I recently lost a sketch book that meant alot to me. It had drawings I’d made of E. as a baby and other sketches that I loved, like this:
Those who know me said, Well, it will turn up. Many things I lose (and I seem to lose lots) do, in fact, turn up. But I was so sad. I had a feeling that this would not return.
Good artist-mom friends said, Make another one. Not that I could make another just the same. But a new-old mix — a tribute to the original and a similar emotional and artistic space.
So I tried it.
I did this:
And I got this:
I’m happy. And feel so much better. Now I’m thinking more about ideas for filling this book than about losing the old one.
In times of worry I tend to reach for my knitting, or my sketchbook. In this case, the stitching, the scratchy sound of needle and waxed thread through paper, the rare time alone, the concentration, and the beautiful materials all calmed me. Slowing down to make something — to create, rather than fret or fuss or buy — was truly healing.