Transformation & Hope - Part 2

 Part 2 of 9; 45 rows of 114.

I've pondered the meaning of transformation as I circled around this work's center, Still Point, wondering what transformation is, really. I am transforming balls of yarn into a mandala, a work of art, of utility. The yarn itself is a transformation of wool into thread. The wool is a transformation from food and water and sunlight into fiber on the back of a sheep.

Could it be this simple, the change from one thing into another? Etymologically the word is trans - across, beyond, through, on the other side of; plus, form v. - create, give life to, give shape or structure; to make, build, construct, devise; n. shape, character.

Certainly this work of crocheting, then, is a transformation: from sun and grass to a Mandala. This thought literally sets me back on my heels: I only see the surface, the thing, the noun of items around me, when, possibly, probably, they are actually sunshine and grass transformed into shoes and curtains, tables and hammers. What life a toothbrush is when I hold it in my hand - holding sunshine transformed - the power and mystery!

In the 14th century the definition of "transform" leant more toward metamorphose, which means to change form, alter or modify the shape or character of. By the 15th century, metamorphose was connected to the ancient mysterious arts, especially witchcraft. And like all good things mysterious, pagan and inexplicable, the Church shifted the meaning of the word, took it for its own use, divided it into good and bad. Women and men who created, regenerated, devised, formed and reformed objects, health, people, and lives - metamorphosed - were burned at the stake. Perhaps they understood the power of transformation, the power of sunshine in the hand when holding a sprig of lavender, and it cost them bitterly when people around them could not see.

I want this year's crochet project to transform me. I want to be expanded by seeking deepward, inward, transformed, shape shifted, edge sharpened, edge blurred, alive in the best magical sense of creative, intuitive, inquisitive, re-formed, trans formed. Around the still point, not fixed nor moving, not flesh nor fleshless, not moving from nor toward, where the past and the future gather. This still point is where transformation happens. 

Transformation & Hope - Part 1

This project is an exercise in Transformation. It begins as a mandala, circular and contemplative then slowly and spectacularly transforms, reshapes, into a finished square. I am looking forward to this metamorphosis in the project.

Last year's work, Mandala 2020, was about grief, despair, resolution as treasured people in my life left and the pandemic raged across the globe, nation, state and community. We are still in the throes of COVID-19; some restrictions have lifted, the vaccine makes us braver and we feel lighter and more "normal". As always, time has eased the bright personal grief into a grayer, poignant memory, and the massive national and global grief of lives lost to this disease is simply becoming a new normal. 

Like the pattern of this work, life today is about Transformation and Hope. The last year of reflection, consideration, meditation, exploration and resolution resulted in a shift in me, in my outlook on life, my understanding of myself, my willingness to pause and consider, breathe in and begin the arduous chipping free of the chrysalis built around me. Us.

How can I not be anything but different? How can I not be in the midst of a metamorphosis, a change in my being, a transformation?  The world is different. My family is different. My friends are different. Work is different. Our lifestyle has shifted and is different. The way I get food, clothes, basics is different.

Like last year, this pattern is not my own. It is called Sacred Space CAL copyrighted by Helen Shrimpton of crystalsandcrochet.com. I followed her recommendation on the yarn - Stylecraft Life DK at 75% acrylic, 25% wool - and am very glad I did so. It is beautiful, perhaps the nicest I have used for many years. Thank you, Helen, for sharing your experience and craft freely and generously.

Mandala 2020 - Six Months Later

It has been six months since finishing the Mandala. I have been sitting on this accomplishment, reflecting sifting thinking observing how I feel, how it affected my life, how it sits on me now. It is time to put it away, finish this project.

Today I boxed it up, a bunch of lavender from the garden included, with a Get Well card to the future. Taped. Stored. Done.

Here are a few things I think, bestirred by this project:

1. Resolution - This word has surfaced again and again. I make resolutions regularly, many of which do not pan out or get done. Why was I successful at this resolution? what about it brought me back to it again and again? Was it the creative process, one of the deep abiding strengths of mine which is often, mostly, suppressed? was it the grief work? was it a habit? I don't know.

Resolve as a word springs from undoing, untying, breaking down, similar to the modern word of dissolute. Resolutions are hard for me as the modern instance of the word demands some bootstrapping, tough as steel core inner strength, law loving, stay in the lines action. Not always my bailiwick. Resolution as breaking down, falling apart, undoing - this resonates in me: Break down the "resolution" into parts and pieces to be examined felt considered managed, then the construction success begins. This is a creative process, not a warrior princess action. This is more me.

Maybe this is why I like scrappy quilts and rug twining - the pieces are broken apart, gathered from the undone, and rebuilt into something that can be celebrated and loved. Resolution. Resolved. Re-solved.

2. Eight repeats in each round mimic the Buddhist Eightfold Path - Right Understanding, Right Intent, Right Speech, Right Action, Right Livelihood, Right Effort, Right Mindfulness, Right Concentration. It has been a long time since I studied Buddhism; however, this effort of the last year brought some of the thoughts back to mind and provided contemplative fodder as I worked the rounds, the Wheel of Life. Am I understanding why I am doing this work? What is my intent? Is it worth the effort? Am I well placed in my work and earning? Can I be more careful in my speech and actions?

3. I miss it, missed it terribly early on after it's completion. What do I miss? The grief? the outward expression that I'm grieving in the best Victorian sense of black crepe? The action? The obvious and singular "me" time? What do I miss? Can I say the words, can I stop mocking myself with falsehood as I sit among the rocks?

