I've had a lot to do, and not that much time for blogging, nor much good weather for taking photos (which is as well, because I'm inching through several sweaters, and progress of an inch or two a day really isn't worth recording).
But we got the Spring issue of Vogue Knitting in at the shop earlier this week, and I feel the need to publicly announce, for the record, that I don't understand it.
Well, no. I understand that Vogue is all about a lifestyle; what I don't have is a frame of reference to understand (by which I mean appreciate) that lifestyle. Most of it is a class thing, and the rest of it is an East Coast thing. Not being of a certain class native to the original 13 colonies, I simply can't make myself enthusiastic about themes of summer houses, prep schools, and polo.
Therefore, I don't buy Vogue. I still glance at it every season, because I've become something of a fashion geek (an inattentive fashion geek), but I don't care for the themes, and there's not much in there that I'd knit for myself.
But I'm feeling horribly, wretchedly, delightfully catty about this season's themes. No pictures, I'm afraid (that would probably involve numerous copyrights, and I'm lazy), but you can get a gander here.
Where should I start expressing my distaste? I found the entire issue overly sentimental and tacky, except for a couple pieces I found WASPishly bland. But the "African safari" theme in the Ecologique session took the cake. Vogue's tendency of cramming its black and asian models into "exotic" themes lacks imagination, is often trite, and has a veneer of 19th century World Fair.* But you have to look at the eyes of the model in the faux-African textile tank. I love her expression-- as she stares, her eyes might as well flash semaphore for "You're doing this without any hint of irony, aren't you?" at the editorial staff.
note: I will admit that I gravitate toward Vladimir Teriokhin and Norah Gaughan as usual, but it took a couple times flipping through the zine before the safari theme dimmed enough from my mind for me to appreciate them.
*They don't always do this, but if there's a bit of Orientalism in the magazine, you can bet there's an Asian woman wearing it. Likewise if they're pulling out the big-game hunting guns.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Aune, Completed
Maybe, at some point, I'll get pictures of me wearing this-- but that will have to wait until I have an ally-in-photography. I'm sure I've blogged about this before, but it took me awhile to get the gumption to not only knit but crochet together all the hexagons, so I'll go on at length about it; it's the Aune Skirt from Norah Gaughan's first collection. As usual for her knits, I worked it about two sizes smaller than my actual size, and on smaller needles.
I also shortened it by one tier of hexagons, because the original length would have fallen to mid-calf on me. All well and good, really, and that would suit the style of the skirt generally... but skirts that length have the downside of making me look about half my height. So I avoided that cruel fate.
It's good to have a major project ready to wear now; I'm working on three at the moment, and it feels like none of them are getting done.
-0-
Now, due to some foolishness precipitated by a half-off fire sale at Hilltop in the Queen Anne district, I can now add Matilda Jane (by Ysolda Teague) to my queue.
I am never going to a 50% sale again. Ever. Crowd around and let me tell you why.
My reason for going was innocent: walking around Queen Anne sounded like a lovely thing to do on a Saturday morning before the shopping crowds woke up. Nice yarn at a sweater-worthy prices sounded like a perk, too. So I showed up on foot at 10:20, expecting to get a cup of coffee and promenade around the area a few times.
Except there was a line stretching down the front stairs. Strange. Well, I got into line, pulled out a sock, and remarked to the woman nearest me, "I hadn't expected this."
"Neither did I," she said. Apparently no one in the entire line had expected it, even when it stretched around the block. Seeing trendy 20-somethings queue up with matrons (dowdy and not) and the rare man caused traffic some confusion. We were asked if Barrack Obama was showing up in town-- in jest, but we were still asked. A fire engine slowed down, rolled down its window, and a guy called out, "Is this a fire sale?"
So the shop opened at 11. I was near the front of the line, so I got in quickly, and realized only a little while afterward that, well... there was no line control. EVERYONE was coming in.
By the time I realized this, there wasn't an escape route. So I stuck with the crowd. I couldn't get into parts of the store because they were blocked off by bodies, and I couldn't get out because, well, people were getting in. I did find things on my shopping list (the afore-mentioned yarn for Matilda Jane), but that was entirely by accident (the finding, not the list-- I always have a list of what projects I want to make, the yarns they call for and the gauge and composition in case I find a replacement at a good price), and then I found my way into the check out line, which took a good half hour to move through.
