Unfinished objects: what our UFOs say about us

What makes us stop creating something we once couldn’t put down? The answer isn’t laziness or distraction, it’s something far deeper that lives in the space between inspiration and completion.

Every maker has them - those half-stitched, half-woven, half-imagined projects quietly waiting in a basket or drawer. They’re called UFOs - unfinished objects - and they have a funny way of making us sigh, smile and feel just a little bit guilty all at once.

Maybe it’s the basket that just needs a handle, the embroidery that lost its spark or the slow stitching sampler that became more "slow" than "stitching".

But what if your unfinished projects aren’t a problem to fix - what if they’re part of the story of who you are as a maker?

Slow Stitch Your Way - the course

Perfectionism, guilt and the weight of the UFO

You know that stack of unfinished projects we all pretend not to see? The one in the cupboard or the corner of the studio? It’s amazing how heavy those little piles can feel.

We tell ourselves we should finish them. That we’ve spent the money, used the good raffia, or that we’ll get to it “one day”. But honestly I think guilt might be the least helpful crafting companion there is.

Perfectionism creeps in too doesn’t it? That quiet voice that says, “If it’s not perfect, why bother finishing?” And before we know it the joy’s gone. We forget that the making - the doing, the playing, the experimenting - is the real magic.

If having unfinished projects makes us bad crafters, then I’d say we’re all in very good company. Because the truth is, every UFO is a sign that we were brave enough to start. And that’s something to celebrate.

Explore the joy of messy making

What our UFO's teach us

If you take a moment to look at your UFOs without judgement, you’ll notice they each tell a little story.

Maybe they show your creative rhythm - you’re someone who basket weaves in winter and slow stitches in summer. Or maybe they reveal emotional chapters - that embroidery you started during a tough time that now feels like a relic of who you were back then.

And then there are the practice projects - the ones that taught you just enough before you moved on. Each unfinished piece marks a moment in time. It’s proof that we were curious, alive and making.

Rethinking “finish”: practice, repurpose, or release

Maybe “finishing” isn’t about completing everything exactly as we first imagined. Maybe it’s more about deciding what kind of ending each project deserves.

1. Finish

A Finish Basket

Some projects still light you up when you pick them up. You know the ones. The basket whose texture you love, the quilt that still makes you smile. Make a cup of tea, put on some music and spend a slow morning finishing just one or adding one more piece. It’ll feel so good.

If you’ve got a few smaller UFOs, try creating 'finish baskets'. Gather a handful of easy quick-win projects - the kind you can complete in an afternoon or a weekend - and pop them together in one basket. There’s something deeply satisfying about seeing progress pile up. Each small finish adds momentum, reminding you how good it feels to see something through to the end.

2. Repurpose

Not every project needs to become what you first imagined. That half-made quilt could become a set of cushions. The testing of a basket weaving technique might make a beautiful wall hanging (I love them in my home!). A slow stitching sampler could be framed as art. Repurposing gives new life to things we once thought were paused forever.

3. Archive

Then there are the practice projects - the ones that are done even if they’re not finished. Keep them. They’re part of your story. Keep your samples for styling in your home and as photo backdrops. I love that idea - those samples still have a purpose, just a different one now.

4. Release

Sometimes finishing a project isn’t the right choice - and that’s perfectly okay. Dismantling, gifting or recycling materials is just as valid as completing the object. Pass your unused fabric to a guild, share your raffia with a friend or quietly thank a project for what it taught you before you move on.

The creative energy you invested is never wasted - it taught you something along the way. And I promise that kind of release feels lighter than guilt ever could.

Discover the freedom of slow stitching

Gentle ways to reconnect with your UFOs

Here are a few things that have helped me (and a few friends) make peace with our unfinished projects - without the pressure:

• Do a 'kind' inventory: Instead of “What did I fail to finish?” ask “What did this teach me?”

• Set soft deadlines: Circle one project on your calendar to finish - but make it gentle.

• Create rituals: Try a “Finishing Friday” or a “Slow Stitch Sunday”. They make it special again.

• Buddy up: Crafting with friends keeps it light and helps you see progress through fresh eyes.

• Celebrate small wins: Whether you finish one or finally let one go - that’s a win either way.

Going through my UFO cupboard!

Slow Stitch Your Way - the course

The beauty of practice projects

I have a whole section on the importance of Practice Projects in my book Finding Form with Fibre.

I think we forget sometimes that practice is enough. Not every piece needs to become something grand or polished - some things are simply meant to be what they are: a colour test, a pattern experiment or a quiet moment spent letting your hands remember how to move. That’s where practice projects come in: the things we start just to learn, explore or see what happens. They don’t need to lead anywhere; they’re simply a space to play.

Maybe the process, not the product was the point. These little experiments teach us so much, not just about technique but about how we think, how we create and what lights us up along the way. When we stop measuring our creativity by what’s finished we start enjoying what’s unfolding. Maybe that half-stitched sampler on your table already did its job. Maybe it brought you calm, or connection or joy and that’s more than enough.

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Letting go: the gentle art of closure

Letting go doesn’t mean you’ve given up. It just means you’re honouring the energy, care and time you’ve already given - and making space for new things to flow in.

Sometimes, letting go can even be beautiful. I recently read about a project called Loose Ends, where volunteers finish pieces left behind by other makers. One of the organisers said, “When you make something, your DNA is all over it”. I love that thought - that the love and attention we pour into our craft never disappears it just finds a new home.

It reminded me of something that happened a while back. I saw on Facebook that a woman in my area was holding a craft sale at her house, and a few of us decided to go along. When we arrived, the street was full of cars and it was clear this was no ordinary garage sale...her whole house overflowed with creativity. Every room was filled with embroidery threads, quilting fabrics and yarns she’d collected over a lifetime.

Her friends had organised the sale because she was moving into a care home and could no longer sew or quilt. They hoped to raise some money for her by selling the things she loved most. We wandered through, gently picking up skeins of thread and pieces of fabric each one carrying a little trace of her story. I remember feeling a wave of sadness, imagining the joy, the hours, the life that had gone into building that collection.

I brought home armfuls of her materials that day and I still take comfort in knowing they’re being used, stitched, and woven into new work. Those threads feel like a continuation - her creative energy living on through new hands.

So if you do choose to release a project, do it with gratitude. Every stitch you’ve ever made still carries a little piece of you - and, just like those threads, that creative spirit will always find somewhere new to belong.

An actual UFO drawer in a vintage store in Melbourne, Australia.

A final reflection: the process, not the product

Maybe the real point of making isn’t to finish everything...it’s to stay in relationship with creativity itself.

Each unfinished object is like a breadcrumb on your creative path. Some will call you back, others have already served their purpose.

So next time you open that cupboard or peek into your basket instead of asking “What should I finish?” try asking: “What still inspires me?”

“What has already given me what I needed?”

“And what can I now lovingly let go?”

Because sometimes the most beautiful thing we can make…is space.