Storegga Shawl - Leaving Doggerland

Storegga is the very last pattern in my Doggerland collection. It is always odd when a journey comes to an end. I wrote about this yesterday, but today it feels even stranger. When I started working on Doggerland, there were two stories I wanted to include:  the story of the Vedbaek excavations and the story of the Storegga Slide - the story of how Doggerland ended. During my research I found other stories I loved (as well as some unlikely sources of inspiration) but I knew the final pattern of the collection would have to be inspired by the Storegga Slide.

The Storegga Slide was a massive landslide off the coast of Norway around 6200 BCE. The landslide prompted a tsunami which rippled southwards. At this point in time, Doggerland was already drowning due to rising sea levels and had been reduced to a marshy island in the middle of the North Sea - but the tsunami marked the end of it. You can still see soil deposits around the east coast of Scotland: the tsunami came with devastating force.

This proved a really difficult source of inspiration for me: how could I base a knitting pattern on a natural disaster? I began thinking about the need to capture beauty wherever we see it and how some things only exist in a brief pocket of time.

And so the shawl began to take shape. It is a crescent-shaped shawl with an easy stocking stitch body and a delicate lace border. The lace border is where I decided to incorporate my inspiration: the opening-up of the lace is countered by sharp decreases. It is a push/pull movement that works to create an abrupt, yet beautiful motif. Just as you can begin to glimpse the formation of the motif, it is gone.

Poets have written of carpe diem and gather ye rosebuds while ye may. In a strange way, I think that is also what I wanted to say with Storegga. The ground can shift beneath your feet at any given time, so treasure those fleeting moments of absolute beauty and joy. For that reason I would recommend working the Storegga shawl in the most beautiful yarn you own. I used the glorious Snaeldan 1ply in "Turf" for my Storegga. It is quite a heavy laceweight (almost 3ply, I reckon) and I used around 380 yds. As with most of my shawl patterns, I have included tips on different yarn weights and modifications in the pattern. You can do a lot with Storegga - just make sure you keep the lace motif open.

And so I leave Doggerland - both the collection and the lost landscape. It started with Ronaes and a beach. Hoxne had you knit your own flint scraper. The Gillean hat & gloves looked at traces left in the landscape. Ythan examined material remains dredged up from the sea bed as well as the ephemeral art of tidelines. Vedbaek was a meditative knit designed to comfort and cradle you. Ertebolle was a deliberate nod towards the shifts in technology and used Mesolithic motifs we still recognise today. Storegga is the final chapter with its drowning landscape and fleeting moments of joy.

People have asked if I plan on turning Doggerland into a physical book. You will be able to buy some of the patterns as single paper patterns in selected yarn stores soon, but there will not be a full book to put on your shelves. I have made this decision partly for practical reasons and partly because  I do not want to expand it: it is a complete work on its own.

People have also asked me what is next. Well, you will have to wait and see. Come travel with me through Doggerland for the time being. Come catch your own moments of joy.

On the Threshold: Doggerland

Tomorrow I am releasing the last Doggerland pattern (more on the actual pattern when it's released!) and it is a bit emotional. I first started working on Doggerland in 2011. The first few sketches were rough outlines of motifs, but soon I began sketching all sorts of things: shells, driftwood, coastal outlines.. then I started reading about Mesolithic archaeology, I met with archaeologists, I delved into Land Art & psychogeography, and then set myself some parameters:

+ The Doggerland moodboard

+ A limited palette of colours:  I ended up using mainly undyed yarns and the only dyed hue is the vibrant green you see in the last shawl (and in the Gillean hat & wristwarmer set). I chose the green because it reminded me of seaweed - it'd be a colour that Mesolithic people would have seen. I did wonder about using wool rather than flax, as domesticated sheep for wool-production would still be a few millennia out.

+ A limited palette of stitches: I wanted to strip back what I understood about lace knitting, colourwork, and textures. I looked to Mesolithic artefacts like worked flint, carved bone, and late-Mesolithic pottery shards for inspiration. I was really interested in how Mesolithic people used geometric shapes and lines in their work. Garter stitch ended up forming the backbone in the collection and i also strove to use a pared-down lace vocabulary (which was one of the hardest challenges I set myself).

