secret lentil • secret lentil • secret lentil

bones in the hall.

I do fine with failure, tragedy, general deterioration and rot, but when things go well I get tense. I’ve tried to talk to people about my fears of success and the conversation always dies an awkward death. I think I’m not alone, yet no one will talk about this. Things are going really well for me over here, people, and I need some help! Okay, that does sound a bit pathetic.

So I was relieved to come across a Joshua Wolf Shenk article in The Atlantic, about a man who studied happiness, that puts words to what I’ve been trying to say:

But why, he asked, do people tell psychologists they’d cross the street to avoid someone who had given them a compliment the previous day?

In fact, Vaillant went on, positive emotions make us more vulnerable than negative ones. One reason is that they’re future-oriented. Fear and sadness have immediate payoffs—protecting us from attack or attracting resources at times of distress. Gratitude and joy, over time, will yield better health and deeper connections—but in the short term actually put us at risk. That’s because, while negative emotions tend to be insulating, positive emotions expose us to the common elements of rejection and heartbreak.

Was that so hard to admit? Success makes us feel vulnerable. Am I not allowed to say this out loud?

Last month I made some clothes for Rosie O’Donnell. She almost wore something of mine on Oprah. She did wear one of my sweaters on Good Morning America.

I’ll spare you the details of the freak-out I put myself through getting things made and delivered to her, then stalking whorish news-faux-tainment sites trying to get a glimpse of her. “Lift your arm! I can’t see the sleeves! Lift your damn arm!”

But here’s what came of it. First, even a brief stalking of one person online to see what they are or are not wearing gave me a lot of empathy for famous people. I wouldn’t wish that much success on anyone.

And it gave me a fresh appreciation, as if I needed one, for how many times we can gawk at something to confirm that it did not happen. That is not my sweater on Oprah *clicks play* that is not my sweater on Oprah *clicks play* that is not my sweater on Oprah *clicks play* … oh the sweet comfort of having dodged success … by the time someone told me they saw her on Good Morning America, in my sweater, I didn’t even flinch.

So really the biggest change in my life is that people have squealed at me more than my comfort level will allow.  And hopefully I have one more happy customer who feels better moving through the world dressed in my clothes. That’s really all I want for anyone who chooses my work.

Things I keep in case I need them some day: old heavy iron, styrofoam heads.

I’m not calling them resolutions, but I did tear a large unruly sheet of kraft paper off my roll and spread it out on the table to do some sprawling, rambling dreaming about the coming year.  Anything that physically resembles a kindergarten craft project is a great way to get my brain focused. I’m taping tabs of paper with subjects or thoughts written on them, then moving them around, unsticking and sticking them, and just trying to think through all the things I’m holding in my head about my frendly little Secret Lentil empire.

It’s an awesome thing to build something from nothing, but then even more of – well I guess – more of a responsibility to nourish and grow it.

Some of the ideas are banal, things that slip through the cracks because, well, because I’m sewing everything I sell by hand, one at a time, and I’m trying to stay alive!  Like gift certificates.  Hello Helen, why don’t you sell those online?

Others are more big and dreamy, like: I want to write a book. I have a folder on my computer that already has an outline and notes I’ve scrawled from time to time. Yes, I’d like to make that happen. I would publish it myself, heck I may even build each one out of kraft paper and packing tape.

But mostly I’m trying to figure out how to embrace every day, keep my work enjoyable, and stay on a path I respect. Go ahead and laugh, I’m laughing.  Oh! That’s it, I’ll just embrace every day! Like I’ve never tried that before.  But really, I think I’m getting there. The truth is that I’m getting used to worrying about starving, not paying my bills, never retiring, and the fear that suddenly, all on the same day of course, everyone on earth will decide they don’t like my work. Those fears get boring after a while. That’s right, I said it, they bore me.

I just watched a documentary about David Lynch and I’m smitten with the way he works – on movies but also on painting, on ceramics, on tinkering around with just about anything. He just states plainly that you really need to enjoy doing the work itself. And that if you don’t enjoy it “you should do something else.” Okay. That sounds good.

