Truth and Beauty
Attentive readers may have already noticed what I mentioned in passing elsewhere on this site: I learned this trade when I was a monk. That’s right. For twelve years I lived in a tiny monastery, and for more than half of that period I was a monk, complete with a rope around the waist, a stern abbot, and a silly hat on my head. Now, I’m not in the business of converting people, so I won’t bother you with all the religious details, I just wanted to tell you about it because it is because of that period in my life that I became the kind of tailor that I am. Truth and Beauty were central themes in my life there, hence the title of this article.
One of the first things the head of the monastery told me was about my -then- ambiguous relationship with the truth. I’d done a fair bit of reading and contemplating philosophy before I went to the monastery, and I thought I had quite a decent view on what is truth. Well, the abbot dealt with me for a few months, and one day he sat me down, asked me how I was doing and how I liked living in the monastery, and suddenly he looked me gravely in the eye, and said: “You need to learn to speak the truth.” End of conversation. Very puzzled, I left the room, to brood over this for literally the next ten years. And the brooding still goes on.
This isn’t to say that I now only speak the truth, (who could?) but I do try. Even to the point of shortdoing myself, because you’ll agree that the truth matters more than I do. (Hm, does that sound ‘sticky?’) Anyway, to move on:
A second thing I was tought, was about beauty. Without going into the philosophy too deeply, let’s just say that beauty was the central theme in our life there, and it still is now for me. The point was to realise the beauty inherent in all things, and to try and live a life of beauty. (still working on what that entails…)
Together, these two themes became a central focal point in my life, and together they defined how I came to see quality. To wit: Truth is of prime importance in my life. And that what is true, manifests a definite expression of beauty. And I’m sure you’ll agree with me that something beautiful speaks its own truth. So this is how I see my work: It must be true, that is to say, it must be exactly what it is said to be: really bespoke, really handmade. Really beautiful. The price must be true as well: I could ask a whole lot more for it, but that wouldn’t be very honest: Profit: yes, amassment: No. Simple.
And when I make something, I just have to make it as splendid and gorgeous as I can make it. Being a perfectionist has its drawbacks (long hours and sleepless nights, for instance, or doing something over and over again just because I don’t consider it good enough), but it does make for nice frocks, hah!
Thinking about this, I realise I might be putting certain readers off with this story: It isn’t necessarily a done thing to leave a monastery. After all, the commitment in it is as serious as wedlock. But people change, and what with one thing leading to another, my life changed along with it. The turning point came when a number of circumstances forced me to be in the world, among regular people. It got me thinking a lot, and I realised that I could only be a monk if it were full-time. Not going out to work in the day and donning the hood in the evening; that was too split, like being with a foot in each world. So I had to make a decision, and since there was no possibility to stay indoors all day long, there was only one decision to make. And even though I still miss the life I used to lead, I have never regretted shanging my way of living. Not once.
So now, here I am: the mad ex-monk tailor, crazed by beauty, loving life and adoring my work.
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