Inspiration knockout

Rarely a day passes in which I am not creative. Creativity is a part of my livelihood. What I didn't realize, or perhaps just didn't connect was just how profound this actually can be...

I've always admired the antique lace and crocheted tatting that mother saved from my great-grandmother. I have used this in several of my artistic creations in the past few years. Other than thinking it was beautiful, and a cool vintage tribute to my great-grandmother, I never thought much about it other than of its uniqueness. It set my clothing designs apart, but that was about it.

Tonight I held a few pieces of this lace, one from the cuff of a sleeve, one trim from a petticoat, and about 6 inches of trim off of a corset cover. I stitched the ends together, gathered them in the center and made three beautiful, antique flowers to accent my sister's wedding garter. I held the large rosette in my hand and looked at it in the palm of my hand, still connected to my needle and thread. Suddenly, I envisioned what these pieces might have looked like over 100 years ago when they were first made. Then I realized that my 29-year-old hands, busy with creative energy, were touching the same pieces of lace that were held in the hands of my great-grandmother, Frieda. She died when I was 4, and my memories of her are mostly comprised of stories and sparse snapshot-like memories. But then I realized it was deeper than that. I felt connected to generations of creativity. Suddenly, my usually steady hands started to tremble a little bit, and I felt the tears well behind my eyes and fall down my cheek.

I saw that I wasn't just holding lace, or flowers, but I was actually holding the hand of my great-grandmother through our shared creativity. All of a sudden, art transcended time, and I sat awhile with my great-grandma. I've never considered how deeply rooted my creativity is in my spirit until tonight. I knew my parents were creative, and that I must have learned it from them. Tonight I understand it much deeper. When I stared at the yellowed, time-worn lace in the palm of my hand, I saw the hands of a woman whose heart I share. Creativity is in our hearts and is shown in the work of our hands. Thus, through the things I create with my hands, people can see into my heart...and into the hearts of those who came a long time before me. It's more than a tradition, family value, or even genetics. It's a connection, a connection that only hearts understand. Thanks for hanging out with me tonight Frieda. Come back again soon. Love, Mandi