Crafty


So, remember those elephants I cranked out earlier this year for babies? I just mailed off one more…and over Christmas, I will be knitting another three, due to specific requests by parties who will remain anonymous (they want them for gifts).

Yes, I could have knitted a different gift for this last one. But…the pattern is kind of perfect. It’s fun to knit, avoiding the seaming hell of most knitted toy patterns. It has enough interest to keep me paying attention through leg and a leg and an arm and an arm. It’s freaking adorable. And—and this one is more important than you might think, unless you page through books of baby patterns on the regular—it’s gender-neutral.

I am a victim of my own success. I am repopulating the knitted fields of knitted Africa with my own tribe of nose-asauruses. I am vaguely considering just admitting defeat and getting the pattern tattooed onto my forearm.

This Took Forever

(source)

Oh, man. I figure if you’re not sure whether someone will appreciate a handmade gift…don’t make it. It’s a gift, and if not seeing it worn/loved/utilised on a regular basis will piss you off, then you’re expecting something of the gift-ee and that defeats the whole purpose of giving them a present. But that said…I could totally use a set of these ribbons. Not to guilt trip anyone, of course. Just so I know they know.

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Terrible photo courtesy of my phone.

Glorious Tidings on All Hallows Eve? Or, you know, Happy Halloween and all that.

I’m being even witchier than usual (I know: hard to believe) and hiding behind our blackout curtains this year. I love trick-or-treaters, but the prospect of answering the door all night while having to juggle a curious dog and a bowl of sweets was pretty daunting. So instead, I’ve got no decorations up and have left the hallway as dark and “nope, definitely no one home here”-esque as possible. I’ll make up for it by breaking out the Christmas decorations IMMEDIATELY.

At least there was pumpkin carving at work! The above is my handiwork. I admire all the elaborate jack-o-lanterns that show up in slideshows this time of year, but when it’s crunch time I always revert to the classic triangle-eyes, grinning mouth pumpkin that I’ve been carving pretty much since I started celebrating Halloween. I’m also afraid that’s an LED candle in there, disappointingly; call me an old-timer, but to me it’s not really Halloween unless there’s a significant fire risk.

Anyway, so I’ve eaten myself mildly sick on chocolate and am holed up in my living room with some knitting and a large glass of red wine, waiting for the Halloween episode of “Poirot” to start. So far, this witch thing isn’t bad at all…

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It’s done! And photographed in the classiest way possible. Yes, that is an economy-sized tub of rice holding one corner in place. The kitchen gets the best light. Don’t you judge.

Looking at the photo has reminded me that the points could be blocked out to be pointier, but other than that, I’m very happy with it. The pattern was interesting enough to keep me engaged through nine pattern repeats, and considering the pattern as written only called for four, I’m giving extra points. The 34-row edging pattern was incredibly irritating when I was fresh off the high of finishing the body of the shawl, only to realise I had to knit the equivalent of three more pattern repeats before I was done, but I think it was a lovely finish to the pattern.

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See? Good stuff. And the most satisfying part of it—at least in hindsight, once I know it all ended well, was the amount of yarn I had leftover at the end:

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Waste not, want not! Well done, Bandit.

Gene-KellyLife isn’t fair. If the world were fair, I would have been born independently wealthy. I would have a dog who doesn’t do things like throw up through the banisters of the landing and onto the stairs, banister, and wall beneath him. I would own a red lipstick that never, ever needs touching up. And I definitely wouldn’t have been born with a deep love for movie musicals and above-average tap-dancing skills, several decades too late for my soulmate. Oh, Gene Kelly. You should be mine.

You can imagine my glee (or rampant jealousy?) when I stumbled upon CraftyPod’s Gene Kelly Craft-a-Long. Other people expressing their love of Gene Kelly through craft? I am so in!!

An initial perusal of the Flickr group for the craft-a-long shows that most people are producing crafts featuring Gene Kelly. Alas, if you have ever seen my drawing skills, you would already know this approach is not for me. No, I’ve decided to add an item to my wardrobe that makes it more Mr. Kelly-suitable. I’m going to knit the Tout beret from Quince & Co., which I’ve decided is an accessory staple for being Gene Kelly’s leading lady. It’s retro! It frames the face beautifully! It has ribbing to help keep it on when we’re doing our big number!

