Simplicity

I have been rediscovering an old friend, the straight stitch.  This renewal of interest springs from a real desire to simplify everything in my life.  Despite my love of creating stitch samplers with variations on every sort of stitch, including some I have to dig out of Grace Christie's book of almost-forgotten embroidery stitches, the simplicity of the straight stitch is both appealing and useful (Morris comes to mind here:  "beautiful and useful").

And this most recent urge to simplify was re-kindled by the subliminal at work:  a dream.  Occasionally I have a dream of an old cottage somewhere amongst trees and shadows and filtered sunlight.  The inside is pared down to the bone, and I move through the minimalist rooms and enjoy the beauty of old paint, floorboards that are patched and wonderfully imperfect, deep moldings at floors and ceiling.  The walls, singularly unadorned, are interesting in their own right, as they are painted imperfectly.

In the pale bedroom of this cottage is a bed, a low pine bookcase beside it, and a lamp.  One narrow dresser (it is a sort of blue-green and the paint is chipped) stands against a wall.  No rug covers the floor, and only a sheer white curtain hangs at the window.  There is an old quilt on the bed, faded to muted tones of blue and pink and green with a touch of yellow in flowers (I have lain against the quilt and studied it in my dreams!).  This is the room I remember in most detail, as if I go to sleep looking for a quiet place to sleep . . . ?

The dream is recurring, and each time I see a little more of the cottage.  It is so absolutely simple—it may be perfectly simple.  I wish I could live like that but I seem to have a penchant for gathering things (interesting or not) as I move along.  Everywhere I sit or lie to rest, there is a stack of books or magazines nearby.  Mug mats protect the covers of books and table tops.  Towels never hang straight in any bathroom I pass through.  Kitchens overflow with stacks of china (so that I am always prepared to feed hoards of guests) and even though there are only two of us here, my dishwasher is full every evening, sometimes even before lunch!  Messy, by definition, is me.

After this cottage comes to me in a dream, the straight stitch begins tugging at me.  I lie half-awake and think about the plainness and beauty of this stitch.  With it I can build lines, shapes, fill the shapes, create the illusion of movement and direction, layer them to create texture . . . All this with the simple in-and-out of the needle and thread through the fabric.  Choosing a color really defines the line.  Choosing the weight and type of thread defines the importance of the line.  Choosing a direction begins the unfolding of the idea.  Another form of simplicity.

I know I will never have such a beautiful, bare-bones cottage as the one I have dreamt about for years, and I also know I will continue to dream of it because it is such a clean and desirable space for my cluttered heart to grab a moment of respite.  Cultivating the straight stitch might be a way to cultivate the culture of minimalism.  And that could be a step toward simplifying myself.