On Parting With Hand-Knits (Farewell, Liesl and Coraline)

I have just given away two of my hand-knits to charity.

Coraline, originally blogged here (check out the first comment on that post... pretty loopy, right?!).

Liesl, originally blogged here.

These had lain dormant in drawers for some time, and I decided to clear them out to make room, hopefully, for new and better makes in the future. I bid them goodbye partly for stylistic reasons, but maybe more because of the niggling technical issues that both suffered from. Coraline's thread button loops frayed and splayed...

Furthermore, the neckline was just a little too high, so that when buttoned it felt a bit like an alpaca garrotte (when unbuttoned, it looked like it should be buttoned). The whole confection - the sweet pinky-purply yarn, the heart-shaped pink buttons, the picot edging - was rather sugary for my tastes. It was sort of the cardigan equivalent of a fruity sweet bedecked with rainbows and ponies, and aggressively marketed at the under-five market.

As for Liesl, the hooks and eyes I sewed on in place of buttons always annoyed me in their wonkiness; what is more the yarn I made it out of pilled IN HEINOUS CLUMPS. This was entirely predictable, and my fault rather than the lovely yarn's - I would never make a jumper out of a loosely spun, single-ply wool/silk blend nowadays. But still. HEINOUS CLUMPS.

CLUMPIER THAN THE PHOTO MAKES OUT.

I absolutely don't mean to do down my own handiwork; I don't have a problem with the things I make looking handmade, or indeed homemade, I just think my skills and my taste have moved on from these particular two knits. Both of these were made at the heady height of the button-at-the-yoke-only cardigan craze - I even bought myself some Manos Wool/Silk to make a Moch Cardi, so utterly in love with that style was I*. Like bell-bottom jeans, or shoulder pads, though, that kind of cardigan such a distinctive look that once it goes out of style it seems extra dated. I mean, feel free to disagree in the comments section, but I think the button-at-the-top cardigan is over; most recent patterns I can think of button firmly at the bottom (unless they are drapily open à la Nanook).

I suppose it shouldn't be a surprise that there are passing fashions in knitwear just like in other garments... I must confess, though, that sometimes, when I'm knitting, the word 'heirloom' flits across my mind, and I imagine my descendants (probably wearing space-suits, probably driving hover-cars or at the very least jet-packs) reverentially unwrapping my creations from yellowed tissue paper to run their fingers over the stitches... and coming away with a handful of HEINOUS CLUMPS - no, it was definitely time for these cardigans to go.

Despite the clumps, it really was a peculiarly emotional experience giving them away. Moving them out stirred up a whole dust-storm of memories, about the dank basement room I was living in when I made them (around the corner from my friend Patrick with his nifty camera), about the guy I was with at the time, the party I worked on Coraline at, the audiobook I listened to as I finished Liesl, the fraught decision over Coraline's hem, and how long it took to whip-stitch down every one of those live stitches...

Anthropologists talk about objects having a social life, and I think that is especially true for the clothes we make ourselves, which integrate themselves deeply into the fabric of our existence. That in itself, though, shouldn't be enough to stop us getting rid of them if they get old or shabby, or no longer fit in with the rest of our wardrobe. It's time for these two cardigans to start a new social life, and I really do hope it will be full of pleasant adventures.

What do you think? Have you ever given away, or thrown away, a garment that you've made? Do you violently disagree with my controversial statements on the button-at-the-top cardigan? Let me know!

*incidentally, any suggestions on to do with 900 yards of Manos Wool/Silk would be very much appreciated!

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Me-Made-May... could I do it?

I have been debating whether to sign up to Zoe's Me-Made-May '13. In terms of knitwear, it wouldn't be that much of a challenge for me, as I already wear at least one hand-knit item everyday, and can often be found swaddled in a veritable yarn cocoon of shawls and cardigans. For sewing, though, it would be an enormous undertaking, as I only really have one self-stitched item that I wear regularly (and I've not even blogged about it - I must rectify that). I do, however, have a moderate stash of both patterns and fabric, a lovely sewing machine and a sincere wish to become better acquainted with it. 

Also, although I do have a lot of me-made knitwear, when I imagine displaying it again on this blog, I have to admit that some of it is looking a little tired; perhaps it is time to sift through my collection and make way for some new additions. Speaking of which, I am finally making some progress on Beatnik, which has been waiting patiently, sometimes in the freezer to protect it from moths.

Ugh - red is so hard to photograph. As you can see, I'm nearly finished with the front and the back, and just have to knit two sleeves and a neckband - and seam the whole darn thing together, of course. I cannot remember why I decided to knit this in pieces, but I heartily regret that decision. 

Is anyone else thinking of joining the Me-Made-May madness? Do you think it's a crazy idea on my part? I'm currently trying to formulate exactly what goals I would set myself... It's been quite an interesting exercise just thinking about what are the most gaping gaps in my wardrobe, and which of those I could conceivably fill with my limited sewing skillz. Unofficially taking part in NaKniSweMoDo* back in 2009 was a real boost to my sweater collection - I feel like I need just such a challenge to kickstart my garment sewing. Oh, and I'm finding The Great British Sewing Bee quite inspirational as well - has anyone else been watching?

