Line upon line

Up until a dozen years ago, I was an almost Working Actor, and I just loved what I did. And I was damn good at it, too. I relished playing difficult characters because it allowed my imagination to run wild, and get away with bad behavior safely on the stage or screen. I was truly in my element.

I was working diligently and regularly in interesting roles off- and off-off-B’way, learning the craft of film acting on low/no budget and student films, and paying my dues as a regular nobody on Guiding Light for over 3 years. Which actually gave me the best interview line ever-“I’m not a waiter in real life, but I play one on tv.” Yes, I was securely(as secure as anything in show biz can be) on my way to a hopefully lucrative career playing baddies and misunderstoods in all 3 mediums.

Good thing, too, because I had never managed to hang on to any of my “survival” jobs. I’m just pretty useless if there isn’t a script involved.

Acting actually ran in the family..mom was a true Daytime Diva, a brilliant actress and my greatest champion. (No, I’m not going to name names.) She supported me without question, even financially when I needed it. We were, both of us, the only family we had. Without her, I was nothing.

Until she decided that she just wasn’t glamorous enough anymore, and it was time to take her own life. I was utterly shattered.

This caused me to have a series of nervous breakdowns, and not under adequate psychiatric care. My “doctor” was more than happy to prescribe the max dosages of basically whatever I asked for, including Adderall and Valium. Valley of the Dolls didn’t begin to cover it. My acting career tanked.

Getting well proved more complicated, and took longer, than I had hoped. During that time, though, I became a master crafter, obsessively working with my hands on anything within reach. For hours, days on end, I made things. In desperate search of creating Beauty. Failing more often than I like to remember, achieving it more often than not. I relished giving it away, seeing the looks on friends faces. Friends who fondly called me Disco PigPen, as I often traveled surrounded by a cloud of glitter.

December, 2019. I finally felt strong enough to put my toes back in the water of acting. The money had run out long ago, but a very old, very large debt was finally going to be paid off to me, in monthly increments, affording me the means to go back to class with my favorite teacher and flex muscles I hadn’t in years. I made plans to return in March.

February 2020. The week before I was returning to class, I had a massive stroke, for no reason. Because they got to me so quickly, and to the o.r., I made a virtually complete, miraculous recovery. Walking up and down stairs the next day. No neurological damage whatsoever. No problem speaking. To the naked ear.

Turns out, that was the only damage...a slight, elusive, yet unquestionable speech impediment. One that comes out when it wants, so speech therapy is largely unhelpful.

And it definitely came out when I was on stage in front of my god, my teacher, 2 weeks after the stroke doing my monologue. But, hey, it was only my first day back, give myself a break. I had time.

Then? Need I mention it?

Class was shut down, permanently it seems. The large debt being paid off? Not so much.

The only thing that has kept me sane through the UNsanity has been making these needlepoints, and then the stash bags, designing them all from the ground up. The magic of them is, the needlepoints themselves. The only planning they take is the color scheme. I start with a blank canvas, and just let my fingers go. After that, it’s literally watching it come to life. Life I create. Purely with haphazard line upon haphazard line. Utter simplicity. Zen itself. I find myself racing to break my own record time getting them done, already thinking of the colors for the next before I’m even halfway done. And I get such satisfaction from the simple fact that with embroidery design of this kind, once it’s done, it’s done, there’s no going back. Just going forward and making it work. Very empowering. And the mystery of what it’s going to look like, so entertaining, not really knowing until it’s completely finished.

And scissors? Oh yes, I wouldn’t be able to exist without them. So much so that I’ve got a pair at all of my “rest” stops.

Making the bags, though, oh! Is another story! The perfectionist in me has vexed me no end, and kept me awake for days sometimes. I’ve learned to love this craft as much as mine, and hopefully I’m half as good at it for now. It’s certainly a huge learning experience.

Thanks for reading. Cheers to all