Threading the Needle
Temari is the other regular practice that brings me a singular, quiet joy. It starts with wrapping thread, a kind of monotonous which feels like the opposite of joy. But then you start paying attention to the shape, distributing the threads so there are no lumps, finding the poles and subdividing the sphere into the segments. Somewhere between the many measurements to keep those stitches precise, and the emergence of the abstract geometric flowers, it sneaks up on you: this is nice.
The joy, if we’re being honest, isn’t even in the finished product, though there is something satisfying about having created something pretty to look at. It’s in the act of doing, the deliberate, repetitive work. Temari rewards precision, but even our best efforts will fall short. The threads will shift, the flower petals won’t be perfectly symmetrical, the geometrics turn even, and there might be unaccountable gaps between shapes. Temari doesn’t demand excitement or praise, it just makes a gentle request that you to keep going.
Artist Ann Hamilton expressed a nice idea: “The interval between stitches seaming two surfaces together is thinking at the pace of the body. Busy hands make a space that allows attention to wander. Productive wandering is how projects are made.” (From Maria Popova’s The Marginalian). Temari reflects that kind of physical thinking, where the repetitive movement creates a quiet backdrop for the mind to drift. Ideas emerge unforced, flowing in the spaces between intention and action. Like the boring day trip, these wanderings aren’t aimless; it’s exploration of fertile ground where connections are made, where solutions or inspirations quietly take shape.
