild at night, and pinned a lot of pins on Pinterest, while secretly eyeing my studio, yearning for some uninterrupted work time.
In the last few days, I found that time. Ahhhh, pure, utter joy.
Praise the Lord and Ha. Le. Lu, Whatnot.
I fell head over heels with my studio, my dolls, fabric, the machines. I almost kissed my dressmaking scissors. I spent my time wisely, and made new patterns. I felt like a kid in a candy store. {for those of you who do not know any kids, it is a kind of dizzy, giddy, overjoyed feeling;)
I know it is ridiculous, but I love, love, love my work. I am more than happy to spend days on end in the studio. I don't mind the bruised fingers, the needles that attack me when I least expect it, the backache I get from sitting by the machines or table, leaning down to the doll at hand. I do not mind any of it. It is nothing. I forget it all when the doll or the new outfit is done. And you know, it isn't even about reaching the finish line.
I get a real kick out of the process itself. Crazy. I know.
My Mother-in-Law, who has been living with us for the last couple of years, worries that I spend too much time and invest too much of myself into every doll I make. It worries her. My husband, and some of our friends, think I should get more help and develope lines of dolls that can be easily essembled by assistants, and grow my business.
Honestly? They just do. not. get it.
I can not think of making mass production dolls. I just know I won't see myself in these dolls.
It is not about earning lots of money or getting recognized, or distributing world wide, as my husband believes I should do. In the end, it is about those intimate moments in my studio, when I touch that soft, soft wool batting and start forming the doll. The times when I can not sleep at night because my mind is busy with ideas for new dolls, or a new technique, a new fabric I would like to try. It is about happiness, and creativity and that pure joy in making something simple, yet special, with my hands.
Anyway. I'll leave you to it. I hear one of those annoyingly needy mohair wefts calling my name from the studio. I tell ya, doll wigs these days...
