When I was little, and throughout college, any time I ripped my comforter, or burned a cigarette hole in a shirt, or wore down the shoulder of my coat, my mother would mend it for me. I always felt bad - like I should have been more careful in the first place. she would still do it if I asked these days, but I try not to. I want for her to do more for herself, rather than for me.
now I do mending for my job - not clothes but art, though I mend my own clothes myself now. Recently my friend showed me a papier mache sculpture he made as a child which had become very dented and torn over the years. for his birthday, I am fixing it with my art conservation skills. It will take a long time.
I have been thinking of why the mending is love. I think it is some thing about care being poured into the longevity and wholeness of objects which are representative of their owners. it is very easy to be selfish with the gift of nimble hands- of all three possible actions (creation, destruction, maintenance) I think maintaining is the hardest and least exciting, but the most vital. It is the same thing we do for ourselves - to continue to be whole every day, to eat, to sleep, to comb our hair. It is the same as mending I think.