On Making Something With Holes in It

Filed under: Structure, Space, and What Still Holds

Crochet is, at its simplest, the art of making something out of loops — which is to say, not-whole things.

You pull a thread through emptiness.
You connect it to another emptiness.
And somehow, what you’re left with is a blanket. A scarf. A soft little square that holds your coffee mug like a second, quieter saucer.

It shouldn’t work, really.
Holes are not known for being reliable.

But crochet reminds us that sometimes the spaces are the point.

A shawl breathes because of its gaps. A doily rests lightly because it doesn't try to be solid. Even the warmest blanket has tiny windows where the cold could come in — and yet, you sleep.

We’re taught to admire the tight-knit things. Seamless. Complete. Dense with effort. But there is beauty in the lacework, too — in the light that passes through.

To make something with holes in it is to admit you are not trying to keep everything out.

It is a quiet invitation:
Here is what I’ve made. And here is where the world may touch it.

Gaps are not failures.
They are part of the pattern.
A space for stretch. For breath. For change.

You can be wrapped in something full of holes
and still feel held.

Lady Bergamot


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