the Village Knittiot

I would love to stay and chat, unfortunately, you’ve caught me in the middle of obsessing and I really have to go pay attention to my spinning wheel. I have been trying to get at my spinning wheel since Rhinebeck (are you still talking about that?!?). My brief encounters with a couple of spinners had a profound impact on what I imagined my process to be. Sadly, life and many other crazy elements have made it nearly impossible for me to find the time.

But this weekend, I just sat down in the spinning corner of my living room and, well, it was like magic. I mean, I have enjoyed spinning. And I thought I knew what it was that made spinning amazing, but really, I had no idea. You see, I’ve been slowly making my way through this pile of merino that seduced me with its softness *last year* at Rhinebeck. Do you hear that? Last year! Needless to say, it’s been slow going. I’ve been working on finding my rhythm, but it just hasn’t come to me. There have been brief, shining moments, but also many stops and starts.

One of the women I spoke to at Rhinebeck pointed out to me that the fiber length of merino is so short and the fiber itself is so fine, that it can be troublesome and occassionally frustrating. She said to experiment with some other materials. Okay, I thought. Just as soon as I’m done with that merino, I’ll delve into other stuff.

So, as I was sitting there Saturday morning, fighting with the merino, trying to make it behave like lace weight, I decided I’d had enough of merino, that I was realy in the mood to work on something else, so I picked up the natural white rovings that I had bought at Northwinds this past spring and went to town. Everything in that moment changed for me. I was a mad woman. I couldn’t put it down. My wheel was whirling at a furious pace.

Finally, after a couple of hours at it, I decided that I needed to get up and do some chores around the house, and as I was washing dishes or putting clothes away or straightening up the kitchen table, I swear I could hear the roving talking to me from the other room. It became a game. How long could I stay away. I’d do something for an hour then say, okay, I’m going to spin for 20 minutes. 60 minutes later, I would force myself to stand up and go do some more work. An hour later I was back again, then that time became 45 minutes later and 30 minutes, until I just gave up all pretenses of house work and spun the afternoon away accompanied by the sounds of our local public radio station. Ah, bliss.

Later in the afternoon I had to go to the grocery store, but according to my new method of time calculation, I figured my day’s schedule would allow for 7 minutes of spinning. If I spun for 7 minutes, I could still leave and be on time to grab groceries and pick up Mr. Knittiot from work. I finished with the groceries earlier than I anticipated, so I drove back home to “drop the groceries off” and spun for another 4 minutes before I absolutely had to leave.

In the evening we cooked dinner together. I moved my spinning wheel into the kitchen when my half of the chopping and cooking was complete. I kindly reminded my husband not to trip over it when he came down to fetch the coffee in the morning.

The thoughts in my head right now sound a little bit like this…

“Spinning. Yes, spinning. Alright, if I have to be to work in 2 hours, I need 12 minutes to get there, 3 minutes to walk to the building. If I skip eating breakfast at home and just take it with me, I can save 7-10 minutes. I’ll shower fast, which will save me another 7 minutes. If I stop typing this damn entry soon, I can save another 30 minutes. Skip editing and don’t bother with coherency and I have another 25 minutes. That’s a lot of spinning. Maybe I should just call in sick today. No, that won’t do. Maybe I could bring my spinning wheel with me so that I can spin when I have some down time. What down time? Right, good point. Maybe I should bring it anyway. You know, just so I can look at it.”

Anyway, you get the idea. I’d show you pictures of what I got done, but you know, that would take at least 9 minutes and that is 9 minutes that could be spent spinning.

Just to give you one final indication of how far off the deep end I seem to be hurtling, yesterday morning as I was sitting in the kitchen spinning away (I had gone down to get a cup of coffee, saw the wheel, sat down and proceeded to spin for two full hours without really realizing it), I suddenly remembered that it was the day of setting back the clocks and a broad grin spread across my face. One whole free hour of spinning, I thought to myself.

Yesterday was my first session of Lunch Hour Knitting Lessons. I was honestly surprised at how many people came. Nearly all the women in my office crammed themselves into our little conference room. And looking arund the room and seeing no men made my heart a little sad. The one guy who said he was definitely interested (this after I explained that he could easily make the raglan rolled-neck sweater himself that he had just bought at The Gap) was working under a deadline, but he intends to come next week. So at least there is that.