In short, it was completely, ravingly mad in there. The joy of it, I suppose, is how nice people were. There was no use of elbows (there was pushing, but that's because we were packed in like pickles), and everyone was astoundingly polite: "I'm so sorry I bumped you," "I'm not really feeling you up," "Oh, that wasn't your foot, was it?" "You dropped this!" "Oh, here, if you're looking for another skein in this color..." were just a few of the intentions directed at me. At one point, as I was maneuvering through a door, a woman turned around, smiled at me, and showed off the Shibui she'd found. I'm glad there was so much good will in there.
I think I was probably the only asshole there, and that's only by virtue of me being direct. I'd see someone in the crowd and say, "Hey! I want to be where you are. Should we switch places?" and so on and so forth, and briefly there was a chant following me from one end of the main room to the other: "There she goes! There she goes!"
And there it is. Madness.
I also shortened it by one tier of hexagons, because the original length would have fallen to mid-calf on me. All well and good, really, and that would suit the style of the skirt generally... but skirts that length have the downside of making me look about half my height. So I avoided that cruel fate.
It's good to have a major project ready to wear now; I'm working on three at the moment, and it feels like none of them are getting done.
-0-
Now, due to some foolishness precipitated by a half-off fire sale at Hilltop in the Queen Anne district, I can now add Matilda Jane (by Ysolda Teague) to my queue.
I am never going to a 50% sale again. Ever. Crowd around and let me tell you why.
My reason for going was innocent: walking around Queen Anne sounded like a lovely thing to do on a Saturday morning before the shopping crowds woke up. Nice yarn at a sweater-worthy prices sounded like a perk, too. So I showed up on foot at 10:20, expecting to get a cup of coffee and promenade around the area a few times.
Except there was a line stretching down the front stairs. Strange. Well, I got into line, pulled out a sock, and remarked to the woman nearest me, "I hadn't expected this."
"Neither did I," she said. Apparently no one in the entire line had expected it, even when it stretched around the block. Seeing trendy 20-somethings queue up with matrons (dowdy and not) and the rare man caused traffic some confusion. We were asked if Barrack Obama was showing up in town-- in jest, but we were still asked. A fire engine slowed down, rolled down its window, and a guy called out, "Is this a fire sale?"
So the shop opened at 11. I was near the front of the line, so I got in quickly, and realized only a little while afterward that, well... there was no line control. EVERYONE was coming in.
By the time I realized this, there wasn't an escape route. So I stuck with the crowd. I couldn't get into parts of the store because they were blocked off by bodies, and I couldn't get out because, well, people were getting in. I did find things on my shopping list (the afore-mentioned yarn for Matilda Jane), but that was entirely by accident (the finding, not the list-- I always have a list of what projects I want to make, the yarns they call for and the gauge and composition in case I find a replacement at a good price), and then I found my way into the check out line, which took a good half hour to move through.
In short, it was completely, ravingly mad in there. The joy of it, I suppose, is how nice people were. There was no use of elbows (there was pushing, but that's because we were packed in like pickles), and everyone was astoundingly polite: "I'm so sorry I bumped you," "I'm not really feeling you up," "Oh, that wasn't your foot, was it?" "You dropped this!" "Oh, here, if you're looking for another skein in this color..." were just a few of the intentions directed at me. At one point, as I was maneuvering through a door, a woman turned around, smiled at me, and showed off the Shibui she'd found. I'm glad there was so much good will in there.
I think I was probably the only asshole there, and that's only by virtue of me being direct. I'd see someone in the crowd and say, "Hey! I want to be where you are. Should we switch places?" and so on and so forth, and briefly there was a chant following me from one end of the main room to the other: "There she goes! There she goes!"
And there it is. Madness.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
In Which I Throw a Tizzy
I majored in history. It's something I take very seriously. This means that I occasionally do peculiar things: I study old furnaces and watches in search of date of manufacture; I often laugh aloud during dramatic moments in historical films; I've made the not-to-be-repeated error of discussing trench warfare in the bedroom (boys do not find this as charming as discussions of the shenanigans of French urban explorers). Also, lazy research can send me into a blind fury.
Please, behold this religious image of the Virgin Mary knitting:
Now, please examine the following text from the introduction of The Knitting Man(ual), by Kristin Spurkland:
I call bullshit. Moreover, I call bullshit on five key points:
Firstly, the Virgin is not admiring her boyfriend's knitting in the above-featured 15th century altarpiece panel by the Master Bertram. The creation of this painting rather pre-dates the Industrial Revolution, as do many other depictions of women knitting.