*National Knit a Sweater in a Month Dodecathon!

Green and Fragrant

I think I mentioned visiting Yumchaa in Soho the other day? I enjoyed the exotic green tea ('Regent's Park') I had there so much, I got a packet to take home with me. How pretty does it look decanted into a glass jar?

 

It looks like a sort of magical forest terrarium, I think, and it has been scenting my mornings with sweet papaya and strawberries in a cup. 

Brooding over my hat fail, I cast on some green socks, which will be my companions on another pitiless ten-hour Megabus journey tomorrow. 

Also today, I went to see From Death to Death and Other Small Tales, a fantastic free exhibition at the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art.

Here's me amid my favourite piece of the exhibition, Ernesto Neto's 'It happens when the body is anatomy of time' - great, crazy lycra tubes weighted down with spices. 

The whole room is an olfactory sensation. I'm sorry to keep comparing everything to a magical forest, but that is exactly what this feels like: an enchanted glade of sweet-smelling, elongated elephant's legs. Highly recommended. 

Vile Worm (or 'A Warning')

It happens. You’ve been knitting a few years, you think you know a thing or two about colour choice, about the particular qualities of different fibres, about the behaviour of stitch patterns. You know all about gauge, about swatching; you are familiar with the inner workings of Ravelry; you can cable without a cable needles like it ain’t no thang; you are so confident in your ability to matchmake a pattern and a yarn that you occasionally daydream about setting up an internet dating service for the two (‘more couples happily knit together than any other site!’). So you choose a hat pattern, choose two contrasting colours, choose to unfurl your knitting smugly on public transport.

If you recognise yourself in any of the above, then Reader, BEWARE, because if my example is anything to go by, your knitterly pride is heading for a nasty fall. These are the perfect set of circumstances for you to create a TERRIFYING CYBER-CARNIVAL-SPACE WORM HEAD-EATER!

AAAAAAAAARGH!!!

Now, I don’t mean to denigrate the pattern: the designer’s photos of the hat look perfectly lovely, and Saz’s version of it (ravlink) is beautiful, but my version of it sucks! Oh my goodness, I can’t remember the last time I created anything so vile.  The sturdy garter stitch means it doesn’t slouch down like you’d hope a beanie would, but stands straight up, for a cone-head effect (seen above); my colour choice, which I envisaged looking cool and urban, somehow turned out garish and childish: in short, it’s just a vortex of wrong. I acknowledge that the lack of slouch might get better with blocking, but I’m not going to block it. If Sci-Fi has taught me anything, it is that when a mad stripy space-worm tries to eat your head, you do not give it a scented bath and leave it to repose upon a towel, you DESTROY IT, screaming ‘DIE, VILE WORM, DIE!'.

So knitters, have a happy, but vigilant, Easter. Make sure that hubris does not creep into your stitches. Check yo selves before you wreck yo selves.

Pointless

Despite my mother's early attempts to encourage me in the art, I never could see the appeal of cross-stitch. The patterns available were unfailingly twee - kittens frolicking amid damask roses and the like - and the end results seemed a bit, well, pointless. Making things, any things, takes a lot of time, but at least with knitting or sewing that labour is directed towards a practical purpose: this thing that I'm making will keep me warm, save me money, make me less dependent on flimsy shop garments, etc. Cross-stitch seemed to have no such purpose to recommend it. I mean, what could you DO with a bit of cross-stitch? If you like to think that you're too young to be tricking out your lavender sachets with natty needlework, what other options are there? Make a teeny tiny cushion for fairies to lean against? Frame it? Somehow a mass-produced cross-stitch design didn't seem worthy of the high honour of a frame - it would be like framing a paint-by-numbers painting, or a completed jigsaw puzzle. 

I think, though, that I may have been missing out, and missing the point. The point is that needlepoint doesn't need a point. There is a quiet beauty in pulling lengths of different coloured thread through fabric that doesn't require a functional end result to justify the doing. And, I have to admit, following one of the mass-produced patterns I was so sniffy about is pretty satisfying. I took the above photo in Yumchaa, Soho, and I could barely put it down to finish a tasty apple and apricot cake. I think I might get back to it right now, in fact!

Knitting a Tube, on the Tube

I have been working on my Here and There Hat (scroll down), in a manner suggested by its name: this is a hat that seems to ask to be knit in little captured bits of time, here and there. Stacking rows of spongy gold upon vinous purple, pulling udon-like strands of Malabrigo from the centre of my squidgy yarn-cakes: it's a pleasant business. 

Since arriving in the capital, I have largely eschewed the tube. I prefer to use my two wheels and two quadriceps, and zip about on the face of the city, rather than tunnelling around under its skin. This means that every time I do take the tube, it feels like a bit of a treat, especially when my tubular hat-to-be coordinates so beautifully with the yellow poles of the Northern Line. 

Now if I can just perfect the art of knitting while cycling...