Did Somebody Yell "Cut!"?

Okay, based on some of the comments, I may have done an intellectual drive-by when I went off about sculpting with string, and all those steeks, a couple of days ago.  I finished knitting the bottom half of this vest today, so I thought I'd show you the rest of the gory details, blow by blow.  There is truly nothing mysterious or difficult about what you are about to see.  But if you are at all squeamish about scissors and knitting, you might want to grab something to steady your nerves.  No hurry; I'll wait:

Here's the patient, anesthetized and ready for surgery.  It's just one big oddly-shaped tube at this point.  Strategic slicing, adjacent to the decreases and increases I have already knit in will now cause it to become a shapely vest.  Honest.

Here you can see that the first two cuts are done, both the center front, and the front neckline.  Sort of like butterflying a sweater!

And now I have sliced open the back neckline.  Looks more like a garment all the time...

And finally, the armhole slashes are made.  Voila!  Kinda sweater-like, no?

Next I will perform a three-needle bindoff to join the shoulders, and then let the binding party commence.  Gobs of edges to cover with a swell binding.  See you on the other side!
 

Shapely

"A curve is the loveliest distance between two points."

- Mae West

This is the vest I dreamt of when I was sick with the flu.  Honest.  It's really a vest.  I'm not sure, but this could be the steek-y-est thing I have ever made.  So far there are 5 steeks, and I'm anticipating at least one more.  Cool, no?  Here's a flat view:

Now you can tell it's a vest, right?  I know.  Me either.  So the stranded part is kind of an Empire-waist deal, above which are some increases for fullness over the bust, and then just garden-variety stripes.  At the armholes, things go a bit wierdy, where I hold off some live stitches (why cast off if you're just going to pick up again right above them?) for armpits, then cast on new steeks, shaping the armhole curves with decreases at their edges.  After a while of that, I did the same stitch-holding maneuver for a neckline, with some more adjacent shaping.  Then last of all, I held off the back neckline the same way, and shaped next to it.  By that time I had to change to DPNs, but I'm pretty sure it will work out the way I hope.  For those who have taken my steeks classes, this is a perfect example of how thinking in terms of CUTTING for shape will change the way you approach knitting the shaping. N'est pas?

All of which returns me to my grounding premise:  We all are sculptors of string.  Think about it: what could be cooler than taking a single string and turning it into fabric?  Nothing, except turning that single string into an actual garment, with real live tailoring that causes it to fit around human body parts.  No mean feat, that. 

So do me a favor, will you?  The next time you find yourself at some coma-inducing social event where non-knitters are passing around their business cards (I think this is the non-canine equivalent of butt-sniffing), tell somebody what you really DO.  And by that, I don't mean highway patrol officer, patent attorney, or neurosurgeon.  I want you to tell the next dumbass who tries to define you by your occupation that you are a Sculptor.  If you have ever turned the heel of a sock, you know I'm right.  You are Sculptors of the highest order, my friends.  And your medium? 

String.
 

Things We Have To Make

There are things we want to make.  Things we like to make.  Things we think that someday we would really like to make.  And then there are the things which are not optional.  Things which are required, by circumstance, as proof of our abilities, or in some cases, things which are born because not making them turns out to be much harder than just allowing them to form under our hands.

Lindsay had to make a sculptural interpretation of a cell, with all its parts.  She had a clear vision of what it should look like, its size, and all the things she would need to execute it.  My jobs were to drive to the craft store and help procure supplies, and later, to fire up the label-maker.  Other than that, this is entirely her creation.

I stood looking at it, the product of her hands and her mind, thinking that it wasn't very long ago that she didn't know how to feed herself.  What happened to that little baby who spit mashed peas on us?  Whence came this capable young lady?  Not sure, but it's okay; I don't really miss the mashed peas.

I was sick last week.  Gnarly bout with the flu.  I wallowed around in an antihistamine-induced fog, wondering if the cure wasn't worse than the disease.  My sensitivity to cold medicine (required for breathing) is such that it both knocks me out, and keeps me from actually sleeping.  So I lay around in a fugue state for about four days, dreaming the same irritating set of knitting instructions over and over, unable to release my mind from them.  This unmade garment, a colorwork vest, had commandeered my subconscious, and would not let it go.  I know where all the steeks go, the order of the colors, how many stitches are in it.  The only thing left is to let my hands catch up.

But I don't want to knit a vest.  I have other things to work on, like a Trapeze Tomten, and the Caorah Dubh pattern to write.  And I wont tell you (yet) about the the Annual Christmas Knitting Start-itis that has besieged me.  Nope.  I don't want to make the Vest of Flu-induced Torment.  Not One Bit. 

But I realized last night that I don't think its up to me.

One of my most constant prayers is for inspiration.  That said, I believe that Inspiration, in and of itself, is for amateurs.  As one who has hitched my financial wagon to the art that spills from my head, I cannot afford the luxury of waiting around for the big idea.  So I approach creation like the work that it is: Joyful, surprising, exhausting work.  And because I so often have to lower my horns and plow on ahead, it occurs to me that I may not know a real burst of inspiration when it's given to me.  And I don't get to choose how the ideas will present.  I might have to wait until some time when I'd rather be blowing my nose for the ten-millionth time. 

So I cast it on.

MacTarnahan inspected what  will one day be the Flu-Induced Vest Design. 

Lindsay had to make her cell sculpture for school.  Its completion was not optional.  She didn't waste time questioning its necessity, just dove in and made it.  And really enjoyed both the process and the result.
 

I'm gonna learn a lot from her.