Secondly, both men and women have knit since, well, the dawn of knitting, although who knit what and why varies depending on era and country. Sailors and goatherds, and others who spent a lot of time waiting and watching (soldiers in the trenches I'm not supposed to talk about) often knit. As did women who had a lot of other things to do with their time, but also needed to clothe their families.
Thirdly, the author seems to have confused cottage industries with knitting guilds, which for several centuries (like most official professions) employed only men. Cottage industry often employed whole families; everyone from toddlers old enough to sort colored thread and buttons to grandparents would take part.
Fourthly, a case study: the early Lowell's textile mills in America. When the mills first started, they tried to hire almost exclusively young, single women from rural backgrounds. The idea is that women could be paid less than men, and women isolated from their families were less likely to make a fuss about wages or hours. And, when mills were rare and the wages comparatively high, it's true that they didn't. That didn't last long. I encourage you to google Lowell's mill women. When men and women did work in factories, the work tended to be gender segregated.
Fifthly... "began its transformation into a feminine art"?! Not only is that patently inaccurate, but it paints a very Victorian middle-upper upper-class picture, with women only knitting christening gowns and dainty gloves... because knitting practical garments like socks would indicate that one needed to work for a living. Spurkland's introduction ignores the realities of knitting, and trivializes women's history with it in the interest of making it appealing to men again.
Pant. Pant. Sigh.
By contrast, review the following brief excerpt from Michael del Vecchio's introduction to Knitting With Balls:
What a nice and concise way to briefly acknowledge the nature of knitting without needed to give people a wildly inaccurate history lesson. I approve.
And to think, this came about because I wanted to tell people about some of the devices I like to see in knitting books. Maybe later.
Please, behold this religious image of the Virgin Mary knitting:
Now, please examine the following text from the introduction of The Knitting Man(ual), by Kristin Spurkland:
"People across Europe were employed in the knitting cottage industry, primarily outputting socks and stockings for the wealthy classes. (para) Surprisingly, these early knitting professionals were unquestionably men. In the beginning, knitting was a strictly male endeavor, and remained so until the Industrial Revolution mechanized production. While both men and women followed knitting into the factories, hand-knitting at home began its transformation into a feminine art..."
I call bullshit. Moreover, I call bullshit on five key points:
Firstly, the Virgin is not admiring her boyfriend's knitting in the above-featured 15th century altarpiece panel by the Master Bertram. The creation of this painting rather pre-dates the Industrial Revolution, as do many other depictions of women knitting.
Secondly, both men and women have knit since, well, the dawn of knitting, although who knit what and why varies depending on era and country. Sailors and goatherds, and others who spent a lot of time waiting and watching (soldiers in the trenches I'm not supposed to talk about) often knit. As did women who had a lot of other things to do with their time, but also needed to clothe their families.
Thirdly, the author seems to have confused cottage industries with knitting guilds, which for several centuries (like most official professions) employed only men. Cottage industry often employed whole families; everyone from toddlers old enough to sort colored thread and buttons to grandparents would take part.
Fourthly, a case study: the early Lowell's textile mills in America. When the mills first started, they tried to hire almost exclusively young, single women from rural backgrounds. The idea is that women could be paid less than men, and women isolated from their families were less likely to make a fuss about wages or hours. And, when mills were rare and the wages comparatively high, it's true that they didn't. That didn't last long. I encourage you to google Lowell's mill women. When men and women did work in factories, the work tended to be gender segregated.
Fifthly... "began its transformation into a feminine art"?! Not only is that patently inaccurate, but it paints a very Victorian middle-upper upper-class picture, with women only knitting christening gowns and dainty gloves... because knitting practical garments like socks would indicate that one needed to work for a living. Spurkland's introduction ignores the realities of knitting, and trivializes women's history with it in the interest of making it appealing to men again.
Pant. Pant. Sigh.
By contrast, review the following brief excerpt from Michael del Vecchio's introduction to Knitting With Balls:
"People knit because they were poor (and cold) and the politics of gender had little to do with it."
What a nice and concise way to briefly acknowledge the nature of knitting without needed to give people a wildly inaccurate history lesson. I approve.