The whole affair was incredibly interesting. Quite a few of the women took what I described to my friend Kari as the Barbie Approach. Anyone else remember the whole Barbie talking debacle in which one of the asinine things to come out of her empty little shell was “Math is hard!”? Well, there were many cries of, “Knitting is hard!” “I’m not coordinated enough.” “I’m not patient enough.” “I can’t do this.” “I’m going to stick with (or go back to) crocheting.” A couple of them got it right out of the gate. But you could tell immediately who amongst those sitting there would make a novelty scarf or two and then quit and the few for whom knitting would become a meditation that they carried with them for the rest of their lives. I have one or two true believers in a class of 10. Once I get our male coworker in there, I suspect he is going to be my star.

Standing up in front of them trying to cover the knitting landscape as it is today with extremely broad strokes (and in less than 5 minutes so we could get on to the actual knitting), I was acutely aware of my tendency to gush (Oh, and the faint remainder of that Midwestern smudge in which the path to a commanding presence is self-diminishment — got over that in about two seconds). As I talked, I found myself looking for that one person with a hint of hunger in their eye. You know what I mean, the one who sits sponge-like waiting to absorb every morsel of information. The one whose fingers twitch slightly as they clutch their yarn. The one who looks as if they are hugging a sheep in their mind. The one around whom all the pattern books get piled up. But even though people really seemed to enjoy themselves and everyone made a point to stop by my office afterward and thank me and say how fun it was, that person wasn’t there. I suppose it is possible that the kind of love I am talking about requires a slow ramp up, but somehow I doubt it. You have a love for handwork or you don’t. I guess only time will demonstrate if I am right about this.

With only an hour, we barely made it beyond casting on, which proved to be quite a challenge for people. I had (and do everytime I teach someone new to knit) forgotten how very difficult this is for people. I used the very simple double / long tail cast on (that I taught myself from a book when I began knitting). But it was this more than anything that proved a stumbling block. In the end most people managed to get a few loops on the needles, but after just starting on the knit stitch (which was much easier for people), it was already time to go back to work.

Thanks to an early on reading of Elizabeth Zimmerman’s Knitting Without Tears, I am a firm and committed Continental Knitter (even though I learned to knit holding my yarn with my right hand). I started out teaching them to hold their yarn like I do, but after realizing how they are having such a tricky time with getting going, I thought I ought to at least give them the option of holding it in their right. So I touched on it, but we’ll have to get into it more today. For the brave souls who want to return, we continue today…

Things I learned yesterday. People really have this strongly formed impression that knitting is difficult. Once upon a time absolutely everyone learned how to knit from mothers and grandmothers, sometimes at a very young age. Now you would think we are asking them to split atoms or something. Also, learning how to knit requires a certain adventurous spirit and a willingness to make mistakes. I think what slowed down several of the women was a fear of not doing it “right.” There was one person who just went with it. And she had cast on 30 or so stitches in no time. When we looked at her progress, I realized that there had been a slight error and that it wasn’t going to work. So, she slid it off and went right to work again. I like this kind of try-it-and-see attitude. Another woman half-heartedly tried a couple and then would throw the needle down on the table and say, “Oh! I’m never going to get this! I’m just not coordinated enough.” I wanted to just snatch those needles up off the table and say, “You’re right. You should just quit now. You know, after two seconds of ‘trying’.” But I suspect that she is one of those people who has been told she is not very bright her whole life and now she pretty much believes it. Call me idealistic, call me naive, but I think knitting can change that. Or at the very least be one small catalyst for change.

Since Rhinebeck, I have felt a renewed desire to connect with the blogging community and have been far more willing to follow links and spend chunks of time exploring new blogs. I find it really interesting when I hear people talking about how fractured our society is and how sad that we don’t know our neighbors names, typically followed by a well-placed tsk and murmurs of the harmful effects of technology. But, as Solomon said, there is nothing new under the sun. It may have changed format, but people create community in whatever incarnation their present situation and desire to allows them. For me, technology enables this, and, while it may present new barriers, it also breaks apart old ones. Someone recently interviewed on NPR (I think it may actually have been Studs Terkel) said, “This same technology that can destroy us also preserves us.”

