First off:
There are six Mini Fidgets, seven Classic Fidgets, five Bebes, and one Relic new in the shop right now.

I’ve been nose to the grind stone – or lathe, more accurately – since November, and it’s finally starting to show. It’s been tough not having much to show for working sun up to sun down seven days a week. It’s been challenging trusting that I could find a way to take an idea and make it a reality. If you’ve been following along on social media, you’ve seen the progress on the Faraday, and have an idea of how long of a process it’s been.

(and off we go)

While talking about what it takes to stick with a difficult process, like with The Faraday, in the face of others not understanding, someone handed me the word “devoted” – as a sorta end-game descriptor of how I move through the world and approach my work. I suspect it was intended as a gift, but it felt a bit like being handed a large swath of fabric in a color I wouldn’t have ever picked out for myself, and then told that it’s going to look great on me.

Great? I don’t even know how to put this on! There aren’t buttons or zippers or even arm holes! It’s just fabric.

In my mind, devoted was a thing for unquestioning dedication, subservience, to abandon yourself to something you’ve decided is greater than you. That… is not me, and I bristled at the thought that somehow I gave off the impression of being an unquestioning follower of anything.

But, the thing is, that’s unquestioning devotion. Devoted is, at it’s bare bones, simply, to stick with something -to show up, to hold to it, to be true to and present with something – even when it’s difficult, unrewarding, tiring, uncomfortable, unpleasant, unsatisfying. You do this because for whatever your chosen reasons are, you’ve decided that this thing remains worth the effort through the difficulty.

To be devoted is to love something even when it’s not easy or fun to love.

I would not normally say I was devoted, just stubborn and determined. That was, until I remembered when Steve was dying and he couldn’t get warm, and the chemo caused muscle cramps that heavy blankets helped stop so he could sleep. We couldn’t afford the expensive weighted blankets at the time; the medical bills were pilling up faster than we had money coming in. So, I dug through my spinning and yarn fiber stash, hand-carded and then spun a custom blend of fibers, and then wove him a blanket that was both warm and heavy. Faux cashmere to trap heat, and dense cotton and linen, handspun specifically for weight, and I dyed it in his favorite colors so he’d enjoy looking at it. We were currently spending three entire days a week at the hospital for blood transfusions and chemo, so on the off days when he would sleep, I’d spin and weave. When it was done, it was the only blanket he managed to sleep well under until he died.

I still have that blanket across the foot of my bed, and it takes both of my arms to carry it.

Devoted has some weight to it after all.

Maybe I’m not necessarily stubborn or determined so much as I am devoted to what I love – the people important to me, my art, my practices, my vision. When I take longer to finish a piece because I refuse to give up because it’s difficult and stopped being fun, or because the details aren’t just right – maybe I’m not a perfectionist – maybe I’m devoted. Maybe I can wear devoted like a mantle or robe, or wrap myself in it like a blanket when things get difficult or lonely or I start to doubt if I’ve made the right decisions.

Maybe they were right – maybe devoted just might look right on me after all.

A. Markov