I’ve shifted away from color today and dived back into my stash of blacks and greys. A friend called this one “Stealth Ninja Crane.”
Date: March 15, 2013
Location: Apartment, Washington Heights, NYC
Person I would have sent it to: my grandfather, Joe.
Music I listened to while sewing: Thanks to Spotify, I chose a playlist called “Look at my Newer House.” An hour or so of house music… which seemed like pop-dance music. Not quite the ambient mellow music I was listening to (Any suggestions?), so I’m now back to Ragtime.
Thoughts/Feelings behind the block: If you’ve been following along, maybe you’ve picked up that I don’t sleep very well. It’s not unlikely for me to stay up until 11:30 or midnight in bed, unable to fall asleep. And it’s not unlikely that I will wake up every few hours or so. Last night/this morning was a prime example of my self-diagnosed Insomnia: after finally calming down enough to turn off my lights around midnight, I woke up again a little after 3 and was up until 6, when I fell asleep again (until 8am!). While frustrating, I did manage to read Miss Julie by Strindberg for an upcoming production.
But this also means I’m tired today.
It also means I’m worrying more again, allowing my focus to wander away from the day, and wallowing in a bit of self-pity.
I worry that I haven’t found a nice project or two to sink my teeth into in a month or so. I worry that I’ve been left behind. I worry that my career isn’t necessarily “over” because I also worry it never had a chance to start. I worry about money. I worry that I’m single (even though I’m choosing to be so). I worry about my health. I worry that I don’t have enough friends. I worry that I’m okay being solitary. I worry that I worry.
I get that much of being an adult isn’t easy. Life is filled with complications and detours and hardships. The fun times we have are fun because we also have times when life seems so incredibly tedious.
I started this project to help with these worries. Each crane is a day in my life for 1000 days. Each crane represents the present. The act of choosing fabric, cutting the pattern out, piecing it together, and so on is a physical activity I can look forward to. It’s an hour to live in the present and focus on a task at hand that I enjoy. It’s productive. I produce something. I document my product with a picture. I write about it.
Each Crane is a day in the life of me. Each Crane is a thank you note to the people I have had in my life. Each Crane is a part of the timeline that is my life.
I should be getting more specific; wouldn’t it be wonderful if, after a few years have passed and at the end of “A Thousand Quilted Cranes,” I was left with both a visual journal and a written account of what each Crane represented?
Each day at a time.
Thank you for today. Thank you for tonight. Thank you for tomorrow.
Have a good night, everyone.