Sunny Side Up July 24, 2002 � 2002, Kathleen Gibson Master artists don�t forget their designs Once upon a time I lived, loved, and breathed crafts. For a while it was a family affair. Together we were �Church Mice Associated,� and we spent many pleasurable summer weekends selling our wares at craft fairs. But I�m a teacher at heart, so for several decades and in five provinces I taught creative arts�everything from baskets to corn husk dolls to folk painting to willow furniture. In colleges, schools, churches, homes, stores, hotels, retreat centers. Over television, even. I spend my creative energy on words now, but every so often I miss that euphoric, �That�s really good!� feeling of having made something with my own ten fingers. So when I needed a gift a while back, I resolved to make it. I chose a familiar project, one I�d made often. A wallpaper-covered, bunny-shaped box featured in a decade-old issue of Country Handcrafts magazine. I still had a finished box, and I�d kept my precut templates. I figured I could make that box in an hour or so�without referring to the instructions in the magazine. One hour later the box was far from complete, but it was still fun to work with paper and glue again. Two later I thought with regret that a nice towel set would have been a perfect gift. And three hours after beginning my �quick project,� glue clung to even my eyelashes. Wallpaper and cardboard scraps littered the dining room end to end, and I was altogether stalled. Nearly in tears. I hated to do it. It devastated my pride. But I got up from the table and went downstairs. Found the magazine and read the instructions. Discovered my wrong turn, corrected it, and eventually finished the box. All during this time, I tried very hard not to look at the name and bio of the designer, a frequent contributor to Country Handcrafts back then�Kathleen Gibson. Who said that life�s cruelest cuts are reserved for the unlucky in love? I never thought I could forget that design I�d worked so hard to develop, those instructions I�d pondered over so long. I did though, and ten years later it seemed like a stranger�s design. I�m inspired by the example of a friend. A master craftsman, he has complete recollection of the minutest details of every design he�s ever created. Unlike me, he keeps working on them; adjusting, enhancing, testing, developing. His designs are all over the world, and whether they �re displayed in hovels or palaces, he keeps track of their whereabouts. He believes so firmly in their worth and beauty that he stubbornly promotes even those the rest of society ignores. He�s done this as long as I�ve known him, and for years before. But sometimes he just stands back and admires. �Ah, this one�s good,� he says, �the best.� He�s not being egotistical. He�s right. His designs are the best in the universe. You�re one of them. So am I. Ah, my friend. God. To him, you�re unforgettable. You can respond to this column at [email protected] |
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