Stay posted for my FO, hopefully in a week or two. And then stay tuned for my ongoing project to remake my boyfriend into a Gene-Kelly-alike. I can try to teach him to tap dance, but I’m not sure a ginger Gene Kelly is really doable. Hmm, maybe I should have been going for Donald O’Connor all along.

So now that I’m finished with the endless baby gifts, I’m back to knitting for myself. I’m currently working away on Springtime Bandit, a really nice triangular scarf pattern. (Incidentally, I’m also doing it in a thinner yarn than the pattern calls for.) I really like triangular scarves—the construction seems to lend itself to more interesting patternwork than a regular rectangular scarf, and I like the way they look on much more. The construction, however, is a double-edged sword, because while it lets you do really cool stuff, it also makes the scarf a bigger and bigger (no pun intended) pain in the ass as you work on it.

Most triangular scarf patterns (and shawl patterns, and presumably triangular tea cozies if you cared to make them, but you know what I mean) start at the centre of the top, and you work back and forth while increasing, so you’re essentially knitting the edges out as you go. Here’s a sophisticated MS Paint rendering of what I mean:

Shawl

Clearly I’ve wasted my life by not attending art school.

When you start, a row will have, like, six stitches in it. You whip through pattern repeats in about the time it takes to play a Britney Spears video. Halfway through, though, even a row of plain purling takes the entirety of Lady Gaga’s new twenty-minute opus, and you still have about two-thirds of the fucking thing to go.

At the moment, I am on pattern repeat five (out of eight) and feel like gremlins are unravelling my knitting every time I turn around, because this thing is never any closer to getting finished. (Clearly Odysseus doesn’t want me marrying Luke. O-ho-ho-ho, classical references!) And even once I get through the patterns, there’s still the (lovely, gorgeous, completely worth it) edging to get through! And then! THEN I HAVE TO BLOCK THE GODDAMN THING!

(Which reminds me, perfectionist knitters, please stop grinding your teeth—that photo above was taken midway through the blocking process, as in, it totally got straightened out and symmetrical-ised.)

Everyone says there are product knitters and process knitters, but that is a blatant lie. There are knitters who successfully conceal their impatience to be finished with a project that begins approximately two hours after starting it, and there are those knitters who begin screaming and insisting this sweater is totally the right length and they’ll just start the armhole shaping now before they’re even done with the gauge swatch. No credit for guessing which side I’m flying my particular standard on.

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Elephant in the wild.

I’m caught up! With God as my witness, I am caught up on baby gifts!! This is the first one, and since he’s made it safely through the post to his new home, I can plaster him all over the internet.

Technically, his name—at least the one given to him by Ysolda, the pattern designer—is Elijah. But I like the name Otto (her name for her polar bear pattern, which I also may or may not have knitted in the recent past), so Otto he is. Incidentally, this is the…fourth time I’ve knitted this guy? Or fifth? I know I made him for my cousin’s baby, and liked it so much I immediately knitted a second one for myself, and this guy is one of two I’ve just finished knitting. What can I say?—he’s really cute. And the pattern is a really cleverly-designed piece of work; you start from the head knitting on double-pointed needles (or dpns, for those of you in the know) and stuff as you go, so when you get finished with the ears, you’re DONE. For any knitter who’s finished the knitting only to face several more hours of sewing and stuffing tiny little stuffed-animal parts, this is a godsend that makes the knitting about 1,000 times more fun. So he’s kind of become my baby gift calling card.

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But with ears like that, who’s going to complain?

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This is my kind of class setup.

When I went to Knit Nation in 2010, I only went to the marketplace. And don’t get me wrong, it was awesome. But I couldn’t help eyeing up all the people perched on benches scribbling in notebooks or walking busily past with a half-knitted sampler clutched in their hands and wonder what delights I was missing out on by not taking classes. This year, I was perched at the computer and ready as soon as registration opened. I signed up for two classes that both started at 9am, which meant I got up at five o’clock in the goddamn morning for two days running—including a weekend!—in order to be in London on time. That, dear readers, is a sign of just how much of a draw I suspected the classes would be.

