(Editor’s note: This essay, part of Bethesda Beat’s Coronavirus Chronicles personal essay series, is a follow-up to a piece by Kerry Malawista of Potomac published Tuesday. Malawista wrote that when she saw a spiky ball of yarn on the ground that looked like a representation of the coronavirus, she tied it to a footbridge, then was surprised when others like it were added to the bridge. After Malawista’s essay was posted, we found out that this was a planned public art project, as Anja Caldwell explains here.)
After a long career in construction as an architect, still a very male dominated industry, I was craving to tend to my softer side. I taught traditional handwork in local schools as a volunteer years before, then got more serious with classes and camps at Glen Echo Park and the German International School Washington D.C.
Meanwhile, I was dreaming of one place to hold all my supplies, where my students could do just about any project they felt like, without limiting them to what I schlepped to class that day.
Today, more than four years in, the studio in the Potomac Promenade is a colorful mix of craft store, makers space, art school, gift shop and maybe even café.
Most of all, it is a community hub and has become a happy place for so many. We weave, embroider, sew, crochet, knit and needle felt. Glue and glitter are frowned upon and considered the bad “G-words.” We pride ourselves to do everything the “old” way.
Then the pandemic hit.
Social distancing is just about the exact opposite of the studio’s motto: crafts with conviviality. I was desperate to find a way for us to stay connected while apart. Something we could make that reflects our strong sense of playful belonging.
“Yarnbombing” came to mind, also known as fiber graffiti. It brings fiber art into the public realm. Most projects are temporary fiber installations, often anonymous, with the sole purpose of bringing joy to people.
In mid-March, two giant pompoms started what I call the “Village Bridge.” My virtual call to action was answered by my students right away, and pictures of more installations started to come in.
Today, the bridge holds pompoms, gnomes, fish, weavings, banners and other interesting items. The project has gained its own momentum and more people have been inspired to add their personal touches, hopefully bringing joy to those still having to commute to their essential jobs.
While I still can hardly wait until we are all together again in our happy place, this will do just fine for now.
Anja Caldwell is an architect and maker who lives in Bethesda.
Read other essays in the Coronavirus Chronicles series.
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