This question has been running circles in my brain for the past year amidst a host of other questions. Why do I do it? Why do I love to make quilts? Why am I obsessed with sewing? Why did I give up what my mother would call a good job to make "stuff" for a living?
I'm still looking for the answers. In looking for those answers I have discovered a myriad of interesting things about the care and feeding of Cheryl. Sewing is like air to me. I need it to breathe. Sewing is my language. I use it to survive and communicate. Sewing is how I bonded with my mother as a kid. I have witnessed how humble pieces of cloth can bring tears to the eyes. I make clothes so that my outer appearance is as unique as my inner spirit. I make quilts to capture a whisper of a moment and preserve a little history. I am good at it. I am obsessed with it. I can't be left unattended in a craft shop of any sort. It is how I choose to spend my time and money.
I have a natural aptitude for sewing that I have nurtured my entire life. Every book I have read on crafting, every show I have Tivo-ed and watched a hundred times, every mistake, and every unfinished project has made me into the artist/crafter/hermit that I am today. I have crafted this existence one day at a time...one project at a time.
I used to feel like I had to justify my choice to be an artist to people who have more conventional jobs (that's my own people pleasing baggage hard at work) but no more. I think the answer is much simpler than I would like to admit.
I'm pretty good at it. It makes me happy. That's it.