In my recent link excitement, I headed over to Norma’s and from there found my way to this domestic goddess on the other side of the pond. What brought me to Yarnstorm was a picture Norma posted of one of her handmade “ladies.” (That punctuation correctly placed inside the quotations is just for you, Joe.) If you scroll down her page a little, you’ll meet Lettice Maud. She also has a link on the side of her page called “ladies” that takes you to images and stories of her other creations.

As a person who is fairly obsessed with handmade toys and what makes them unique, I am always curious to see who manages to achieve a sense of personality with their creations, and why some turn out to be lumpy, vacuous shells that no child would ever want to touch. Franklin’s recent Do It Yourself post on the value of something handmade sparked off a flurry of comments and more than a few memories. For myself, I can’t stop thinking of Priscilla. The only doll I remember. I was young during that weird portion of the 80s where parents were getting into fist fights in the middle of the store over the last Cabbage Patch Doll. Oh, and I wanted one. But, they were expensive and not even remotely a possibility. I wasn’t a brat, I didn’t complain, but my mother knew.

One night I came home and there was this doll laying on my bed with a red velvet dress and long, brown yarn hair pulled back in two pony tails. My mother, who has always so desperately wanted to give me everything, had her made for me by the mother of somone she worked with and since she was a secretary in a law office at the time, she had real adoption papers drawn up for me by one of the lawyers. I named her Priscilla and she was better than anything I ever got in the store. Plus, real adoption papers. How cool was I?

So, when I find someone who manages to impart life to their homemade items, they find a special place in my heart. So it is with The Ladies of Yarnstorm.

I’m also adding Jodi’s Weblog to the mix. Her work is really fascinating and I’m glad to have discovered her. (I think I linked to her through A Little Bit of Happy at some point.)

It was Jodi’s blog that got me suddenly noticing all the Self-Portrait Tuesdays popping up and it reminded me of the importance of including pictures as we blog. We’re such a highly visual culture. I was going to post one this morning, but can you believe I have not one single set of charged batteries in the whole damn house? (If you knew me, you would believe it in a second).

As I have been floating through the blogoverse, I am realizing how much exposure to creative and inventive people I have. And more than that how we all inspire one another and set off little sparks that inform the path of of our own design pursuits.

Everything at the moment is a bit of a blur. I don’t want to keep dangling the promise of interesting news and exciting developments out there, but…things are happening at the speed of light, and I promise I will be able to talk about them soon.

This weekend, while Mr. Knittiot and I were in Philadelphia, we stopped in at Rosie’s Yarn Cellar and there are not enough words to describe how much I love this store and the awesome people who work, shop and knit there. I can’t wait until heading over to fondle the yarn is as quick as grabbing a trolley, train or bus into the heart of the city.

I’m sure many of you have already seen Amy Singer’s call for submissions for her new book that will feature patterns worked completely in non-animal fibers. I’ve been meaning to mention it here at the village. I’m batting around a few ideas at the moment with the thought that I would like to focus on a hemp blend (maybe hemp and soy silk if I can find it) or perhaps some of that soft and lucious 100% bamboo I saw at Rosie’s. Anyone else planning on submitting? Once I get started, I plan to post some notes on the progress, process and problems, so stay tuned.

This week I am starting up my knitting classroom at work. It’s really entirely selfish. I want some people to knit with and I like the people I work with, so there you go. This will be the first time I’ve done any instruction in a group setting, so it will all be a little experimental. Expect regular updates on our progress.

I’ve been doing a lot of Rhinebeck inspired blog hopping lately, and the results have been exposure to new and interesting people (the kind who make me think maybe were not all doomed to inevitable extinction). I’m working on updating some of my links and you can look for a pretty link heavy post coming up here soon.

Also, a free pattern is coming soon to a Village Knittiot site near you.

And the return of Encyclopedic 100 Things About Me, the D installation…

Stay tuned. After these messages we’ll be riiiiiight back (to be sung ala Saturday morning cartoons in the era of School House Rock).