Also, I want to learn how to say “Hello” the same way he answers the phone. Hel-LO!

It’s done. Here’s The Red Queen sweater, plus a few other things I made while I’ve got red loaded in the serger.  I haven’t finished the threads yet so you’ll see some dangly strings. I like red and gray together, it’s sort of sporty and sort of sexy at the same time.

In the studio today I’m working on The Red Queen sweater  – a super-lush all red sweater with red thread. It’s cotton and velour and will be very full and maybe ruffly, it’s too soon to tell.  I hope whoever gets this will use their power for good not evil.

“Make a remark,” said the Red Queen; “it’s ridiculous to leave all the conversation to the pudding!”

The Crows of Pearblossom, as a sweater-dress

I had a picture book when I was a kid that has stuck with me, in ethereal ways, for decades. I remembered inky dense speckled eggs on matte paper, a snake and something about a chimney.  And the snake, all logy, with bulges in it from eating those eggs.

Fast forward to these internet times, and it turns out to be “The Crows of Pearblossom” – one of two children’s book written by Aldous Huxley – well, wasn’t I a fancy child?  And the eggs, snake and chimney were Barbara Cooney illustrations.  I am not surprised to hear that it is a morbid tale, and I look forward to reading it again.

In the meantime, here is a dress inspired by those dense speckled eggs.

Ethella, Mythical Katamari Cousin tunic, Faux Faux Bois dress, Homage to Doctor Zoidberg sweater.

Three of my pieces have just been published in the book 1000 Ideas for Creative Reuse: Remake, Restyle, Recycle, Renew.  I’m thrilled for all obvious reasons, but also because the book is designed really well and my work is in exceptional company! If you click on the link you can browse the pages. It was written and edited by the extremely enthusiastic Garth Johnson of Extreme Craft.

coaxing coat colors

Today’s dreaming … I got to the studio before sun-up today, did a lot of work and now I get to play. I’m going to see if these colors are willing to become a coat. It’s been a while since I made a “Secret Lentil luxe” piece and I’m getting requests. I hope these will cooperate.

new dressing room at Secret Lentil headquarters

Yesterday Mr. Lentil and I finished making the new dressing room in my studio. Come in and try things on! (I’m in The Delavan Center in Syracuse NY. Here’s a map. ) The mister and I are at our best when building things out of nothing. We made this from old weathered wood that we found, a dropcloth that someone left in the grab pile in our warehouse, and the chartreuse ties used to be a tablecloth.

It’s great meeting some of the lovely humans I’ve met over these internet tubes. I’m having a guest in from Toronto next week, a friendstomer I already love though we’ve never met in person. I’m a bit giddy about it, although I don’t know how to tell her that I’ve never finished a Jane Austen novel. *cringing* I hope she’ll forgive my literary transgressions.

You can call me (315…380…9610) or email to set up a time to visit.

glompod? is that you, boy?

There’s a word for it.
Words don’t mean a thing.
There’s a name for it.
Names make all the difference in the world. – David Byrne

A friend, who shall remain nameless for her protection, lives in one of our country’s liberal hubs. I am jealous of the good restaurants she has access to, and the good shoes for sale, but mostly I marvel at her stories of the uptightness necessary to keep a place liberal. There are more rules there than at your average military encampment, but many of them are unwritten. It would prompt me to misbehave mightily, I fear.

It’s better to visit once in a while, but mostly I just listen to her tales. The latest involved a woman who has eschewed a name, settling on a sound in its place. I don’t know her reasoning, but it sure seems like it would just muck a lot of things up. Your attempt at becoming egoless, for instance, could make you bitter after you’ve explained it for the 12 thousandth time. I picture a sort of karmic “Wuh’s on first” routine.

This is all to say: here is a sneak peak at a new bag I’m making. It needs a name. The good news is that I enjoy naming things. For some reason I want to call it Glompod, but that seems a bit gloomy.  But it’s kind of a pod you glom on to. I promise I’ll make a choice though, and not name it “That sigh that you sound when someone is slow at the register in front of you.”

in the acupuncturist's waiting room.

The Buddha whispered something but I didn’t catch it.