Perfectly imperfect
Good enough darning, done with care
A few years ago, at a work team building day, the facilitator asked us each to say something positive about the person sitting to our left. There were some lovely, heartfelt sentiments uttered about my colleagues. Warm words of appreciation, comments on kindness. Before long, it was the turn of the person sitting to my right; their opportunity to say something they respected or perhaps appreciated about me. Not just about my work, but about who I am or what I brought to the team…
‘Zoe is very…accurate’. Seriously? I mean, I don’t disagree, I strive for accuracy. I appreciate clarity. I’ve written a lot here about my battle with perfectionism. But of all the things that could be said about me and my positive traits. Really?
From some people it could have been taken as a compliment, but from this colleague, a laid back, ‘chill guy’ as my 11-year-old would say, well…I’m not sure he holds accuracy in high regard.
I’ve joked about this over the years since, even though at the time I’d found it disappointing. Unless you’re an architect, engineer or surgeon who would want to be hailed as ‘accurate’? And yet, at my yoga class this week the wonderfully warm, caring teacher Bethan shared the real meaning - the Latin root of the word ‘accurate’ - and it totally changed my perspective. Turns out it’s not only about being an exacting pedant who thrives on specificity at all costs.
Accurate, from the Latin accūrātus roughly translating as ‘done with care’.
I’ll take that.
My life-long struggle with perfectionism is partly down to my discomfort at the notion of getting things wrong. And it’s also my desire to do things with care and consideration.
I mend clothes because I enjoy caring for them, making them last longer, respecting the work that has gone into making them. I also love the act of doing. Of creating and working with my hands. And I love the non-doing, the moments when my mind switches into a different gear and stops over-thinking. My ‘everything, everywhere, all at once’ brain stills and simply focuses on the mending at hand.
Sometimes I get too fixed on doing it right. I see mistakes in my work where other people simply see beauty. So, I am trying to be more relaxed. I still need to do each repair properly, to ensure the garment will endure, but I want to be more forgiving of myself. I’m choosing to embrace the positives of being accurate while dispensing of the overwhelming need for being exact. I want to believe I can repair ‘with care’ and beauty without all that perfection crap getting in my head.
This week’s repair therefore is perfectly functional, despite the imperfect technique.
I’ve had this Finisterre jumper for around eight years, and it has seen me through many a winter. The first armpit hole appeared a few years ago – you can read about that repair here. The hole appeared in the second armpit not long ago and, as I’d made the mistake of not mending the first one in time before it turned into an gaping chasm, I was determined to deal with this one asap.
No surprise that I went for a visible mend, this time opting for a dusty pink tapestry wool. The construction of the jumper’s underarm means that it wasn’t a straightforward fix and to have done it ‘correctly’ might have involved virtually re-knitting the hole which would have taken hours. Freezing temperatures outside meant I needed the jumper post-haste. As time was of the essence I decided ‘good enough’ would be my approach this time. For that reason, I haven’t got detailed process shots.
My mending kit for this repair:
Pink tapestry wool
Darning needles
Darning mushroom (you can also use a ladle, tennis ball or even an orange)
Snips or scissors
How I did this repair:
Because of the construction of the underarm the angles were awkward and I didn’t have a clear warp and weft. I started the warp in one direction and it ended up becoming the weft as it curved around! Overall, it does the job. It’s perfectly imperfect.
What’s coming up this week:
My mending pile: it’s still all about the knitwear!
Next week on The Mending Kit: a mending commission on a gorgeous jumper from the Falkland Islands.
Want to read some more of my posts about darning? You can find them here: Darns from The Mending Kit.
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