About 48 hours ago I got a jolt. I returned home from a week at Arrowmont. I have felt this jolt before... eight times, I think. What's so jarring about home? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Don't get me wrong; I love the people here. But I know all their stories. Nobody here will say anything that will send me into fits of laughter for days. Nobody here will make something that inspires me. Nobody here will gush over my work. Nobody here will read a poem about a color.
They will, however, ask me why I am so tired after sitting around and sewing for a week. It wasn't just sitting and stitching; it was changing. Sitting there and changing. Moving around the furniture in my brain. That's hard work.
When I show people what I made, they say, "That's all?" because they are accustomed to me bringing home a big stack of books I make at Arrowmont. Embroidery is different. Yes, that's all. I can't show them what I thought about. I can't convince them that there is a revolution going on at the tip of the needle.