Each of us is a mix of positivity and negativity - it’s what draws us together. (I don’t know if that last part is true, but I do like the pun.) We might be optimistic about our abilities and our likelihood of connecting with others over those abilities, and that’s one of the reasons we’re still here on Substack. At the same time, I have to say I feel pessimistic about this particular post generating a lot of conversation. My last post has less than thirty views, and my notes don’t even show up on my own feed.
Well, isn’t that interesting. I had no intention of talking about the magic that is Substack when I opened my laptop, but here we are, my fingers busily revealing my innermost thoughts. It’s really ok though; my commitment to writing has been just that - a commitment to writing. I will carry on.
My original intent here was to explore the concept of negative space -
- the blank space between objects in a painting or drawing.
In knitting, most designers consider negative spaces to be actual (intentional) holes in knitted fabric. They can be quite beautiful, these absences. When I talk about negative space in my own knitting, which is very color-focused right now, I’m referring to the stretches of knitted fabric that surround an intentionally knitted motif of a different color. Look at the WIP below - a baby blanket for my new grand-niece:
The mosaic heart pattern, courtesy of Amy Marie, is striking, but when I showed it to my husband he said “wow, those dresses look like tents.”1 For me the negative space was the green, but for him, it’s the pale pink, and since his comment all I see is a line of people with A-line dresses, arms outstretched to either side and linked with their neighbors. It’s hard for me to shift my perspective back to the light-colored hearts.
It’s also challenging to address the negative spaces in my own life.
This means the times when I am awake but have time which is not accounted for. It’s my down time, where nothing is happening. I don’t like it. It’s a negative experience for me, this negative space - or, I guess negative time.
I work forty hours per week, from 10am to 6:30pm. Luckily I work from home, so I can fit some satisfying activities into my morning - but just that lovely fact causes me angst. Precious seconds, then minutes, pass as I agonize over the best way to use this time that is slipping away. Which park do I walk in? Which cafe do I visit to write before work - or do I write in the park? Which park? I’m getting better at this by the gradual realization that motivation follows action, but there have been some mornings when time makes the decision for me: you will do none of these things. Time’s up.
What if I try to shift my focus, to view this “negative time” as my “positive time?”
Just as I gave the same care to knitting between the hearts as while working the hearts themselves, I can harvest joy from that morning downtime by being present for it and appreciating it. The sunbeam on my foot, the weight of Bella the cat on my lap or my shoulder and the sound of her purr, the hum and swish of the dishwasher doing its job - all of these are present as long as I am present for them. My negative space / down time is not empty at all. While I am in that space, it is positive space.
Will this work right away? Good heavens no; I have years of anxiety, miles of angsty knots to untangle. But I might get there - and the time spent getting there is not negative time. It’s life.
After all,
Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans. - John Lennon
Had I noticed this before knitting many more rows, well past the diagonal rectangles above the hearts, I would have placed those diagonal rectangles, which look like tilted heads, directly over the neck areas of the “people.” Unfortunate.
Loved suddenly seeing the dresses. Such a terrific way of looking at positive and negative space and life.