Early on in my knitting days, I read Elizabeth Zimmerman’s Knitting Without Tears. That was a fairly defining moment. I then discovered Anna Zilboorg and her revolutionary Knitting For Anarchists. (It’s the Z’s — we’re born troublemakers and pot-stirrers on account of always finding ourselves at the end of lines and back rows of classrooms). And beyond them, dozens of other artisans whose love and reverence for the craft embraces the roots that spawned their obsessions. They are the people who connect the past and the traditions with the present. And more than that, channel all that knowledge, practical understanding and creative spirit into something that is both new yet vaguely familiar, like the faded pictures of my stoic Norwegian relatives newly arrived in America.

Lately as I have been working through this utterly bland cotton sweater from some Rowan book, I am just unbelievably bored. There is nothing behind this knitting. It tells me nothing new. It inspires nothing. Why is that?

This morning, as I was looking through Lucy Neatby’s site (discovered thanks to a mention from the ever knowledgable Joe) I felt that familiar quickening of my senses. My hand flew toward the pencil on my desk. Notes were jotted down in a hurried fashion as I clicked from page to page, absorbing the details, hearing the story behind each design. And that is when something clicked in me.

Knitting tells a story. At least the kind of knitting that really matters to us. It is the thing that connects us to each other, to the past — even to something inside of ourselves that only seems to come alive when we have those needles in our hands. And that is what makes us come back again and again. The absence of story in knitting is, I think, what makes so many abandon their initial enthusiasm and never pick up the sticks again. Story is the reason we knit in community. Why we blog. Why we talk and dream and live Rhinebeck (or Maryland or Vermont) for days and weeks after coming home.

When I went back to Lucy Neatby’s site this morning, I went back for her story. I went back because I understand why she is doing what she is doing and I find that I can invest my time and attention happily in such endeavors. Partially because this kind of knitting teaches me something new every time I approach it, both from a practical standpoint as well as a personal one, but also probably because in this kind of scenario there is plenty of room for me to create my own story, and add my own ingredients to the “narrative.”

Around the Knittiot house the concept of story is an overwhelming preoccupation. It is central to almost every conversation, decision, adventure — even if it is only in the background, it is there. With us, 2 + 2 = story and I suppose it was only a matter of time before I connected the dots between the elements of knitting to create a similar, if not infinitely more complicated, equation.

There are two ways to define something. One is to say what it is. The other is to proclaim what it is not. You would think that the first would be the easiest, because it is precise and to the point. But I think it is the hardest thing to do honestly. Telling someone that a myth is the same thing as a lie is to rob them of so much meaning and also to entirely discount its earlier role as a vehicle for making sense of the world. The second way has a much longer list of options and possibilities to draw from, but it can be terribly misleading. To say that an egg is not an elephant may be true, but it is a long way off from truly getting at the heart of what egg is.

The difference between the two is one of approach. To describe what something is, is to go at definition from an additive space. You start with a blank page and begin to fill that area with thoughts and words and impressions until it is more or less complete. The second method is entirely subtractive. You start with the whole world and your existence in it and begin to remove things until what you are left with is the definition.

Someone, to whom I am eternally grateful, recently pointed out to me how easily I resort to the subtractive. I tend to define myself in terms of what I don’t want. In ways, this makes sense. After all, what do we have here but the whole world and our existence in it? (Yes, yes, yes — the whole vast internal landscape thing. I’m getting there.) So, as I work at making sense of my self and my place here, it would require some stripping away, right? But since our perception is limited and our existence in this world doesn’t readily appear to touch everything, how do you then add new elements into the mix when you are only skilled (or mostly skilled) at deconstruction? It was suggested to me that perhaps some balance was called for. To which I jokingly replied, “What is this balance of which you speak?”

So what does this have to do with knitting? Or writing? Or anything really? Well in this past year of intensively examining the blocks that I feel have been holding me back from hitting my creative stride, I think I’m finally onto something here. And this touches my knitting, spinning, writing, career and other creative pursuits. You see, creativity holds an inherently additive element in its nature — it isn’t an either/or scenario, but a both/and process.