Within weeks of finishing I had patterns printed for the next effort - really? I was considering a new relationship when this old one was only just ended! Now I want to bury the Mandala, burn it in the fires of the Winter Solstice, drop this care into oblivion as I step forward into a new year of hope and transformation. I don't want people to see it, the grief and pain. It is mine. MINE. I want it hidden, as always, don't let anyone see.

4. Creativity. I hide this part of me behind "socially acceptable". This effort, while utilitarian at the end, expressed some deeper need for making. Mesmerized by my Grandmothers and their crochet needles dipping in and out and in and out, string has always fascinated me, is a constant thread through my memories. My first crochet belt and pot holders, taught the basics by my Grandmothers, hiding my effort from my own mother as a surprise; my first weaving and cardboard card loom; embroidered flour sacks; gluing yarn to sheets of butcher paper with homemade flour paste; spinning with wool and a drop spindle with a potato as the weight; weaving baskets with yarn (my first ever exhibit in an art show!); macramé; knitting sweaters and coats and scarves; twining rugs. 

What happens if I pull this thread of remembrance and yearning? Dare I? Is this a Right on my Wheel of Life?

5. Strangely, T.S. Eliot, again, in Burnt Norton expressed what I think is the most elemental process this Mandala provided me in breathtaking, heart stopping, eye-leaking, poetry:

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;

Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,

But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,

Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,

Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,

There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.

The Mandala gave me a Still Point through the year as I turned the circle of its creating, a place to rest and work, to move through grief and joy, to be still while moving. The breathtaking stillness still point where the spinning vortex whirls, but I stop in its midst, suspended as in free fall, still, breath taking, quiet. Dance. Is.

Mandala 2020 - Stages 17 & 18

The Mandala is done. And I am not certain how I feel about it, or whether I can write about it.

I finished it a couple of weeks ago and have been sitting with the finality of the project, reflecting on its impact on this life lived over the last year. I seem to be awaiting a thunderbolt from the goddesses claiming, "It is finished!" Or perhaps a sense of relief. Or maybe tears, or elation, or disappointment.

This I know: I miss it. When I sit in my chair at the end of the day, I miss its presence beside me, the space it consumed, the ways in which I lived for it and around it. Perhaps there is a lesson there, that the weight of the project, of grief, isolation, were a comfort to me, lived beside me, were companions this last year, and that throwing them off leaves me wondering what to do with this new freedom, new weightlessness. Were I a chrysalis turned butterfly I would spread my wings to the wind and seek out sustenance, companionship; I, however, don't know what to do. 

My daughter said there must be a lesson about tragedy, perseverance, beauty and survival in it; this in fact, IS the Mandala, no?

Here are the stats: 

Finished size: 88" in diameter
Weight: 7.6 pounds
Stitch count: 60,317 at a minimum
Start date: March 2, 2020
Finished date: February 15, 2021

Mandala 2020 - Stage 16

 

Blessèd sister, holy mother,
spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden,
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in (your) will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated
And let my cry come unto Thee.

Ash Wednesday - T. S. Eliot - 1927

These words from Nobel Laureate T.S. Eliot (italics mine) are posted front and center on my desk. The dark midnight nibbling at my edges is relinquishing to a dawn in the truth that this is me. my. life. now. The burdens and griefs, the reaving of the last few years are mine me I, and are my present future past. Telling myself this truth, grasping it, even while among the hard rocks, is freeing, lifting, hopeful.

And around the Mandala this reflecting thinking breathing is stitched into the fabric. 

The redo work from previous stages was worth the effort as I seemed to breeze through Stage 16. Just eight rows left. The Mandala is large; it takes considerable effort to manage. During this wintertime, however, its lap warming welcome invites the effort, so I stitch and stitch and reflect around the round.

In this fresh new year of 2021 I am looking further ahead with hope and expectation. To do lists, want lists, one week at a time plans - the famed resolutions of a new year - have moved me from melted welded curled in my chair to planning working accomplishing projects. This feels good, "not mocking myself with falsehood", exposing the lie that my life will return to normal. This is normal, this sitting among the hard rocks, reuniting my broken parts, unseparated.

Mandala 2020 - Stage 15

 

This New Year completes 10 months of crocheting on the Mandala. Some stats to consider:

MANDALA:

Size:  77" in diameter
Weight:  6 pounds
Rows:  97 (of 111)
Stitches:  45,869 approx
Stage: 15 (of 18)

The last row in this 14th stage proved a challenge. Like previous stages I suspect I miscounted the row, or rows, below. After the third time ripping out 700 stitches, I devised a plan to compensate for the apparent mistakes, so I finished with the correct number of stitches. At this stage I know that mistakes are magnified exponentially so here's hoping that I won't meet my errors in the next few rows.

Two stages left; 14 rows. This effort has been a journey, and it is exciting to have a possible goal date. I started the project in March 2020; it would be nice to have it finished by March '21. With six weeks between now and then, at four hours per week, I might just make it. Of course, this depends on how many stitches/rows I have to pull out and redo to make the rounds work.

I have been thinking about the value of this project. The dollar value, if I were paid $10 per hour for my labor, would be astronomical. Someone would really really want to have it to make the hours pay. The inner work I've done while working the Mandala, that is priceless.