I ended up designing and writing nearly 25 patterns for the collection - most of which I also knitted. Obviously most of these designs never made it into the collection for one reason or another - and it meant an enormous amount of work on my part. Still, I wanted a coherent collection with a very distinct formsprog (mode of expression - though I like the Danish phrase better: "shape language" which contain the making and moulding aspect of creating your own creative idiom).

I got there in the end.

It was not all plain sailing. I became increasingly critical of the work I was producing. I also found myself being dragged in various directions because Doggerland was all me - and I still had other work commitments. I was working on some very non-Doggerland commissions as the same time and it was very, very hard to keep the various design vocabularies apart. I think I succeeded, but only through gritted teeth and a lot of determination.

Throughout my life I have continued ploughed  my own paths and Doggerland was yet another one of those endeavours. I could have made things easier for myself by hiring people or doing it through a publisher, but I wanted total creative control. So, from 2011 to 2014 and we are on the threshold. I am nearly there. I feel very, very odd about this.

Stay tuned tomorrow x

Caritas: On the Thorny Issue of Charity Knitting

I have been involved with various charity knitting projects in my time. Quite apart from knitting for various projects, I helped out with the Garterstitch100 project which made blankets for women's shelters and I have also been a coordinator for a premature baby knitting project. I have seen both sides of charity knitting and it's been interesting. Recently I came across some thoughtful - and thought-provoking - blog posts on charity knitting. Ben wrote about wanting to know the facts behind the stories in the media. He found out that a popular crafting-for-charity story had a religious agenda. He concluded:

Crafters need to interrogate the traditional “charity” narratives their disciplines are attached to. They need to be honest about the motivations behind their charity-craft, and make sure that the charities they support really align with their values. They also need to accept that charity-craft, as a model, is usually more about the desires of the giver than it is about the needs of the receiver.

Rachel wondered why the knitters keep getting asked:

When was the last time you saw a charity campaign asking people with hobbies such as carpentry, embroidery, sculpting or painting, to create a throwaway object in order to ‘raise awareness’? I doubt that you have and I doubt that you will. So why do knitters get targeted? Do the marketing and PR departments of charities think that knitters have nothing better to do with their skills, time and resources than make small hats for drinks bottles? Why do these campaigns always fall to the knitters and why do we keep entertaining them?

I urge you to read both these blog posts. Not only are they interesting, but they also deal with a complex topic in ways that deserve your attention.

I support charity knitting because I recognise that a) people feel the need to give back and show care for their fellow human beings. b) knitting (and other types of crafting) is a way of showing this care and love, and c) it can genuinely transform some people's lives and show compassion and hope where often there is nothing to be found. Yet - I have mixed emotions about charity knitting and I'll be trying to unpack them below.

Sometimes charity knitting projects live up to their name - caritas means "the love for all" or "to care for your neighbour" - and I have personally heard moving stories of a woman escaping domestic abuse snuggling up with a handmade blanket in a shelter, a guy who taught himself to knit preemie hats because his little daughter was fighting for her life in hospital, and knitters getting together across continents to make a blanket for cancer survivors. Powerful stories where knitting becomes synonymous with care, love, hope and friendship. Powerful stories where a knitter's simple act of caring transformed lives.

Other times I look at a campaign like Innocent Drinks' The Big Knit which has knitters make tiny hats for smoothie bottles. Did you know that each smoothie sold equates to just 25p donated to Age UK? Did you know that Innocent Drinks is 90% owned by Coca-Cola? If you work out the maths of cost of yarn + time spent on knitting = each hat actually generates less money than if you had donated the cost of yarn to the charity - and if you figure the ownership by Coca-Cola into the equation, it becomes clear that this is more a branding exercise than an act of charity. Your time, your money, and your wonderful kindness can be better spent elsewhere - a direct donation to Age UK would be better and you can source a charity local to you who will appreciate your knitting efforts.

When I was co-ordinating and collecting premature baby knitting projects, I was struck by the beautiful things that people made and donated, but we also saw people handing in downright filthy knitted items for the premature baby unit: things that reeked of cigarette smoke or were covered with unexplained stains. We had to throw these items away because we did not have the facilities (or money!) to wash all these clothes before we brought them to the unit. I actually spoke to one "repeat offender" who got very angry when I explained why I could not accept filthy items. "Well, you should be happy for just getting something," she replied when I explained that dirty clothes would make very tiny, very ill human beings even more sick. I think back to what Ben was pointing out: sometimes charity knitting is more about the maker than the receiver. It saddened  and shocked me - but I have since come across that attitude in other charity contexts. "Poor or ill people should be grateful for whatever they get" (not much caritas in that!).

I wish people wanting to knit for charity would spend time researching before making decisions about what to support. Does a heart-warming campaign actually support a charity whose aims are less than heart-warming? Will your time & effort result in changing people's lives or just boost the bottom-line of one of the world's largest companies (and would you be better off  just donating money to the cause)? Is what you are making appropriate for the charity? Does the charity you support actually want hand-knitted items? Are you using appropriate materials or are you "just using up stash"? Do your research and do it carefully and with thought.

I'd love to read your thoughts and comments - I'm particularly interested in hearing about lesser-known charity projects that you are able to recommend to people wanting to make a difference.

The Knit Generation

A little something on the dining table today.

A book from Quail Publishing filled with the most glorious autumnal knits: The Knit Generation - curated by Sarah Hatton.

What's this?

Is that my name? I do believe so! I have two patterns in The Knit Generation and I am so awfully proud to be included. It is really the most beautiful book I have ever been involved in. Sarah has an eye for detail and her stylistic instincts are incredible. Everything from colour palette to layout has been carefully considered and I just love leafing through the end result.

The Juniper hat is one of those knits I finished and didn't want to send away. It is worked holding one strand of Rowan Felted Tweed and one strand of Rowan Kidsilk Haze together - the end fabric is lush: full of drape, full of warmth, and full of colour depth. The sample hat uses FT Clay and KSH Cream together, but I keep toying with the idea of knitting myself one for winter. Maybe holding FT Watery and KSH Trance? FT Seafarer and KSH Turkish Plum? FT Avocado and KSH Jelly? FT Rage & KSH Strawberry? Worryingly, I can do all those from stash (don't judge!). The nature of the fabric meant I didn't want a complex stitch pattern - instead I chose a simple knit and purl pattern which showcases the fabric without overshadowing it. And a pompom on top. Of course.

The other pattern is the Pinecones Shawl. It is a simple triangular shawl with an autumnal border and it is knitted in Rowan Fine Art, their handpainted sock yarn. The fibre content of the yarn is slightly unusual (it includes silk and mohair) and again it was a case of designing a pattern that emphasised the nature of the fabric (and the lovely, lovely drape).

I am teaching a class at McAree Brothers in Stirling in support of The Knit Generation - we will be taking a look at contemporary lace knitting, shawl constructions and students will have a chance to give designing their own lace a go! Something like Pinecones can look overwhelming to the uninitiated - but my aim is to demystify shawl knitting and show people just how satisfying it can be to wrap yourself in something beautiful. And if you are an old hand at lace knitting, I have a few tricks up my sleeve that'll (proverbially) blow your mind. Promise.

I designed and knitted both Juniper & Pinecones last year - it is so satisfying to finally see them in print. I am particularly pleased to see my name next to people like Andi Satterlund, Anni Howard and Rachels Coopey and Atkinson - all thoroughly good eggs.

I cannot help but laugh, though. Due to the vagaries of publishing, you will see an absolute deluge of patterns over the next few months. I apologise in advance.

"These Charming Knitteds Will Flatter.." - A Brief Look At Knitting & Language

knitteds

When Caroline posted this photo to her Instagram account, I don't think she expected the discussion to revolve around the language usage in the caption.

Lately we have had some great discussions about knitting language at the great round-table of Twitter. What is the right past tense of the verb "to knit"; is it more correct to say "I knitted a hat last night" or "I knit a hat last night"; why"knit/knitted" but not "knat"? Susan posted a lovely poem from 1915 as part of that discussion.

Caroline's photo didn't spawn as big a discussion, but several people noted the odd phrasing. "Larger sized knitteds are so often.."

Knitteds?

I was sure I could explain this odd word, but first let's cast an eye at the word itself. A Google search throws up about 10,600 results, most of which refer to an outdated way of referring to knitted items (particularly baby items). Geographically I mostly get referrals to Antipodean knitting sites. My favourite dictionary tool gave me many results, but all of them gave "knitted" as an adjective or as a verb - not as a noun.

So, what is my explanation for this curious language usage? I am not saying it is necessarily the right explanation but it is a likely explanation. Please add your thoughts in the comments!

First, we need to look at figures of speech. Everyone has heard of metaphors:

Martha is a gem.Martha isn't actually a precious stone, but the word "gem" is used so we can all see that Martha is precious and valued.

Knitting with this yarn is like knitting with butter. The yarn isn't actually a greasy dairy product, but its qualities are likened to the softness or pliability of butter. This is a specific type of metaphor that is called a simile (note: although I have seen the butter simile used often in knitting contexts, I must admit it still baffles me).

Then we move to a figure of speech that fewer people have heard of - metonymy. While metaphor draws comparisons between two very different things (Martha & a gemstone; yarn & butter), metonymy refers to something already associated or related.

Jane downloaded Arcade Fire last night. Jane did not download an entire Canadian band last night, you know. Here the band name does not refer to the actual, physical incarnation of the band but their music.

And via metaphor, simile and metonymy, we get to the figure of speech known as synecdoche. Synecdoche is when a part of something is used to refer to the whole. Confused? I promise you use synecdoches all the time without realising it.

I'll get my needles. Any knitter will know that actually means "hang on, I'll get my knitting project which comprises yarn, knitting needles, and possibly a pattern".

Harriet put on her woollies. This is a quaint British English phrase which essentially means that Harriet is putting on a woollen jumper. The jumper's material becomes short-hand for the jumper itself

Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song .. even the Beatles understood the value of a good synecdoche. They just want you to listen, not do a Van Gogh (and "to do a Van Gogh" is a metonymical figure of speech!).

But where does all that leave us? When Caroline posted her photo, I began wondering if "knitteds" is not a synecdochical noun phrase (!). Much like Harriet's jumper, the material quality of the item becomes short-hand for the item itself. A hand-knitted cardigan or hat become "knitteds" - the adjective "hand-knitted" is shorted to "knitted" and is turned into a noun which can become pluralised whenever needed.

And suddenly something that looked like very strange grammar in an old knitting magazine can suddenly look like charming shorthand for discerning knitters.

I love language.

Wool Week 2014 Is Here & So Much More

Wool Week is here. Friends are in Shetland or down in London having all sorts of woolly fun.

For the first time I am not actually involved in Wool Week. The past four years I was on the front-line at various events: talking to people about the wonderful qualities of wool, explaining how hand-knitting and fashion have more in common than people think, and emphasising that wool is far more than just lambswool or merino. But I am technically still as involved as ever.

This Sunday I am teaching a class on two-hand colourwork, Nordic knitting traditions, and Continental knitting at Edinburgh's Be Inspired Fibres, I am also busy working on an article about North Atlantic knitting traditions for a knitting magazine and I am working on no less than five future designs. So, in a way I am still talking about all those things but at my own pace and in my own way. It feels good.

I cannot resist still dressing the part, though, so yesterday I wore my Orkney cardigan together with my True Brit Knits badge. Every week is Wool Week, of course, but it's still nice to make an effort!

Design-wise I am both back doing something I really love and I am stretching my wings a wee bit.

I was recently commissioned by Susan Crawford to design a piece for her Knits for a Cold Climate collection. Susan's famous for her vintage-inspired knitwear design and she has given myself and fellow collaborator, Tess Young, a very interesting and very tight design brief. As you may have guessed by the name, it is a collection of designs inspired by the late 1920s/early 1930s and the English novelist Nancy Mitford. I am using Susan's Fenella yarn and the colour palette is just perfect for the period. I have long been interested in early 20th century arts and culture - specifically circa 1909 to 1939 - and I find it a really intriguing challenge to translate my knowledge of this period into knitwear design. Intriguing and fun. A bit like the design I am working on.

Finally, the Edinburgh Yarn Festival has announced their line-up of classes. I am really, really, really proud to see my name in a line-up international names as Helene Magnusson, Nancy Merchant, Veera Valimaki, Martina Behm, and Carol Feller as well as local luminaries Rachel Coopey, Hazel Tindall, the very, very lovely Kat Goldin/Joanne Scrace crochet duo, and Ysolda. Stallholders will be announced later this year - judging by the size of the new venue and some of the whispers I have overheard, it looks as though Jo & Micha has upped their game significantly. I am really, really proud to be a small, tiny part of this - and with In The Loop 4 lurking, 2015 could be a really great year for hand-knitting in Scotland.

(I really do guess that even though I'm not officially part of Wool Week this year, I'm still preaching the gospel. Ha.)