When I am trying to go from brain to needles and yarn, or wheel and fiber, or pen and paper, certainly I am carving something out (the deconstructive/subtractive portion of events), but there has to be more than that. You have to bring something new to the table. And more than just adding things external to one’s self, I am finding that the additions need to come from someplace internal. In order to summon up that kind of creative power, it seems you have to know yourself and trust yourself. Otherwise, you’ll just be happy to put your creativity or even your very life in the hands of other people who you think “know better.” And in this way we remain perpetual children of the world with a series of events that just happen to us and which we have no control over. This, of course, frees us from the enormous and overwhelming responsibility of our own lives. And in a world trying to escape from consequences, this is a pretty appealing scenario. Also, not a very satisfying one.

The more Corvus and I talk about our creative futures both as individuals and together, the more I come face to face with the need to develop my additive skills. We are both such course charters by nature — seldom comfortable on a well-trodden path. The thing about stepping off into uncharted territory, though, is that you not only need to have the necessary skills to make your own way, you have to have faith that you can do it.

Over on Birdfarm’s blog, she posted a fun new exercise in googling in which you type in “(your name) needs” and then list out the results. I imagine we will be seeing this all over the blogging world before long, thought I’d jump on the bandwagon now.

1. Rachel needs to have blush that is very bright and colorful.

Of course I do, especially later when I hit the streets with my transvestite hooker friends to solve a murder in Manhattan…

2. Rachel needs £5000.

It is not even funny how true that is.

3. Rachel needs help when she enters Manhattan’s meat-packing district to help
three transvestite hookers find out who murdered one of their friends.

Told you I was going to need that blush.

4. Rachel needs guidance and normal supervision.

But really, don’t we all?

5. Rachel needs help with a question on “Value Laddering” - I have no idea what this is, and no time to research it… but since she has been so refreshingly open and honest in her request for help, I’ll throw a couple thousand points her way…

This was from MarketingProfs.com (I refuse to turn that into a link) And is exactly the kind of blather I have come to expect from both Marketing Professors and Professionals after (please, please tell me it has not really been 5 years) my stint in that world. It is such a style over substance message along the lines of, “Way to go Rachel, you asked a good question! Of course, we don’t have time to do any actual thinking, but you should get an A just for asking!” Yeah, whatever. By the way, I realize I am taking this isolated statement completely out of context, but I honestly don’t care enough to discover the context or spend anymore time than I did on MarketingProfs.

6. Rachel needs to clearly reflect that view.

What view? Give me a view and I can reflect it. I really, really can.

7. Rachel needs your help.

Yes. Yes, I do.

8. Rachel needs time to chill out.

If you say so. Hey, maybe I should take the day off work. You know, to chill out.

9. Rachel needs my constant attention and help.

Damn, am I needy or what?

10. Rachel needs and wants, and provides it.

This one was from knitty.com — what are the odds? I don’t know what “it” is, but I’m sure as hell going to find out.

I also need other things that I am too polite to publish here and also, apparantly, I am greatly in need of prayers, because that just comes up again and again. I also need to be responsible for my own behavior (really? are you sure?)

Rhinebeck was, in a word, wonderful. Last year it was such a blur and I didn’t really feel like I truly absorbed even a quarter of what I saw. This year was another story and I was struck with how much I have grown in craft and confidence these past 12 months. Since so much of my spinning has been done in isolation, one of my main goals at Rhinebeck was to see as many people as possible spinning. You know, to make sure I was doing it “right.” I certainly saw my fair share of spinners. But as it turns out, I only needed to meet one.

I think it was in the third or fourth barn we were wandering through — the sheep barn as a matter of fact. The showcase barns that have information about the animals are my favorites. They are typically less crowded. I suppose this is because they are pretty much purely informational and aren’t selling anything that doesn’t require a considerable investment and a farm with which to sustain your purchase. This was where I encountered Cranberry Moon Farm. It was truly magnetic. This woman sitting there in one of the stalls spinning on her Louet and I wish I had a picture of her, but I’m kind of glad that I don’t, because I don’t think it would do her justice. She’s one of those people who is so absolutely in possession of herself that she is just there. She was strong and no nonsense and gave me the only advice that I am sure I will ever need about spinning. Just spin.

