Making Knitting

Yesterday I took a short break from my Kingscot obsession project.  I kind of had to because I was beginning to experience signs of muscle strain.  I don't worry about injury as much as I should, but I do consider the consequences of an unreliable grip.  Even I will take a break if it looks like I'm in danger of dropping my wine glass.

Fortunately, I have a brilliant new distraction.  The Yarn Gods have been magnanimous of late, bestowing me with a bounty of things to play with, courtesy of a secret, but extremely well-loved, maker of string.

But why should I have all the fun alone?  Just because I'm not at liberty to reveal the source of the yarn doesn't mean we can't do show and tell.  Since I am frequently asked how I really work, today I'll share some of the process with you. 

As is often the case, this design begins with a very special yarn.  It's totally out of my usual gauge range, and a color guaranteed to make a grown knitter cry.  And something about it just grabbed me by the throat shrieking "Make Me Now".  Yarn never has to ask me twice.

Because this yarn's guage is so different to what I usually do, I uncharacteristically started from Square One.  I actually cracked a book.  And then I decided to Swatch.  (What madness is this?)  I elected to translate a cable from a stitch dictionary to a chart, since that is how I like to work best.  I do a better job of translation if I do it before I have memorized the pattern by actually knitting it.  Guess I take things less for granted at that stage.  I find this part of the process completely mind-numbing.  If there is ever a point in the work where I ask myself whose Big Fat Idea this was, it's at this juncture.  I trudged through by promising myself that I would get to touch the yarn as soon as the chart was done.  You know, Carrot, Stick, whatever it takes.

After the chart was done, I worked some plain old stockinette; so clueless was I as to what size needles would make what kind of fabric.  It felt like working rope with broomsticks.  Totally foreign, but not at all unpleasant.  Once I sized up the needles enough times to stop making chain mail, I took the new chart out for a spin:

I often know exactly what qualities I'm looking for in cables, so I choose really carefully, and I usually don't have to try many out before picking the winner.  Such was the case here:  This baby was a perfect match for the yarn.  Kinda modern, no?  I love how it works with the painting on the yarn, rather than competing with it.  If I had to analyze it, I'd say it's something to do with the open spaces between the cable ropes.  Fortunately, they don't pay me for my analytical skills.  I just know if I like something or if I don't.  That's the Big Magic:  Preference and Perseverance.

I knew before I started what silhouette this yarn wanted to be made into, so once I had the cable chosen, I sat down to draw the sketch before it all got away from me.  This part of the work always feels like flailing around with a butterfly net:  The idea is right there, if I can just sneak up on it and capture it before I lose my chance.  Sometimes I snack during this part.  A Lot.  That cracker box is nothing but an empty husk, my friends.  Okay, I just realized you can see the empty wine glass in this picture, too.  Just testing my grip.  Honest.

After the garment shape is roughed in, I dash down a few technical notes for myself.  These can be anything from notes on shaping to words that are in my head as I'm dreaming it up.  This fast and dangerous sketch is my road map for when it's time to knit.  There will be "real" drawings later - schematics that a person could really use to make a sweater with.  But those won't be possible for me to draw until after the knitting has been done.  And/or done wrong.  Just depends on the day.

I left it at that; happy with my pretty swatch pinned out to dry on an upholstered chair, chart drawn, working sketch made.  The next step will be to combine the elements into a proposal for the yarn company.  I'll use them all to present my vision of what the design will be, in a kind of collage that outlines the key elements.  After that, I take a deep breath and show the yarn makers, hoping  that they like the idea enough to move ahead.  This part is emotionally tough, because many projects die right there on the vine if they aren't what's wanted.  Or if I haven't presented them in a way that lets people outside of my head understand what I'm going for.  Always wonder about that: What if I had drawn a better picture?  Used more/less/better technology/pencils/hand puppets? 

But of course, that way lies Madness.  We can only do what we can only do.  I try to remember that while finished results are a big payoff, the journey of getting there is important and fulfilling, too.  In fact, I can't believe that I got to spend my day doing this.  Love. My. Job.

Catkins

My preparations for the Madrona Winter Retreat have included finishing the Catkins Cardigan for its big debut:

I can't believe the enthusiasm you've shown for this design, Gentle Readers, as I've been working on the pattern and traveling around meeting knitters.  Knowing you were looking forward to seeing it really inspired me; Thank you so very, very much dear friends. 

It's not often that I still love my designs right when I'm done with them.  I usually require a time out before I can play nicely with them again.  Catkins is a notable exception.  It's going on tour with Toots LeBlanc & Co.; coming soon to a town near you!  I'll miss it.  Give it my love if you happen to see it.  Or better still, make your own...Imagine a knitterly Catkin Explosion to herald the spring!  Pattern in four sizes, to fit 36-46 inch busts.  Get it here on my pattern page, on Ravelry, or a real live printed copy at the Toots LeBlanc booth, wherever they appear.

PS:  A little bird told me that the artist who makes the Fine Silver Catkins Buttons will be at Madrona, with a few sets on hand to sell.  Interested parties (did I mention each button is signed, like jewelry?) should e-mail me for her contact info.
 

For The Birds

Piggybacking onto the momentum of having finished Catkins (did I mention that I finished Catkins?), I finished the second sleeve of the Knot Garden.  Just a couple of weeks short of a YEAR since starting it, for the record.  Smug dance of completion to follow, as soon as they dry and get sewn into the body...

So smug am I (and un-anxious to return to the swatchapalooza that is my other concern this week) that I went completely batshit and conceived a cunning backdrop for the Knot Garden. 

I seem to have remembered that in a previous life I used to sew things sometimes.  I have no memory of consciously stopping all sewing activity, but I think it must have been around the same time I stopped a bunch of other stuff I like, in the hopes of getting a book written on time.  Not that I'm complaining, you understand -  it's good to rest some muscles in favor of others from time to time.

Now that I'm gainfully unemployed, all sorts of stuff I used to like doing is popping back into my conciousness.  Stuff like hearing music, and digging in the dirt (garden dirt, not kitchen floor dirt), reading books.  And my old friend, sewing.

And sewing, you may know, is just like falling off a bicycle - once you've learned how to properly screw up a sewing project, you never forget.

It actually started with a conversation I had with my friend Jill (non-knitter, for the record, but still completely lovable).  She asked me what kind of bird I was, and I didn't know.  I know for sure that she's a Great Blue Heron - (leggy, graceful, eats a fair amount of fish) but I was unable to locate my own inner bird.  Jill thinks I might be a robin, which notion I sort of like. 

So the bird thing has been with me, and I got it in my head that I must need a dress with birds on it to go with my finally-finished Knot Garden.  I waltzed into the fabric store, and there it was:  Exactly what I would have made if I had set out to design fabric with birds on it:  

I cut out the dress last night, and I sewed it today.  And in a turn of fate which is nothing like knitting (and nothing like sewing, for that matter), it fits just right and I completely love it.  Too weird.  That is just not the way it works - no drama, no odyssey, no falling out of hair clumps.  Just found it, made it, love it.  Interesting how easy it is when there's nothing at stake.  Wonder where that magic goes when someone inserts a deadline?

And now there must be shoes.  We're not savages here, after all.