Creation and Deconstruction
When I was in college I really enjoyed knitting, like a whole lot. I knitted every night. I made scarves, hats, more scarves then realized that they could become sweaters if I was careful. I eventually made a gorgeous white lace dress that took me 3 months to make and I have never worn it. Knitting was the best thing for me then. You see, I had intense university classes, followed by a whole lot of work in a family restaurant. All of that added up to one tense girl. The colors of the yarn, the difference between alpaca and merino wool, the thickness of the spool of yarn were all distractions and friends to me. The best part was picking the yarn which would take me hours and imagining what I would make with it. Usually I was wrong because yarn like people are very different. They have their own personalities and don't always work out just the way we thought they would. Some scarves would rather be fat than thin, some scarves would actually rather be a sweater than a scarf. And sometimes it takes a long time to realize that what was a scarf is actually not meant to be a scarf at all.
The most happiest moments in knitting for me where usually around 3 in the morning when I put the last final detailed stitches into something and realized it was perfect. Around 8:46 am (16 minutes late for work) I would roll into the office looking like I had been partying all night. My creation would be in my bag and Miss G. (secretary) would say, "Girl, you finish that pretty thang you were knitting all month?" She would rock back in her chair and stare through me like only her and my grandmother could and laugh. When no one else was looking I would pull my creation out of my bag, carefully unfold it and show it too her. She would "Ooooo ain't that pretty!" and clap her hands with glee. I loved her reaction.
The saddest moments in knitting were those finishing a creation and feeling like it. just. wasn't. right. It was like a hot sandwich cold on the inside. Like a perfect pair of shoes but only one fits a bit tight. Like a sweet smile with bad breath. These creations needed something to make it right, a different pattern, idea, color, fringe. They were not at peace with their existence.
Some of these few sad ones have been fixed. One fat heavy scarf turned into the prettiest sweater I could dream of, for example. But it had to be a forgotten fat scarf in the closet for 5 years.
Tonight, I unearthed one other sad creature: the soft cashmere rust colored hat. It is the softest alpaca wool from Peru. The color says "autumn love" but the design says "Where is Waldo?"
I tried this hat on today. Flipped the edges and asked, "What do you need to be complete? A flower? A pattern? Do you need to be gloves and not a hat?" The hat looked at me and said, "I need a friend to be complete, color, pattern, passion." So I will take her apart, just like she deserves, one stitch at a time. She is not who she could be, as beautiful as she could be, but she will be.
Christian Dior argued that we should choose our accessories with the utmost care for they are the adjectives which describe us. He also spoke of the harmony between two colors, fabrics, emotions they bring. Its all in the details that make up our lives: how soft they are, enjoyable, or sad, or unfulfilled.
That's it for tonight. Off to take apart something that was never meant to be.
The most happiest moments in knitting for me where usually around 3 in the morning when I put the last final detailed stitches into something and realized it was perfect. Around 8:46 am (16 minutes late for work) I would roll into the office looking like I had been partying all night. My creation would be in my bag and Miss G. (secretary) would say, "Girl, you finish that pretty thang you were knitting all month?" She would rock back in her chair and stare through me like only her and my grandmother could and laugh. When no one else was looking I would pull my creation out of my bag, carefully unfold it and show it too her. She would "Ooooo ain't that pretty!" and clap her hands with glee. I loved her reaction.
The saddest moments in knitting were those finishing a creation and feeling like it. just. wasn't. right. It was like a hot sandwich cold on the inside. Like a perfect pair of shoes but only one fits a bit tight. Like a sweet smile with bad breath. These creations needed something to make it right, a different pattern, idea, color, fringe. They were not at peace with their existence.
Some of these few sad ones have been fixed. One fat heavy scarf turned into the prettiest sweater I could dream of, for example. But it had to be a forgotten fat scarf in the closet for 5 years.
Tonight, I unearthed one other sad creature: the soft cashmere rust colored hat. It is the softest alpaca wool from Peru. The color says "autumn love" but the design says "Where is Waldo?"
I tried this hat on today. Flipped the edges and asked, "What do you need to be complete? A flower? A pattern? Do you need to be gloves and not a hat?" The hat looked at me and said, "I need a friend to be complete, color, pattern, passion." So I will take her apart, just like she deserves, one stitch at a time. She is not who she could be, as beautiful as she could be, but she will be.
Christian Dior argued that we should choose our accessories with the utmost care for they are the adjectives which describe us. He also spoke of the harmony between two colors, fabrics, emotions they bring. Its all in the details that make up our lives: how soft they are, enjoyable, or sad, or unfulfilled.
That's it for tonight. Off to take apart something that was never meant to be.
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