So I have to write a few sentences about myself... Yes, exactly. ABOUT ME. An interview with myself? I’m a bit confused. Even though speaking and writing is not a hard task for me, I don’t have to search for words deep in my pockets… Somehow this feels peculiar.
Ok then, let’s make it quick, in one breath:
I don’t understand why people love to ride a motorcycle. I have done it. Not exactly in the front seat steering by myself, but on the back with my arms wrapped around a handsome guy. It was long ago. Very long ago.
I do not understand how one can love to knead clay. Even though I've held that cold, wet clump in my hands. I have even sat at the potter’s wheel. And my daughter has two (!) degrees in ceramic arts.
I do not understand how it is to like soldering, rasping, chiseling, grinding, forging, hammering...
But, Oh, how fully do I UNDERSTAND, I feel and hope I even know how to be tangled in colorful skeins of yarn, how to appreciate the fragrance of the fiber... Warmly, cosy, slowly, calmly, meditatively – just start off „painting” a sweater. Up to the half. Or until almost-ready, nearly-done... Some bad thought sticks to the mind? The work has to be put aside, ill thoughts are not allowed to be knit „into”. Time goes, moods pass, unpleasant thoughts get forgotten. And another sweater can be started, and then another one... And then I have the urge to make a different one... My hands can not keep up with my head. But is there any need to run? Is there any need to dash with a motorcycle?
And it’s not that the aim, the now-it’s-absolutely-finished state can never be reached. It can. The sweater is brought to completion, and a variety of multicolored buttons are sewed on, and it is prepared and packed for somebody eager to wear it, given to someone, sent away. And then the appreciating „thank you” is received in response. Which I read, of course. And I like it, naturally. But I always am a tiny bit (or even more than a tiny bit) shy and blushing.
And then again I pour mountains of yarn balls in the center of my studio. It is a beginning of a process anew. Something like a watercolor painting is emerging... It changes and transforms on the way, it flows, it streams... Bliss. Is this word overly high-sounding? Probably. Still it is very close to that feeling. To the feeling of perfect happiness.
Find me here: