Knitting

Six Weeks of Solitude: Back To Reality

Anna left an astute comment to my first post on the Six Weeks of Solitude idea:

I find the idea of six weeks alone in the middle of nowhere very tempting, but I think I’d had to not take my knitting - for me it would be less about silence, and more about not ‘keeping busy’ all the time.

When I originally thought about spending six weeks on my own, I worked out how many books I could read in six weeks, then trimmed the number as to leave me some spare time and still wound up with eighteen books. Anna reminded me of the intention behind spending six weeks on a windy island. It is not to glance at pages (however tempting) but to glance inwards.

So we will leave the number at twelve (first list, second list) plus one: Notes from the Underground by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. I remember when the US Army captured Saddam Hussein and news reports claimed that Hussein had been stashing Dostoyevsky novels in his underground chambers. My old mentor and I were enjoying coffee in central Copenhagen just after the news broke and I still remember my mentor drily saying he hoped Notes from the Underground had been one.

Six weeks of solitude. Thirteen books. A chance to centre myself. Should I bring knitting? Absolutely. Knitting can be very meditative - particular if I am knitting miles and miles of stocking stitch (as I would with my first project). Stocking stitch is not the only type of knitting that relaxes my body and focuses my mind. Lace knitting can be frustrating at its worst, but at its best I drift into a strange realm of "k1, YO, k2tog, YO.." which feels as good as any Aum.

My second knitting project would be lace. Evelyn C. Clarke's Forget-Me-Not Lace Shawl hits all the right marks, especially when I imagine it knitted up in Old Maiden Aunt alpaca/silk/cashmere in a deep forest green. Hours and hours of pleasure - and much introspection too. Knitting is good for the soul.

On that little note, I'm leaving my imagined island cottage. Time to face the busy streets of Glasgow.

Six Weeks of Solitude: Comforts and Frights

A sneak preview of my current project. I am test-knitting a pattern for Old Maiden Aunt and I'm quite excited about a new technique I've just picked up. The Six Weeks of Silence idea seemed particularly attractive this morning after waking up abruptly at 5am because of a neighbour getting ready for work and then being kept awake by builders dragging debris down the communal stairs. I was lying in bed dreaming of that little cottage on Skye: no neds fighting in the street, no taxis honking their horns at 3am, no alarm clocks, no thumping bass-lines.. the idea was so overwhelmingly beautiful that I was almost ready to give up internet access, live-in partner and chai lattes. Almost.

Six more books for the Isle of Skye:

  1. James Robertson: The Testament of Gideon Mack: I have already read this book, but that is why I know it'd make a perfect companion for weeks of solitude (although it might just freak me out too).  A (Scottish) book about faith, imagination and how to define reality and truth.
  2. James Hogg: The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner: If Gideon Mack with its strange opaque view of reality is on my list, I should also have the book to which it owes a great deal. A good university friend was a dedicated Hogg fan. I hope to catch up. I also like books that play off one another.
  3. Rodge Glass: Alasdair Gray - A Secretary's Biography: And to round off this small selection of Scottish literature, a book I suspect Father Christmas might give me this year. A biography of one of my favourite authors written in a positively Boswellian manner. And it's all taking place just down the road from my current dwellings. I suspect hermit life on Skye will make me long for the colourful Glasgow West End.
  4. Virginia Woolf: Flush: Some light reading is required, of course. Like most pale, sensitive and female literature graduates, I like Virginia Woolf far too much. I also happen to like dogs (which reminds me: this puppy cam is teh crack) and Woolf has penned a little "biography" of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's cocker-spaniel. When the winds really start getting to me on Skye, I will want to curl up with this book about dogs, poetry and Victorian passions.
  5. Michael Chabon: The Yiddish Policemen's Union: Chabon's The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay was such a pleasant surprise to me. I had anticipated inflated self-importance in the vein of Dave Eggers or Jonathan Safran Foer or maybe even painful so-called 'literary' writing like Jonathan Frazen or Jeffrey Eugenides (you can tell I have issues with male contemporary American writers) - but Chabon proved an utter delight and I am looking forward to being delighted once more. The Yiddish Policemen's Union even has a character based upon an internet friend of mine which is slightly intriguing too.
  6. Rose Tremain: Music and Silence: A book not chosen for its title but because of its historical setting in my native Denmark. Another book which has been languishing on my shelves for too long and a book where the historical context is so familiar that I look forward to seeing a foreigner's take. Okay, and maybe a tiny bit to do with "silence".

And then the knitting. I wrote yesterday that I had two projects in mind which was not strictly true. I always have a gazillion possible projects running through my head and I spend much time thinking about yarns and pattern combinations. For six weeks of solitude I could easily have chosen half a dozen projects, but the idea is to limit myself.  Six weeks without noise or distractions could easily mean 'difficult patterns which require concentration and dilligence' but my head does not work like that.

The first project would be Kate Gilbert's Union Square Market Pullover in my beloved DROPS Alpaca. I'd use a warm chocolate brown as the main colour and a deep turquoise (or maybe a deliciously brash magenta) as the contrast colour. The choice of pattern is simple: it calls for miles and miles of mindless stocking stitch on 3.25mm needles. I don't think anything short of being marooned on a remote Scottish island for six weeks could ever make me knit that pullover (and yet I love its elegance and simplicity).

Final part tomorrow. Hopefully I will also have a finished knitted object to show you.

Post-Election Fatigue

Yesterday I knitted this hat whilst I was waiting for the election results to come in from the US. I was sewing on the flower when Obama was declared president elect. I have no idea what to do with the finished hat, though. I will probably never wear it. I have been binging on a certain type of elegant little British novels. I read two Nancy Mitfords recently - The Pursuit of Love and Love In A Cold Climate. I would call them comedies of manner except Mitford doesn't satirise her characters as much as she gently chides them. I'm currently reading Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day by Winifred Watson (borrowed with much gratitude from Lilith). It is less upper-class twittish than Mitford's novels, but it still features men with pencil moustaches and "Oh, darling!" exclamations.

As I'm beginning to say things like "Tea would be utterly divine, darling!" to my partner, perhaps it's time I start reading some Michel Houllebecq (although, to be fair, I really liked Atomised)? I would but .. a novel about "the lack of ideas and morale in contemporary (..) society" complete with "an overarching mood of gloom and fatalism" just doesn't seem the thing to revisit right this moment.

But what on earth shall I do with the damn election hat? Knit another one?

On Beauty

When I was at university back in Denmark, I'd walk across the Amager Common from my student halls to the faculty. I'd pass by a huge rose bush with beautiful yellow roses, D.H. Lawrence's Gloire de Dijon echoing through my head. The roses have long gone, thanks to urban development, but the memory of their beauty remain. Beauty continues to matter to me. Throughout my life I have discovered beauty and savoured it. Poetry, art, rock formations, landscape, things people have said, music, colours and textures. I mentioned poetry first, not only because it epitomises and distils beauty and I experience the world through words, but also because the etymological root of 'poetry' is the Greek ποιητης - poïêtes which means 'artisan, creator, maker' (you still find that in the Scottish term 'makar'). Beauty is poetry is creation. And this brings me to a new way of experiencing beauty that I have only recently discovered.

I am currently finishing a lovely red cardigan and I find myself getting lost in its beauty. The stitches are slightly uneven and the buttons are a touch wonky, but it is beautiful. I work with wool which is clearly the product of a sheep's fleece, the colour is stunning and I already have beautiful memories* tied to making the cardigan.

And then I happened across this blog entry which says it so much better than I ever could:

People talk about friendship and community and getting back to the roots of handcraft when they reference [craft] blogging as a movement, but there's something else about this craft movement that I think is really special and I haven't seen folks talking about, and that's beauty. Redefining beauty. Taking beauty BACK from the magazines and the movies and the Botox parties and the red carpet. Taking it back into our own hands.

I have always seemed able to capture beauty, but I had no idea that I could get caught up in its creation too. It is a wonderful, empowering sensation.

* Mags, a good friend now living in London, unexpectedly showed up in Glasgow yesterday whilst I was finishing one sleeve. I will think of her every time I wear this cardigan.

PS. This all links back to ideas I have about feminism, craft and knitting groups, of course.

Saturday Verbal Rampage

I managed to spend yesterday afternoon in very pleasant company. Whilst the rainstorm nearly flooded Glasgow, we had hot chocolate, listened to jazz, curled up in chairs and knitted whilst discussing the US presidential election. I appreciated the afternoon all the more because it made me reflect on far I have come this past year. It takes time to establish a network in a new town, let alone a new country. 2008 has been a long, strange and very tough year - but I am now able to spend a rainy afternoon in excellent company. Thank you all who have been helping me get to this stage. You know who you are. And speaking of knitting.. I am currently working on a red version of the February Lady Sweater. I keep having to rip back rows for some peculiar reason, so it is fairly slow going. Fortunately I think I have managed to crack a particular design problem, so hopefully I will have it done quite soon. The winter's rapidly approaching and I'm going to need all the woolly bits that I can muster. Or perhaps I should just turn on our central heating?

Finally, a few links seeing as it is Saturday and I'm in a lazy, lazy mood. + I am not envious. I'm slightly overhelmed: welcome to an informed tech geek's library. + Today is the 'official' Dogs Rule Day (although, as TangledFrog sez: "Every Day is Dogs Rule Day"). + Related: Could I possibly interest you in photos of people wearing clothes knitted from their dogs' fur? It's slightly freaky but I couldn't tell you why. + So, you want the best 150 online flash games sorted by type and each given a mini-review? You got it.

It's almost time for crap TV, so have yourself a great weekend.

Jigsaw Falling Into Place

Things seem to fall into place today as you'll find from these links and stories. Rhi wrote:

I received an email from an old internet friend that I'd fallen out of touch with several years ago. After adding each other to the key social networking places (as you do) we discovered that since we last spoke, we have continued to share interests. It's hard to explain why that makes me so happy, but it does: the friendship that I treasure most seem to be those that can hang infinitely in the balance, but always fall back into place in the most satisfying way that says: Here we are again

..the friendship that I treasure most seem to be those that can hang infinitely in the balance, but always fall back into place in the most satisfying way that says: Here we are again. I really like that. I really do.

And then from one Canadian to another Canadian. Ever heard of kinnearing? It means "To surreptitiously photograph a celebrity or person of interest because you are too nervous or respectful of their privacy to ask for a photo " and was coined by a well-known Canadian blogger when she was too shy to approach Greg Kinnear. Things come full circles as the blogger discovers when her friend gets Greg Kinnear to kinnear himself (and also pose with a half-knitted sock).

And finally, I'm putting on my raincoat today as we'll be making our way down to the Bigman Festival down by the Forth and Clyde canal. It's less than a mile from where we live and the site is a curious blend of Victorian engineering prowess, urban deprivation and natural beauty. And now it'll feature an Andy Scott sculpture, apparently. Somehow that just perfectly sums up Glasgow.

PS. I have a post about women, knitting, and empowerment brewing in my head but I think I'll need to run it past a few people first.