As the whole darn internet will happily tell you these days, we are one year from the beginning of our lives shifting in large and small ways when a pandemic landed on us.
In March of 2020, most of us began really hearing about COVID 19 for the first time. There were articles about the virus and ideas for staying safe. Like anything new and scary, some of that information was contradictory, and much of it changed over time. What didn't change was that there was a highly contagious and devastating illness tearing through communities worldwide.
Like many of my crafty compatriots, I set out to make masks for myself and my loved ones. Over the course of many months, I tweaked and adjusted mask patterns until now I might be able to make one in my sleep. It has been a year since I have hugged anyone I'm not directly related to. It's been a year since I've sat down at a restaurant table and pondered a menu at length. A year since I've sat in a movie theater or gone to a concert. Much of my real work involves traveling, or did involve traveling, but I'm not sure I can even tell you when was the last time I got on a plane.
A year ago all we really knew was that something was serious. I regret that some people think science is a matter of opinion. I resent that some people can only see themselves and not how they might influence the world. I am thankful for the far more people who took and take the risks of pandemic seriously. I am grateful to have had my first vaccine dose and am looking forward to my second in a couple of weeks. I am champing at the bit to sit with my (also vaccinated) friends in the summer sun and see their beautiful faces. I am gutted by the memories of the people we will be missing.
When we were first all trying to figure out what was what, you couldn't turn on a TV, open a website or see a magazine cover without seeing a rendering of a COVID 19 virion. It was everywhere.
As a consumer of too much media, that little particle burned its way into my brain. As a craft artsy housework avoidant flibbertigibbet, the particle was begging to be recreated in the physical crafty artsy space.
In times of great uncertainty, I find it particularly useful to make things. I don't think I'm alone in that, judging by all the loaves of sourdough that were baked and all of the masks that were made. The world is, unfortunately, not within my personal control. Despite trying, I cannot bend reality to my will. I know, because I try to get the house to clean itself and it never does. But I can make things. I can turn wool roving into something silly or beautiful or silly and beautiful. What is the use of trinkets we make ourselves? They don't protect us or feed us or clothe us. But they do ground us. They let us create and see what we can do. They serve as mileposts or chapter titles in the story of our lives. A memento is literally a thing which reminds us. I choose to remember, and this helps me not to forget.
For me, one of the fastest returns on a crafting investment is needle felting. It is a quick art and can be as complex or simple as you want. Plus, it involves a lot of stabbing, so it's great for venting rage or frustration. I posted about my felted ball trivet recently, but that was only lightly needle felted by me. I'm sure I will eventually use this space to talk about some of my more elaborate and ridiculous felting projects, but today is the anniversary of the day I immortalized the COVID 19 virion as a piece of textile art. So let's celebrate!?
Let me reiterate, I'm not ever going to felt spheres, and I sure as hell wasn't going to felt a sphere of the size I wanted this baby to be, which was like, baseball size. But I had a bee in my proverbial bonnet and needed to find something to be the core of this thing. Luckily, I have some spent felt dryer balls for just this purpose. Felt dryer balls are great, we use them as intended, but eventually they lose their effectiveness and become ideal starting for needle felting projects.
There was no pattern, just a starting image that the CDC had put into the world of a grey and red ball with nodes on it. So I pulled out some grey wool and some red wool and set about stabbing myself a new thing. It's a fuzzy reminder of this long, strange year.
Eventually, months into social distancing and staying home basically all the time, I decided that the virion needed a googly eye. This was easily accomplished because I always have googly eyes on hand. It's awake and vigilant. But so are we vigilant. We have lost too many people and too many memories, but we can see the light at the end of the long tunnel. On the other side, we can make new memories and mourn those we have lost. We should love harder and fiercer than we have before, knowing how fragile everything is. We will put away our masks eventually (although wearing them on planes forever seems like not the worst idea, people are gross) and return to some sort of version of before.
As for the felted virion? It will stay with me for a very long time. I took it with me for my first vaccine and will carry it again to my second. It's a reminder that we do better when we do together — even when we are apart and that even the smallest human moments are priceless.
I hope you get your vaccine soon, if you haven't already. On the other side of this, there is a world of awkward social interactions waiting for us. I can't wait.
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