Now, I have heard this before, but it never quite sunk in until then. Yesterday I was talking to my friend Kari about it and we started discussing how we sometimes get stuck believing there is this order of events and a right way to do something. It is, of course, entirely self-imposed, but for me it can become a real obstacle to just living (or just spinning, or just writing, or just being). In essence, this is what the spinning lady of Cranberry Moon Farm taught me. I asked her “How long does it take you to spin xx amount of yarn?” She answered, “Who cares?” I told her “I really feel like I need someone to teach me what to do.” And she said, “You learn as you go. You learn by doing.” She talked to me about sheep and different fibers, she told me about her Leicesters and told me to experiment with the various types of breeds and animals. She basically told me to trust myself. Or rather, she expected me to go back to my spinning wheel and trust what I was doing, trust my own process. That was the best thing I could have gotten from Rhinebeck.

Shortly after that we ran into Joe and Marilyn which would have been wonderful and of itself, but was even more exciting, because I knew that meant Franklin would not be far behind. Before getting to the goods on Franklin, let me just say that Joe is one of those people whose face contains so much genuine warmth and happiness that you truly enter the land of cliche when trying to describe him. He lights up a room. Has a sparkle in his eye. He is the kind of person who when he looks at someone, really sees them. This is such a rare and surprising thing in life that when you run across it, you feel struck with a little wonderment. Later we got to see him give a little mini spinning lesson and that too was just a revelation. But more on that later…

Anyway, Marilyn and Joe told us to go look for a miniature Ben Kingsley (ala Ghandi) in a baseball cap and then we would have Franklin. And so we set off. Now, let me just say, if you have read Franklin’s blog, you know how absolutely witty, charming, intelligent and talented he is. Multiply that by about 107 and you get a pale reflection of what he is like in real life. I truly can’t say enough nice things about him. It was certainly one of the high points of my day.

And even though Lee Ann couldn’t be there in person, I managed to bring her with me in a very small way. You see, last week in a comment to Franklin she suggested that perhaps with all his talk about sheep he ought to at least have a drop spindle, and at that moment something in my brain clicked. I promptly dug out the drop spindle I bought last year at Rhinebeck, wound up some super soft merino rovings and set them aside to bring with me. So, Lee Ann, your plan to make wool not war progresses one person at a time. Franklin owns a drop spindle, and even better than that — Joe gave him an impromptu lesson right at the picnic table and I have to tell you, if you haven’t seen Joe talk about spinning, you just haven’t seen anything. He was like a little spinning Buddha dispensing wisdom from on high. It was awesome.

Other highlights include:
Long and vocal conversations with noisy sheep.
A fast and brief encounter with Too Much Wool and Enchanting Juno — two bloggers whose thoughts are first rate and who manage to convey them with so much grace and aplomb.
Finishing Rogue in the car on the way to the festival (and then not being able to wear it because it was so bloody hot! Who has a sheep and wool festival in 70 degree weather? The nerve.)
Chatting with Carol (hi Carol!), who (if I’m not mistaken) is responsible for the following excellent knitting patterns, which you might recognize from Knitty, and her willingness to share all things Philadelphia with me.
My conversation with Marilyn which was just delightful.

Most importantly for me, though, was the opportunity to spend some much needed time with my sweetie, whose schedule has been running pretty much opposite of mine for a month and a half now and who I have been missing terribly. We are big fans of the road trip and the three and a half hour drive out there was just a treat. I finished weaving in the last few ends of my sweater listening to Cypress Hill tooling down the Interstate with my charming husband by my side. Lucky, lucky me.

Later, after we’d had our fill of fiber, we decided to drive into Rhinebeck and look for a little vegetarian food. The local health food store sent us back out on the road to the nearby town of Red Hook, which was just a little slice of heaven. The restaurante, Cafe Luna 61, wasn’t slated to open for another hour and a half, so we just perused the local antique stores and ended up resting our feet at The White Rabbit Coffeehouse and Cafe where it was finally cool enough for me to slip my sweater on. I pulled out some knitting and just sat there for awhile with a large, steaming mug of peppermint tea. It was pure bliss. Shortly before we left to go eat, a girl and her mother came up to me to tell me that they liked my sweater and that they too had made one. It was a lovely moment. So nice to encounter so many enthusiastic and excited knitters, spinners and artists everywhere I went.

Our dinner at Cafe Luna 61 was super. I had the best Seitan I have ever had in my life and I’m considering making the three and a half hour drive out there every Saturday just to have dinner. Yeah, they totally put crack in their food. Either that, or I am long, long, long overdue to live in a city where I can eat out every once in awhile. It’s probably that last one, huh?

