Amber M.

Limiting oneself. I kinda got a head start on this one. We have to move this year, and I freeze in terror whenever I think about packing. Dear god! I'm a fiber artist: I am defined by my obsession about collecting odd things that will be useful in unintended ways. And then there's the panic about the move itself. Nightmare! Every move I've made has been worse than the last, and that last one was a 12-hour ordeal -- to move 12 miles! Yikes! Panic Panic Panic. 

Whew. More about this later.

So I'm using up my dyes wherever possible. I'm sewing things together just in case they make a quilt, because that will be easier to pack than 80,000 little bits of cloth. Wondering if Novato has a city limit to how many garage sales I can hold per year. I've already taken to throwing out the JoAnn and Beverly's sales circulars before I even look at them. Danged enablers. I don't care how many percent you're discounting the rubber stamps or Ranger products. I've got rubber stamps all over my house, not including the ones I carved myself.  I DON'T NEED ANY MORE STUFF!!

The studio work I've been doing the last couple of weeks, my color testing, is part of organizing and inventorying my dyes: when I know what colors I can make with what I've got, then I know whether I need to buy a given color. Considering the infinity of shades one can achieve with 3 primary colors (plus black), I doubt I'll be buying new colors any time soon. This also uses up the bolt of muslin I've had kicking around for awhile. Granted, it's really only changing its form -- from bolt to piles of fat quarters -- it's being used, and it's going into at least one quilt, which I'm hoping will get me some practice in matching corners. I might even be able to sell some of it in value gradation fat quarters, or perfectly lovely yards, or...

I'm looking around my studio, wondering what I could simply bag up and take to Goodwill. I bought a bunch of fat quarter bundles of *premade* fabrics at various times during trips to Tuesday Morning stores (I love their crafts section: another enabler!). They sit crumpled in a drawer; I don't use them because I've made so many other interesting fabrics of my own. They could go. That fleece yardage over there. One purple and one fake tie-dye. I was going to make a jester's hat out of it. But heaven knows when I'll actually *make* the danged hat, so the fleece can go, too. There's an entire corner of my room cleared!

Relieved sigh. Maybe I can survive this move after all. And bonus! A clear, organized studio space. Eventually.

Here are some specific plans:

1. Those felting forms for hats. Very specialized item. Nobody who doesn't needle felt will even know what they are. Yard sale? Puzzled looks. Sell 'em on Etsy! Those folks will know what they're for! (I might even have bought them from an Etsy seller; I forget).

2. Yard sale(s): advertise with the local needle arts' guild(s) that a FIBER ARTIST IS CLEARING STASH!! COME AND BE HEALED!! Also put notices at Dharma Trading Company and Bev-Jo's, my favorite, major enablers.

3. Organize 3-5 areas per week. That's less than one a day, so it's not too daunting -- also represents an average; some weeks may be more, some less. I have to factor in time off for resting the joints, or I will suffer mightily and never recover.

4. Remind myself of the little factoid I've learned over the years. Everything Always Gets Done. Always.

Part Two: Exploring Limitations; Work With It -- Content

The loudest word in my head/soul right now is FEAR. I am so terrified of this proposed move..when Mark told me it would be Spring not Summer I passed out cold from panic. This is not a good sign. Is there any way I can make this terror into something positive? Can I even continue to type with my hands shaking this hard?

Default: fear of the unknown. Yet I'm pretty sure I know how the move will go: the movers will tell me sweet little lies; things will get broken; I will hurt myself beyond repair by pushing myself too hard. I remember the last time, a decade ago. The stress of it killed my elderly kitty cat. It nearly wiped *me* out. Good God, this isn't anything *unknown* that scares me: I know full well how awful a move can be, and each one's been uglier than the last. Yikes. And last time, ten years ago, I was able to function on my own. For instance, I was still able to drive back then. Hands now too painful to push a steering wheel through a left turn: I'm supposed to be lugging boxes around? Ah, what a mess.

Ok. This whine session is not leading me to anything useful like content; just more complaints. I'm too close to it. Seems like using art to work through fear would be a good idea. It probably is. I'm just too close to it, scared to try, scared to act, scared to MOVE. [Aha!] Should I try exploring "movement"? Or perhaps "moving" is closer to the truth? Well, I have to go have an anxiety-barf now. See you later.