The Art of Indian Beading

Can you even call it that?

I no longer have any desire to learn The Art of Indian Beading.  I remember learning, in a film strip or 16mm film in grade school, that the Indian (can I even say that?) -- OK Native American -- artists who did the beading purposely made errors in their beaded things because to be perfect would offend the Gods.

Bullshit!

There is no way to be perfect!  It took me three hours to do one silly bracelet and I didn't offend the Gods about fifty times.

Nine strings as thin as human hair!

Hell, setting the loom up took about 45 minutes.  It wasn't the loom itself it was the thread that had to be thin enough to fit the teeny tiny beads.  And the needle was so thin.  Let's just say I screwed one so badly it can't even be recycled.  OK, I can't find it.  I'm hoping it isn't embedded in the carpet.

Then, once you have all the threads separated, you have to put the beads on one row at a time and follow a chart putting one bead of one color followed by another bead of another color.  The mad styles were far beyond my comprehension and ability to concen-- look shiny objects!  I did one with 26 rows and just made my pattern of letters.

And it was hell!

OK, strings as thin as MY hair.

And I did one row that was so bad I thought I'd have to go back -- you see it's all like -- oh shit, just believe me that people have to be crazy to get good at this shit and I don't have the patience, eyesight and back strength to get through more than what I did.

Which sucked like a Hoover Deluxe.

Speaking of sucking, I'm pretty sure I inhaled more than one of those tiny little beads.  The box says eight and up but children of all ages are going to suck a dozen or so beads up their noses just because you have to get so close to them to get them on that jenky needle.

Not a cupcake with Jimmies.

Yes, thanks for asking, I do have about seventy tiny holes in my fingers and one in my lower lip. I was a quick maneuver away from sewing a bead into my left nostril.

I placed the beads on the top of my wife's cream jar, which was indented -- the only artistic thing I did the whole time.  Yes, I spilled them -- many times.  I spilled a bead or two every time I dipped the evil needle into the concoction to gather the right combination of colored beads.  (Can I even say that?).  And I spilled the entire load five more times.  So I'm guessing I spilled more beads than I wove into the Nightmare Catcher, as I've come to call it.

Then!  After you finish.  And your back hurts like Manifest Destiny, the instructions call for you to untie the strands and tie each vertical string to the last horizontal string and -- That's when I said fuck the fuck out of this fucking fucker.

But I have a friend with a daughter who might like to do this.  Good luck getting those beads out of your carpet.  Here's the finished product.

Anyone who finds they love Indian Beading.