I wasn’t wrong. My first class was History and Methods of Lace Knitting, with the Is Really Famous On The Internet Franklin Habit. This is how you know this guy is a true knitter: he gave us each our choice of two lace repeat patterns, so everyone could knit while he lectured. Smart, smart man. The class was a bit of a stomping overview of the hows and whys of lace knitting, focussed on three different schools of lace knitting: Orenburg, Shetland, and Estonian. In each case, Franklin went through how (and why) each style of knitting began, details of its construction and style, and whether it’s still kicking these days. I’m familiar with Shetland and Estonian lace knitting in the sense that I’ve done scarves and shawls of each, but a lot of the history was new to me, and I especially liked learning about the different ways shawls were constructed—for example, Shetland shawls were often knitted into the center in four separate wedges, so when one was damaged it could be repaired without undoing the other three (yes, the thought of redoing even one wedge of a Shetland shawl gave me the vapors). As a bonus, Franklin also had several examples of different methods of construction or stitch approaches in the form of his own work, including his latest pattern, Anna, that I was rather blasé about online but is just gorgeous in person—I’ll definitely be knitting it. Plus, not to fangirl out, but he was delightful in person—incredibly knowledgeable, funny, and with a slight inferiority complex about whether he was allowed to lecture about Shetland knitting to people who might have actually, y’know, been to the Shetland Isles, in a really adorable way. Oh, and he already has London escalator etiquette down, so I think he qualifies as a transplanted Brit as much as any of us expatriates do.

My second class was harder to get to—that second five a.m. wakeup call was a doozy, so much so that I found myself bouncing off walls as I attempted to bumble my way towards coffee—but seriously, I know this sounds insanely nerdy to say about knitting but I mean it, blew my mind. It was Vintage Fit and Finishing, with Susan Crawford. I’m not sure what I was expecting—tutorials on edgings, maybe? This is the class I learned to crochet for, and we didn’t crochet a damn thing in class, but it was so much better than what I was expecting I am totally fine with it. Susan is pretty much a genius on all things vintage knitting, and she could have easily stretched this class out to a full-dayer—as it was she stayed for an extra half hour to show us some seaming techniques. It started with an overview of vintage clothing silhouettes, which sounds really basic (1920s = dropped waists! 1940s = shoulderpads!), but she went into enough detail about things like where sleeve caps should hit and how clothing was designed to fit that I have a whole boatload of marginalia surrounding her already-exhaustive handouts. She then went into how to measure yourself correctly, and how to approach altering vintage patterns to compensate for your figure in a way that won’t screw with the overall look of the garment. Again, this sounds obvious, but vintage knitting patterns are tricky beasts—in no small part because there was an assumption of knowledge that even experienced modern knitters are unlikely to have—so this entire section was golden. Finally, she showed us some finishing techniques using samples from her next book as examples, and oh, man. Even ignoring the fact that mattress stitching now makes so much more sense, and the way Susan casually tossed out a method of knitting your own period shoulder pad—the way she showed us to set in a sleeve alone would have been well worth my class fee. Seriously, there was some gasping aloud. Mostly by me.

Anyway, if you can’t tell from the hysterical gushing, both of my classes were amazing, and I left wishing I’d signed up for even more. (The fact that getting to Franklin’s class meant walking through the lecture room where the all-day Bohus class was being held, right past a table chock-a-block with amazing samples, DID NOT HELP.) In the meantime, I’ve added several more projects to my knitting queue so I can try out what I’ve learned. You know, because that’s exactly what most knitters need—reasons to knit more!

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This is pretty restrained, considering.

Yes, yes, I went to classes and learned a phenomenal amount, which is going to be another post this week. But let’s be honest about one of the real draws of Knit Nation: a just-big-enough marketplace (this sounds silly, but I’ve been to full-on knitting shows in exhibition halls, and they’re terrifying and full of novelty crap) with an excellent selection of fiber and notions. Yes, most of it can be found online, but I find the chance to handle yarns I’m not familiar with in person can be enlightening. And, uh, lead to plenty of follow-up online purchases in the future. Oops. Anyway, so I did manage to stay within my budget, and here is my modest (REALLY) haul:

