Also noted last month was the fifth anniversary of learning a new creative discipline and the completion of the largest piece of art I’ve ever undertaken.

When Decorating Eggs first came out in the mid-90’s, I told book tour audiences that next to raising children, writing that book was the hardest thing I’d ever done. I added that, next to raising children, it was also the most rewarding.

All these years later I recognize that, completing an artwork that took nearly six months, met those same criteria – complex, painstakingly trying, and ultimately most satisfying.

The stages of each are remarkably similar (indulge me the mixing of metaphors here):

1. First comes The Great Idea – A publisher approaches my craft show booth in the early 1990’s and asks, “Do you think there’s a book in this?” and I say, “Absolutely!”
2. Then there’s The What-Have-I-Done Phase as the reality of the mission takes hold. Although I studied and experienced the stages of pregnancy, labor and delivery, the reality of having a newborn impacting my daily life was beyond daunting. When was I supposed to take a shower with these unexpected new demands on my time?
3. Next in any major growth experience comes The Slump – the terrible two’s when your adorable infant (manuscript, art piece) stops being adorable.
4. The book has gone into the publishing process and you’re in The Final Stretch – the end is in sight, but the steps at this point get closer together and harder than ever, and there’s no turning back: creating an index, finding an image before there were digital files, etc. (There is no Final Stretch with raising kids, but when they’ve turned 18, there may be a reprieve.)
5. Finally, there’s Completion – publication, the Bat Mitzvah, a moment of “I’m done!”

But, wait! Let me focus on the wall hanging because my granddaughter’s achievement is mine only by reflection and several steps removed from motherhood. My book’s success has long been in the rearview mirror. The art piece is fresh in my mind and worth analyzing in support of my thesis.

This Great Idea came when my interior designer suggested that the space over my sofa in the living room would be a great backdrop for a large piece of art – preferably one of my own creation. I loved the idea of showcasing my work in my home.

 

To start the process, she showed me an item from Anthropologie below (left), which immediately sparked a memory of the Gee’s Bend quilts I saw at the Whitney Museum decades ago. I’ve had the catalogue from that show on my coffee table ever since. Thumbing through the gorgeous textiles on its pages, I pointed to one (below right) as a taking off point. I wanted something with a naïve quality and improvisational feel, that I could create entirely by hand, and that I already had the materials for in my possession. My designer approved.

 

 

 

 

I started off enthusiastically, as I did with my book, focusing several hours per day on laying out my interpretation of the design and assembling the patches of wool. This went along swimmingly until I shared my progress with my art pod – a bi-weekly mutual support group I’ve been a part of for a year.

Often, I’m so close to my own work that it’s hard to see it with fresh eyes. When I showed them what I was up to using the Gees Bend image and a photo of my progress, one member gently suggested that mine looked a bit muddy.

 

The second that descriptor was uttered, my heart sank. Being a praise junky, it was painful to not only hear I wasn’t performing perfectly, but also that I was told something which I believed (at the time) I didn’t know how to fix. The The What-Have-I-Done Phase came barreling into this project’s life.

Because I was too committed to dump the project – yes, that possibility occurred to me – I gave myself a pep talk. Use your color theory learning, Jane, I gently suggested.

 

I was able to select different colors that would give more contrast. That gave me the momentum to re-energize the undertaking and move it a step further.

 

 

Assembling the small quadrants was fun and easy-ish, but how was I going to find space in my apartment to attach these parcels to a 4’ x 5’ background cloth? This discouraging thought put me into The Slump.

When I don’t have the answers, I get frightened. I believe this is the ultimate impasse, and I am going to have to give up.

However, as soon as I verbalize my fears, solutions emerge. When I ask, the answers come.

“How am I going to sew this all together?” I asked my pod. “I don’t have space in my apartment, and I need a tall table to do this on.” My homework self-assignment was to look into renting studio space in the city. The first result of my Google search for sewing space for rent yielded a $10-an-hour open studio in the garment district.

When I called The New York Sewing Center to describe my need, the receptionist said, “We have a monthly quilters group that meets this Friday for three hours. Why don’t you bring in your piece then and see if you like our facility?”

I happened to be free that night, brought my large bundle to 38^th Street, and had help putting two high top tables together where I could spread out my wall hanging and begin the application process without fear of injuring my back.

 

After several weeks of assembling the pieces at the NY Sewing Center, I was ready to mount the entirety – literally and figuratively: The Final Stretch. My young neighbor assembled the wooden bars and added corner braces for me.

 

 

Then, Liz Sandler, a woman with an MFA in Textile Design whom I’d met during New York Textile Month last year, sprang to mind for help with this stage. She brought along her electric staple gun and vast expertise that led me through this part of the process.

 

 

I called the gallery that had previously framed several of my completed artworks and offered a compressed timeline: my granddaughter’s celebration was coming up, and I was having the family here for dinner the night before. I wanted my living room completed – my wall hanging as the centerpiece of the endeavor. He was able to fit me into his schedule which included picking up and delivering this very large creation. The framed art arrived on Tuesday.

It all worked! My handyman arrived Friday morning to fasten it securely to the wall, just in time for the family gathering that night.

 

Whether it’s a child, a book, or a textile treasure, the process is more than the result. In addition to producing these substantial outcomes, I’ve grown into a different person. Moving through the stages I’ve outlined requires perseverance, determination, resilience, self-love, plus massive amounts of internal and external support.

There is a transformation that occurs in the creator. That’s what I’ll cherish as much as the other more tangible outcomes.

 

P.S.  I’d love your feedback! Commissions welcomed!

Please email me at jane@janepollak.com or visit my Etsy Shop here.