by Sisu
Posted to the Big-Ass Projects Yahoo group on September 2, 2006,
and reposted here with her permission.

I think it [is] because we have become an “instant gratification” society in the US. In the time it takes to stitch even a small piece, you could knit a purse, scarf, even a sweater. You could fill an entire scrapbook, and make endless numbers of beaded baubles. People like fast crafts. I have a neighbor who is a very talented painter. She thinks taking 2 days for one painting is a long time. When she saw some of my pieces and asked me how long they took, I thought she was going to choke when I told her that an hour a day would get it done in 2 years. She said she would never get into a craft that took that long, and I think that is the increasing mentality among busy soccer moms and babysitting grandmas. No time, no time, no time.

Me personally, I believe in doing something lasting. Look how many antique samplers and things there are from the 1800s and even the 1700s. And that was before we knew about acids and such. Imagine how long our well-cared-for pieces may last. Much longer than a sweater or a scrap book page, I believe–and with greater value.

I have nothing against the faster crafts, either. I make spider ornaments for Christmas. They take a few hours to make, I like them and they are cute, but I want to leave a legacy for my children and their children and many more down the road that I will never know. My family is horribly short lived (my father died at 42, my mother at 56) and I was in my 30s before I had my first child, so there is a good chance I may never see my grandchildren. But I want to leave them something that speaks of my time, my life, and my love. Something my hands created. Something that may speak to them of patience and determination, that shows them that perseverance is the road to success. It may do none of that. They may look at it and say, “It’s nice, but just not my style.” But I can hope. How many of us stitchers have looked at an antique sampler and wondered about the girl or woman who stitched it? Looked at the year and tried to picture the clothing she may have worn. Was her hair up? Did she wear a bonnet? Was she the daughter of a farmer, a merchant, a priest? Did she enjoy her stitching or was it a chore, simply a task to be completed? Were her mistakes a sign of carelessness or a sign of stitching by the too dim light of an oil lantern?

I want my descendants to wonder about me. Call it vanity, or maybe a desire for immortality. Perhaps it is selfish. But I want them to think, to wonder, to feel connected to the past and to me.

One last point. Neither of my parents created anything lasting, besides their children, of course. They had no hobbies other than drinking. I have nothing that speaks of who they were as a person. I think that is what makes me desire to leave something. I know when I die, my parents will be forgotten. Just another branch that the storms of time broke from the family tree, leaving no trace other than a scar. I intend to attach my branch firmly–in threads of many colors and with row upon row of tiny little x’s.