Of course, I don't mean let's make a mess of the event; I mean let's just make a mess.
Lemme take a step back for those of you who aren't plugged deeply into the yarn world.
Spinzilla is an annual week-long yarn-spinning competition, and it starts on Monday, October 5th. Really, it's more a celebration-slash-geek-out than a cut-throat competition, but there are teams, and each team tries collectively to spin more yarn than all the other teams. There are also rogue spinners, who prefer to to fly solo rather than as part of a team.
I've dabbled in spinning yarn, but I'm not very good at it. So when one of the organizers of the event invited me to participate in the Spinzilla blog tour, specifically to write about messiness and why we should embrace it, I took that as a good reason to join a team and dedicate some serious time to upping my spinning game. Though surely many participants will be experienced spinners, I'm here to encourage even total n00bs to join in. A special kind of magic can happen when we set ourselves to task for a week, and while the seasoned pros spin their miles of yarn, we beginners can embrace the mess of not knowing much about spinning so we can finish the week knowing a hell of a lot more than we did at the start.
Here's the deal about a mess: There's no sense trying to learn how to do something new, or trying to get better at doing something you already know how to do, if you're simultaneously trying to nail it on the first go. On paper that's a no-brainer, but in practice it can be a hard walk to walk. Spinzilla is a gift of dedicated time. It's just one week, so it's not a stressful gift. But it's long enough that daily practice can make a serious impression.
So I'm here to champion the mess. I'll go so far as to encourage you to make as big a mess as you can. Like the fifty pounds of clay people, let's go for the learning and productivity that come with a focus on quantity over perfection.
Behold: The beginning of the mess I plan to make:
Pictured above is the collection of fibre I've amassed over the years. I've had some of it, like most of the undyed stuff at the top and the lovely pink/green/cream/grey braid at the top-right, for many, many years. I picked some of it up much more recently, on our road trip last spring, in anticipation of participating in Spinzilla. The boldly labeled Vortex is, as you can see, made by a hand-dyer in Taos, NM. The two braids to the right of the Vortex are also dyed by a New Mexican, under the Widdershin Woolworks label (I suffered choosing colours of hers, man, such was the gorgeousness). I picked up some of the braids and knots at a yarn swap, I think. Oh, and there are a couple of small baggies in there, too: one of bison wool and one of wolf fur, both of which I purchased at an open-air market in Santa Fe. (I left a piece of my heart in New Mexico if you can't tell, and I'm feeling very grateful to myself for knowing back in May that I would enjoy revisiting our travels this fall, through fibre.)
Here's the thing about all that gorgeous stuff up there: I'm going to mangle most of it. Sure, I anticipate that by the end of a week of spinning, I'll have a pretty even tension going. But I won't have an even tension going at the beginning. No. At the beginning, I'm going to achieve some seriously dramatic thick-and-thin yarn action. My yarn won't produce a solidly usable gauge. I may or may not end up wanting to even use the resulting yarn to make anything at all.
And I will keep in mind at every turn that all of that is normal. I will keep in mind at every turn that if I didn't allow myself to mangle many ounces of fibre as I learn that I would not learn. Those mangled knots of wool will not have been wasted, because even if they aren't useable as yarn, they were useable as learning.
Sure, I'll probably save the New Mexican wools till the end, since I'd really love to have them turn into yarn that I'll use to make something truly wonderful.
But all the messes I'll make? All the thick-and-thins, all the broken strands? All the cursing over figuring out how to oil my machine? All the wondering out loud why the way I spin is considered to be left-handed even though I'm right-handed and I've heard it's actually quite common for people to spin opposite their usual handedness? All the yarns I'll make through the mess will be wonderful yarns, because they will be true results of my spinning effort.
I will spin slowly, most likely. My poor team will not consider me to be, shall we say, an asset. But I won't apologize and I won't feel bad. Because I'm going to get to know local spinners I've never met before. And I'm going to accept their advice. And I'm going to allow them to remind me that my fibre – no matter how gorgeous it might be combed and braided, no matter how much it cost to buy – is not precious, and it must be spun.
If you're a beginner spinner looking for an excuse to up your game, please join me next week! And if you're an ace spinner waiting to be nudged to join in, consider this your nudge! If you're a #yearofmaking person, won't it be cool to spend one of your 52 weeks doing this? Yes, I think so, too. Spinzilla registration is open until 5PM Eastern on Friday, October 2nd.