( s e c r e t • l e n t i l )

caught in the act.

I heard two women talking about me in the store the other day. Trust me, I couldn’t avoid it – and one announced that – “well, she can get away with that because she’s tall.”

Okay, first of all, don’t speak loudly about someone as if they aren’t there when they’re standing right there and can see you. That’s number one.

But also, why that phrase? Why do we use “get away with it” only for outfits and murder? Of course I get it, some clothes look better than others. But if something looks good on you, what exactly are you getting away with?

Because I make women’s clothes – and honestly, I think, because I’m fat, women tell me a lot about their bodies. And almost always, they tell me what is wrong. Women call certain body parts “their problem.”  I hear a lot about hiding things: hiding upper arms, hiding thighs, hiding necks, hiding knees – and I learned early on that there is no arguing with these ideas because no logic applies.

Usually I feel like honored, a trusted confidante, and I feel strong enough to act as some sort of keeper of sacred body faults, but sometimes it just saddens me and tires me out. Maybe if we didn’t feel like looking good was “getting away with something” it would be a start toward moving through the world in a new way – a way that is more about showing who we are more than what we hope to keep hidden.

i still want to make things out of wool.

There just aren’t enough knitting action shots in the world.

But Carina just sent some. Here she is knitting in her very green back yard of which I am eternally jealous. She’s wearing her Secret Lentil hand warmers and holding the glompod clutch which is stuffed full of yarn.

Over on my side of the country we’re getting a big wet nonstop dump of snow today. Schools are closed, the trees are covered. I’m inside sipping hot chai but thinking about boots and shovels and getting to the studio.

I spent so many years trying to get out of things I didn’t want to do – going to school, to other jobs – and just waiting waiting for a snow day or even a sick day to get out of the drudgery.  But this morning I saw my niece’s post on facebook – she was looking forward to talking about a novel in class and working on an art project but she’s snowed in. Oh! I guess not everyone hated that, ha ha.

It’s still new to me to like what I’m doing. To like it in the real deep way where I’m not even secretly hoping for the day off. Where I’m not showing up every day but inside the I Want To Quit clock is ticking and I know this gig won’t last long.  I think I’d like a snow day but then I sit here for a few minutes and my brain gets engaged with what needs to happen today – shipping, listing some new pieces, re-arranging the studio, maybe even sewing a bit – and I’m surprised that I’d rather find some socks and see if I can dig out and get there.

I’m building a theory about how the moment we have an imaginary endgame – pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, winning lottery ticket, prince on white horse, hoping someone pulls the fire alarm so we can stand out in the parking lot instead of working for 20 minutes, etc. – that as soon as we have switched to wishing we were somewhere else we lessen our ability to be engaged with what needs to happen right in front of us. We begin to wait for life instead of living it. No i didn’t invent this idea. But the more I think about it the more I think those imaginary fairy tale distractions hurt us. They cause real immediate harm. I’d love to ramble about it more but I have to go to work. Want to go to 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.

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.

moonlight sculpted skirt, worn as a dress

and here is my proof.

Mr. Lentil kept saying “I think people could pull these skirts up and wear them as dresses.”

Then a customer said “Did you know that I can wear this many different ways including two ways as a dress?”

Then another customer said “Great as a skirt or dress or top.”

Okay okay, get off my back. I’ll tell people they work as dresses and tops.