( s e c r e t • l e n t i l )

Resourcefulness is its own reward. Mr. Lentil just worked his magical playfort technology on our giant studio windows. see below. On the left, a paper blind, circa 1994, Portland Or. – originally purchased to be a wall in our shared studio apartment (now that’s love). Okay, so that part was easy – unless you’ve ever seen our attic.

On the right, he made curtains from a canvas drop cloth. Not only is it a dropcloth, but it was free – we found it in the give-away pile in our warehouse. Then he removed the one window panel that opens. It used to hang sort of open from the bottom with two little chains, like a castle bridge over a moat, effectively stopping any air from getting to us. But he flipped it over so it hinges at the top, then installed a pully system so we can open and close it. There’s nothing more fun than battening the rope to the big wooden shelf with knots I learned as a Camp Fire Girl.

The chains that used to suspend the window now tie back the curtains. And of course, my favorite detail: he harvested the cord that holds the window open by gutting and fileting a broken extension cord.

Voila! We have more fresh air, muted sunshine, quirkily mismatched windows and the lasting satisfaction of having made something out of almost nothing.

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!

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!”

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.