1. One skein of Wollmeise wool yarn in Pine. When I went to the first Knit Nation last year, everyone was wetting themselves over the news that Wollmeise would have its own stall. Wollmeise is a one-woman dyeing operation out of Germany, and people go nuts for it—any online shop updates sell out in seconds, it can go for ludicrous prices on ebay, and people hoard it like it’s the end of the world and Wollmeise is spun from dehydrated potatoes and bullets. I showed up curious, thinking maybe I would buy a few skeins and hock them online for some extra cash. Unfortunately/fortunately, though, Wollmeise is pretty much worth the hype. The yarn is nice and smooth, with great stitch definition. But more than that, the dyes are just incredible—the colors are incredibly intense, unlike pretty much any other yarns I’ve seen. I have a triangle scarf I made for myself from part of last year’s purchases in a few different reds that is one of my favorite projects I’ve ever done. This time I headed to Loop’s stall looking for a nice dark green skein for another scarf, and found it in about four seconds, just chilling at the top of their shelf. I looked around to make sure I wasn’t missing anything, but nope, this was the one. Incidentally, this was the Wollmeise scrum at the opening of the Marketplace Preview:

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Run for your lives

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I’m not kidding. These knitters will cut a bitch for some Twin.

You get the idea. Just trust me when I tell you I was 1. the picture of self-restraint with my one skein; and 2. thankful to make it out of that melee alive.

2. One skein of indigo-dyed laceweight from Renaissance Dyeing. These guys are another repeat from last year’s Marketplace. I have a kit for a cowl in gradated shades from them, and really like their yarn—it’s soft and really luscious-feeling. Plus, I am a sucker for natural dyes, and this indigo shade is a rich shade after my jewel-color-loving heart. They also do naturally-dyed crewel thread, which makes me want to up my embroidering game.

3. Two skeins of Excelana, for a beret in the forthcoming A Stitch in Time Vol. 2. I have been waiting for this book for ages, but I do think it’s going to be well worth the wait. It was originally supposed to be published near the end of March, but it’s been delayed a few times now because of technical editing and other publishing-type issues. I’d complain, but given that the finished book is going to have something like 75 patterns, I am more than happy to wait for it. I took a class from Susan Crawford at Knit Nation (more on that later) and the samples from the book are pretty breathtaking. I was quite taken with the beige beret on the far left of this picture:

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–and so decided to buy some yarn for it in preparation for when the pattern finally drops into my sweaty little paws. I had asked Susan about the yarn requirements for it, then turned to pick out a shade, and as soon as I grabbed the deep grey yarn I heard her behind me give an approving “GOOD!” Turns out both she and the other woman working the stall are knitting the same hat in the same color. I suppose this means we can all wear our matching berets to the next Knit Nation.

4. A skein of Shetland laceweight and a skein of Gotland laceweight, both from Well Manor Farm. This is another hippie-crunchy-granola purchase: this is a small family farm with an emphasis on conservation and preserving heritage breeds. As a vegetarian, the fact that they sell meat makes me a little sad, but I can wholeheartedly get behind conserving traditional British sheep breeds and wool (or in the case of Gotland sheep, British by historical immigration!—Gotland sheep are Swedish originally, but have been imported to the U.K. for a while now). I bought the Gotland skein, a silvery-grey laceweight, on Friday, and on Saturday found myself drifting back through the Marketplace to check out the Shetland colors. Both wools are a little rougher than what we may be used to, but they are wools bred for proper fuck-off Northern winters, and I am planning on getting my money’s worth out of them with a couple solid cowls for when winter really has it out for me.

–And that’s it! Small purchases, but the fact that almost all of them are fingering-weight or thinner means my modest haul actually translates to hours upon hours of knitting time. Plus, having seen the wares now means I’ll be able to order online from my favorite wool shops with confidence. And now that I’ve been writing this blog post and I’ve got all their shop windows open on my laptop anyway, it would really just be rude to not toss some more business their way in this fragile economic climate…right?

As you read this, cross your fingers that I have not fallen asleep on the train and am waking up in Dover. (I will have gotten up to make a 6:45am train, so this is more possible than usual.) Assuming my caffeine intake is steady and heavy-handed, I will be on my way or actually shrieking my way through…Knit Nation 2011!

There will be class-taking. There will be side-eyeing famous knitbloggers. There will be an afternoon visit to a special exhibition at the British Museum, which will possibly get a later post of its own. And there will be—oh, WILL there be—enough yarn shopping to sink a battleship, or possibly my credit rating. Fingers crossed I don’t sell any possessions to finance that last skein of Wollmeise.

Send help. And by “help” I mean “an extended credit limit”.

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