And to think, this came about because I wanted to tell people about some of the devices I like to see in knitting books. Maybe later.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Sore Fingers
I've been terrible with holiday gifts. I mean this is the most generic way possible, as, having no holidays of my own, my giftgiving season started this year around Eid and detoured through Christmas and Solstice until it seemed silly to hand people packages any longer. Except, well, I actually feel obligated to hand a few other people gifts.
It took me far too long to put these together. The wire bits required maybe five minutes of my time apiece... but finding the right leather crimps? Choosing lobster claw clasps over whatever those other ones are called?
Now that they're finally finished, of course, they're just taking up space on my table. I should rectify that.
PS: my measuring tape decided it didn't really like hiding in my bed anyway, and has now come out and agreed to continue being of good use.
It took me far too long to put these together. The wire bits required maybe five minutes of my time apiece... but finding the right leather crimps? Choosing lobster claw clasps over whatever those other ones are called?
Now that they're finally finished, of course, they're just taking up space on my table. I should rectify that.
PS: my measuring tape decided it didn't really like hiding in my bed anyway, and has now come out and agreed to continue being of good use.
Friday, February 1, 2008
One of those days...
Ever had one of those days where you just... lose something? Where you know it's not really gone gone, but it's skittered off to some hidey-hole where you won't find it until you stop searching?
Uh-huh. I'm having one of them right now. There's a pristine little gauge swatch on my ironing board as we speak, but... my stupid friggin' measuring tape is off having a night on the town (I assume).
Measuring tape, if you're out there-- whatever I said, I didn't mean it. Just come back.
Uh-huh. I'm having one of them right now. There's a pristine little gauge swatch on my ironing board as we speak, but... my stupid friggin' measuring tape is off having a night on the town (I assume).
Measuring tape, if you're out there-- whatever I said, I didn't mean it. Just come back.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Some Days, You Need a Very Big Scarf
It's not precisely the season for outdoor photo shoots. It was just a couple degrees above freezing when I went out to take this shot (in, because I am practical, my leaky shoes and no sweater to speak of), and starting to rain (or is it sleet? not heavily enough for me to decide), and of course, being just shy of 4:30, the sun is well convinced that I can't see it through the cloud cover. It's mostly right.
But really, that just means it's the perfect weather for wearing this.
I don't know what possessed me. The thing is four balls of Merino Stripes (the grey and charcoal colorway, I think 04, but I managed to lose all four wrappers), knit diagonally, and just shy of 9 feet long. If I throw it around my neck and don't wrap it anywhere, the edges drag on the ground. Honestly, there's only about a month out of the year when I can pretend to wear it. Mostly it wears me.
But really, that just means it's the perfect weather for wearing this.
I don't know what possessed me. The thing is four balls of Merino Stripes (the grey and charcoal colorway, I think 04, but I managed to lose all four wrappers), knit diagonally, and just shy of 9 feet long. If I throw it around my neck and don't wrap it anywhere, the edges drag on the ground. Honestly, there's only about a month out of the year when I can pretend to wear it. Mostly it wears me.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
At the Gates of Madness
I've posted pictures of this before; it's the most popular pattern I've written for the yarn store. I've taught approximately six classes based around it (it teaches knitting on two circs, cables, kitchener, thumb gussets...) in the 5 months I've worked there. One of the women who took the class a couple months ago came in today, and told me that she's knitted seven pairs of these since the class.
This leaves me, which I think perhaps may be understandable, feeling validated.
Seven pairs.
Speaking of the shop, yarn has been awfully exciting lately. We donated a bunch of yarn we've stopped carrying, and brought in loads new more stuff... several series of Sublime yarns, Queensland Kathmandu Aran (a lovely tweed, soft enough I might even knit with it), Happy Feet, some new Jo Sharp yarns, some crimped baby camel... we also (finally) got in the 01 (white) color of Urban Silk. I'd been hankering after that since Skacel gave us samples of it, but it was on back-order for a long while. I've had a pair of gloves stewing in the back of my mind for months, and they will presumably be quickly reproduced in that.
Sock yarn has been too enchanting to me recently. I haven't been buying, but ah, the temptation when we got in some bamboo-silk-superwash blends. Somehow this sock lust has percolated from the back of my mind into one little, obstinate thought: what law mandates I knit socks in pairs? What's wrong with one-offs, as long as I have enough one-offs to alternate on both feet?
This way lies madness.
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