For good or for bad, the school I went to as a kid didn’t teach housekeeping and wifely skills. The first form of interest I ever showed regarding those subjects happened at my grandmother’s house, one afternoon, as I watched my granny doing some needlework. Immediately I got my hands to that labour. I spent a considerable amount of childhood hours replicating the models and patterns of magazines. I’m a good learner.
Later on, I changed the needles, yarns, color threads and fabrics for science –then i switched to music, then back to study, then to flamenco, then to love. Back to basics, they say; I recently put my hands back on the needles. It was inevitable to think about two things:
- The feminine nature of the labour I was performing: maybe it’s the Greeks’ fault, but the iconic power of Penelope and her weaving is undeniable. Threading her will and hope during 20 years of faithful wait, keeping herself for a husband lost at war. Waiting and hoping always seem to be feminine qualities.
- The therapeutic attributes of the act of weaving –it’s really amazing how the output threads match one’s own state of humour, emotions, or soul… A misterious corolary of the law of conservation of energy might suggest that you do not just weave a scarf; you actually dream, and tell a story, and caress, and hug, or even kiss the neck of someone.
I’m sooo girl.