I met my now dear friend Anna over a decade ago while we were performing with a small chamber opera company named (in retrospect, rather prophetically) Golden Fleece. We had of course chatted during rehearsals but the moment where we really connected was when we were sitting in the dressing room and she got out a drop spindle and started spinning. I was a knitter/crocheter at that point and had never tried spinning, but has aware and interested in learning. We made a deal where she would teach me to spin if I would knit a few pair of alpaca socks for her toddler. Within 2 weeks of learning to use a drop spindle, I had purchased my first spinning wheel, a beautiful Kromski Mazurka that shipped all the way from Poland. It came unassembled, and I had a moment of “what have I done???” as I looked at the instruction sheet and pile of wooden wheels and spindles (especially since it was a pretty big purchase for me, being a poor artist in a very expensive city). However, it went together easily and I was soon happily spinning away.
Of course, spinning takes practice, and my earliest efforts weren’t as smooth and even as the yarn I bought from the store. But something Anna said to me early on in our lessons really resonated with me, and has stuck with me as a bit of a life philosophy:
“Learn to love your slubs.”
In addition to that beautiful phrase, Anna pointed out that what makes handpun yarn special is that it doesn’t look like yarn made in a mill for commercial sale. It has small (or big!) irregularities, it has character. It shows itself to be made by a pair of human hands, and it isn’t made quickly. Each skein is a reflection of it’s creator, from the choice of fiber to it’s color to the texture. It has variations that can be seen as flaws, but they don’t take away from it’s beauty. If anything, those little slubs and variations make it even MORE beautiful. It’s like the popularity of “shabby chic” decor, which began as people giving old and worn items a new home, letting them show their history. Mixing and matching dishes and linens, enjoying their uniqueness when brought together. Now, new items are deliberately distressed and broken down to simulate that history. People saw the beauty in imperfection and wanted more. (Note: I would still rather see people buying beautiful, worn items second hand than new items that have been distressed. But that’s for another post…)
I can’t help but wax philosophical when I think about the analogy between the process of handspinning yarn and being human. Especially in a world where social media tends to only show the best days, the most perfect pictures, where everyone is hashtag-blessed. It’s incredibly easy to turn a less flattering lens on ourselves, our lives. To focus more on our own “slubs”, our imperfections that we start to believe define us as a whole rather than being one element out of thousands that make us the complete human that we are.
So, I vow to learn to love my slubs, both in my yarn and myself. It doesn’t mean that I won’t practice with a goal towards improvement, but at the same time I will recognize that I am human, and flawed, and that’s ok. I don’t have to be perfect, none of us do. But how much happier will we be if we embrace those slubs, those imperfections? It’s one small step towards learning to love and accept ourselves, slubs and all.