> About A Girl


One of the many wondrous things that struck me upon moving to Seattle from Albuquerque,
New Mexico in the summer of  2000 was the number of beautiful outdoor spiders.  Sure,
there are tons of spiders everywhere--in Albuquerque I once encountered 16 black widows
in one day in and around my house. Eek!  Most city spiders there are either of the bitey
and (mostly) invisible kind or of the benign Daddy Long Legs variety.  They'd be the 
deadliest spider on the planet--if only their wee jaws could bite you.  I digress.  
So, spiders--the big ones with the yellow and brown stripey legs were EVERYWHERE 
spinning webs at a breakneck pace in every bush I cared to peer in to.  It was 
beautiful! That and the rhododendrons...yum.
   
 Four years later, it seems that year was a particularly good one for the Capitol Hill
arachnid community.  I haven't seen as many in any of the summers since...not in the
bushes, anyway. The dense webs I see now are ones emanating from people, from collectives
and communities and brave souls who do what they do because they don't care
to, won't dare to, stifle their creative yearnings no matter how unprofitable it may seem.
There is an amazing underground force of people spinning away as hard and as passionately
as they can, and that's a hell of a lot might and will.  It is deliriously inspiring to 
feel a part of these web-makers.
    I've heard people speak of the black cloud, a sort of pall that hangs over Seattle.
It can suck the energy right out of you for months, draining creative juices and healthy
colouring alike.  That first winter I learned exactly why Seattle is the home of the best
coffee...and the best beer...in the States.  But once I dipped below the surface and became
part of Cell Division I discovered a creative well spring and a society of rock solid 
people unimaginable (for me at any rate) in the desert of the South West.  I moved 1300 
miles to home.
    And now here I am, surrounded by a whole new family who nurtures and teaches me, 
swills whiskey and rocks out and makes beautiful things, both tangible and ethereal.
Cell Division is my core, my base, my crew, but the longer I swim beneath the surface the 
more kindred spirits I find...quite by accident, quite naturally. Some days my timing is 
just right and every turn brings something or someone amazing to investigate and
experience. Fashion has been part of humanity since history began--frivolous perhaps yet 
indispensable for protecting our fragile human bodies; for signaling rank, availability, 
in- or out-group status; for showing allegiance or disassociation just to list a few 
crucial roles of clothing.  Now, in a very dark time for a jaded world completely off
kilter, I believe fashion can play a significant role--as important and influential as any 
other art--to help restore balance.
    When one feels secure and confident, they interact with their surroundings in a more 
positive way than when they feel anxious and threatened--duh.  Clothing plays a huge role 
in that externalized positive self image.  I feel that all of us young Seattle designers
can encourage a staggering number  of people to feel better about themselves and thus 
interact with the people around them in a more positive way.  Sure, one happy person 
feeling good about themselves and oozing that happy to the strangers passing by is just 
a drop into a nearly bottomless bucket of suck, but eventually all those drops add
up. . . surprisingly quickly.  Just drive an old leaking Volvo through one rainy season 
and you'll appreciate the might of individual droplets joining forces.
   I look around at the webs I know, the spinners spinning ecstatically, and I realize I 
know so very little.  There are more communities and individuals than I could dream of in 
this Emerald City, let alone the rest of the world.  The thought of all those webs gives 
me hope.  We are not just idle passengers--we are a part of this world and we can shape it 
to our liking.  Think about that...and thanks for reading this whole thing.  You deserve a treat

-Lucretia L.