Anyway, I leave you with some pictures:

Pulchritude Sanguine, (or Pulc, as we call him) our constant travelling companion who comes with us on all our road trips, here nestled happily in my newly finished Rogue.

Conversations with the Ben Kingsley of knitting

Obligatory Goat Photo

Very vocal sheep

Blogger convergence

Time with my sweetie…

At least it is for those of us who seem to have replaced portions of our brain with fluffy bits of sheep, lama, alpaca and other various fibers. In honor of the occassion, I am finally finishing off my Rogue. Who knew mattress stitching would prove to be so damn intoxicating? Pulling the string and watching the little rows line up so neatly. Well, it gives me chills.

Lately I have been giving a lot of thought to my desire to grow in my knitting, spinning and other fiber pursuits. I feel a bit stuck. There are things that I want to do, ideas in my head, but I don’t know how to get from the conception of the idea to the materialized actuality. Partly, I realize, it must involve some experimentation, but also something more than that.

If there is one thing I have discovered in my life, it is that teaching is often the greatest path to learning. So, with that in mind, I have organized a little class of would-be knitters (and a crocheter or two) at work. Just doing my part to spread the gospel according to fiber.

Last night I was speaking to my mother on the phone who is a very scattered and lovely woman who sometimes forgets that we have talked extensively about certain things and so, often asks me questions whereupon it is as if she is discovering who I am for the first time. Rather than finding this exasperating, I am appreciative (most of the time — ok, some of the time, and increasingly more so) at such fresh attention and her ability to completely see something in a new way. I know many artists would kill to suddenly see the world around them from an entirely new perspective and this is one of my mother’s gifts. Yesterday she asked me, just out of the blue (I think we may actually have been in the middle of talking about the weather — and when I say in the middle, I mean, I may have been mid-sentence, if not mid-paragraph), “What inspires you?”

I talked about reading and studying. I talked about alone time and the necessity of quiet thinking. I talked about writing and sharing my ideas with other people. The usual. Then I started talking about art and fiber and all the amazing things I have discovered about what people are doing through the blogs I read and the sites that I find myself linked to. I talked about how my knitting has evolved over the last year (It’s been a year now, by the way) and how it has come to incorporate so many things — some which I already knew like sewing and crochet, and some new things, including spinning and much more. I find myself more often drawn to needlework and weaving. Like Franklin, lace knitting has become a thing one does to relax (until you botch the pattern and have to rip out 3 rows about 7 different times before you finally get it right, but that is another rant). My mind is swimming constantly with what is out there and I find myself frustrated by my own limitations in knowledge — or maybe that frustration comes from a fear of experimentation. The usual difficulties with learning to create my own structure. I long to live outside the lines, but find that I am not always sure how to go about doing so. I get frustrated with a pattern and, rather than improvise, wait for someone to tell me what to do next. No wonder I feel so pulled in every which direction. My heart pulls one way and my mind marches toward another. These two have just got to learn to get along!

When I first started knitting, it was born out of a desire to do something more than what I could conceivably accomplish with my crochet hook. And also out of a need for some meditative task to help me combat increasingly regular bouts of anxiety. The ability to occupy my mind just enough and be creative and practical in one fell swoop was just the thing. I taught myself, then discovered the blogs and the knit-alongs and the euphoria of pouring over people’s stash aquisitions. As is my usual pattern, my thoughts on knitting have evolved considerably over the last year. The lustre of the commercial faded pretty quickly and in its place is a, not too surprisingly, desire to create something of my own. Unique pieces — one-of-a-kind. Over the past several months I have been amazed by the fiber artists who are doing amazing things (and some not so amazing things) in non-traditional mediums. Or maybe incredibly traditional mediums. It has been a very transformative process.

Lately my husband and I are giving some serious thought about how to combine our collective talents into something creative that will move us toward the goal of working for ourselves. We have some ideas, which we are developing and also which I am not quite ready to talk about here. I am still exploring my role in all of this and trying to come up with some more concrete goals for myself. Even as I write this, I am feeling aware of the abstract nature of my thoughts. But I keep coming back to this one thing — what inspires me. How lucky I am to have a mother who reminds me to ask myself such questions.