Lucy Johnson

Cut out to be a crafter

I remember cutting up cardboard boxes in the back of my Mum and Dad’s shop, where I entertained myself during long summer holidays, fashioning things to play with, indulging in creative ideas. “Can’t you sit still for five minutes? You’re always licking and sticking,” my Mum would complain from behind the counter. I was too young to walk down to the seafront on my own and my parents worked seven days a week. But I didn’t mind that, I was completely absorbed and consumed by my latest creative whim, intensely mindful and entirely in the moment. It was the kind of creativity where the project at hand was so pressing, and the process so instantly gratifying, that perching uncomfortably on a chair-edge, getting cramp in your leg and forgetting to finish your half-eaten jam sandwich barely registered.