Reflections on a year (or two) of mindful making

A few years ago I wrote about my plans for spending the rest of the year sewing intentionally. Good intentions are delightful, but reality is usually a little different. So, with the benefit of hindsight, here’s an appraisal of how my efforts at intentional making actually panned out – what worked, what didn’t and what I’d add to proceedings if I were to make the list anew for 2024.

Sewing mindfully: 10 principles for an intentional year of making

1. Strike a balance

2. Set boundaries

True to my word, I swerved all the pretty things in 2021 and for much of 2022. Then I went a bit off the rails in 2023 in a wild craving for summer dresses in bright colours. I put it down to a delayed reaction to being holed up at home for the best part of two years and a distinct lack of sunshine.

It was, however, a labour-intensive way of reminding myself that I’m not comfortable in flamboyant attire. I guess this is what is called a learning curve; the curve isn’t always in the right direction.

Nevertheless, I’ve found that overall my boundaries were reasonably firm and, on the whole, I stuck to ‘tried and tested patterns, colours and cuts’. If there was a dress I wanted to recreate I plumped for cobbling it together with a bit of franken-pattern self-drafting rather than falling for the latest sewing pattern release.

3. Take stock

After a bit of post-pandemic pruning, my wardrobe was looking far more minimal that it had in some years (see the 2021 bare bones here). Some things I passed on to friends and some were sent to the charity shop (you can read about how to donate home made items with confidence here). Some were reworked into garments for my kids. Another pile went into a box for when my daughter is older and yet another stashed away in the loft for later deliberation.

The beauty of waiting a few years before posting an update is that I can now stand back and see exactly where all this piling, packing and sending got me. For the most part, I don’t regret the items I sent to the charity shop. There are a few I wonder about, but if my instinct at the time was strong enough to sever all links and not stash in the loft, then I’m choosing to trust that I would probably make the same call today.

The bag in the attic turned out to be another story entirely. At the end of last year I retrieved the bag and conducted what I expected to be a ruthless process of elimination. To my surprise, I started pulling things out of the bag and asking myself why on earth I would want to part with THAT? Even after trying them on, I couldn’t understand why my 2021 self thought it might be time to get rid.

At the time of packing these clothes away, I’d been post-lockdown Marie Kondo-ing my way around the house. My well-stocked wardrobe had fallen under scornful scrutiny. The response, I suspect, was to squirrel a bunch of less ‘everyday’ items up in the loft to convince myself I didn’t need such trifles. Very minimalist. Cough.

4. Recognise enough

I’m not sure I did too well on this one. True, I recognised enough was enough on the fancy clothing front and put a lid on it. But then, in noticing a ‘gap’ in cosy loungewear, I went hell for leather at producing quite the pile of sweaters.

The good thing is that my wardrobe can only handle so much clobber, and eventually I was forced to stop for the sake of its poor groaning sides. Where once I used to wish for bigger and better wardrobes, these days I’m grateful for the unapologetic logic of finite space.

Maybe it’s two steps forward and one step back: I still notice gaps in my wardrobe from time to time, and am trying to focus on them without falling into the hypnotic trap of making multiples.

5. Prioritise others

6. Cover the bases

This is beginning to work out. It’s not as easy as I thought it would be to stop myself from getting carried away kitting out every prospective need (did anyone mention sweaters?), but I’m getting better at managing output.

Given the fact I wear jeans every day of the week, it was becoming a bit of a pain only having two pairs. With all the time saved by not making an endless churn of this and that, I finally had the headspace to make a few well-fitting comfortable pairs (I’ve written about these here and here). Aside from a stint of coatmaking a few years ago, this has probably proved to be the best-spent sewing time per wear of late.

7. Remake and refashion

This will always be a favourite. I’ve heard some people ‘reward’ themselves with a new make every time they’ve refashioned or mended a set number of garments. This is a great idea if you’re not into fiddling with things you’ve already sweated yourself silly to make in the first place. If, however, you actually quite enjoy a touch of post-production tinkering then refashioning can provide endless satisfactions.

As mentioned above, over the past few years I’ve weeded out items as I go along, remaking some into kids clothes or altering them into more wearable versions. Most recently I gently refashioned two dresses and am now looking forward to being able to wear them this summer. Again, having a breather helped in terms of deciding what needed to be done: I knew something wasn’t right straight away, but if I’d tried to alter them hot off the press I would have grown frustrated and may well have messed up the alteration. With water under the bridge, I was less consumed by how much time each dress had taken up and enjoyed the leisurely process of getting them into a more wearable state.

8. Spectate

I was quite surprised to re-read this ‘principle’ at number 8. I don’t do any sewing challenges these days, in fact I barely step into Instagram’s waters and have a rule never to scroll. Yes, it’s not very social, but it means I’m less likely to make yet another thing simply because I saw someone else looking great in it and, of course, that means there’s more time to focus on the actual sewing.

9. Feather the nest

This has been a huge part of my sewing over the past few years. I covered the sofa bed and made oven gloves. I made a window seat and reupholstered a stool. And of course there were more cushions and a fair few snuggly throws. Making stuff for the home is a great way to keep the machine humming without worrying about how you’re going to squeeze it into that groaning wardrobe.

10. No names, no pack drill

Returning to the scene of the crime years later might not be very ‘no names, no pack drill’, but it certainly helps frame where my sewing practice is heading. I felt a huge weight lift in terms of setting myself endless sewing tasks. I’ve learned to stop trying to make clothes for myself that would suit other people living different lives, and focus on what I’d actually wear.

Making for others and the house, alongside a steady trickle of refashioning and mending, has created breathing space while maintaining practice. Being intentional about making did not become a ball and chain, tugging away at the creative urge; instead it released the pressure valve enough to begin to see the wood for the trees.

11. Hands on

There was always going to be a ‘number 11’, wasn’t there? Hand sewing, in particular discovering embroidery, has opened up a new horizon of slow sewing. As I wrote in 2021: ‘I’m happy to be intentional but also to drift.’ And I drifted into embroidery.

Teaching my kids to sew by hand has been a big part of this: making small teddies, dolls clothes and playing around with embroidery and appliqué, has been great fun and helped us all slow down and see the value in the process, not just the final product.

As time goes on I realise how powerful this practice of making is. The consistency of returning to it, day in, day out, in whatever form it takes, strengthens resolve and shapes intentions. It makes us who we are.

How has your practice developed over the past few years? Have you become more intentional in your making? Share your experiences in the comments below – I’d love to hear from you.