Finding Myself In The Closet

Last month I took a self-portraiture class, and I found that I responded to some of the prompts by reaching into my closet and dressing up. 

I wasn't trying to play a character, if anything I was allowing myself to be more me. 

I reached for two coats that I never wear because I'm not sure how to wear them, but I thought they would look pretty in photographs.

The funny thing is, that once I wore them around at home, I felt so comfortable in them.  Perhaps it's because they brought out a part of myself I wanted to express. They captured a delight I rarely allow myself to feel with clothing.

I tend to go for the daily "uniform" that serves as the backbone of my wardrobe. 

The green alpaca coat in the first photo, I knit a number of years ago.  I wrote about that process at the time, and also mentioned why I don't wear it more often on my "about" page.

The velvet coat was a gift from Mr. Savory one Christmas.  I have never worn it, not being sure if it was an indoor garment or an outer layer, but when I put it on with jeans, it clicked.  It felt elegant but not fancy, and it was fun to twirl around in on a frigid winter day. 

I hope I experiment like this more often.  The class offered me a comfortable environment to come out and play.  Life can't be all parkas and black wool overcoats!

Melbeck

There are no doubts about it, for me a knitting project is all about the process. When I'm nearly done, my interest starts to wane. I slow down and have to fight the urge to put it aside and begin something else.

The thrill is in choosing the yarn, holding colors up to the light, finding the right weight.

There's just enough decision-making to be challenging. Did I make the right yarn choice? Did I spend too much? Is this project going to be too hard?

I even enjoy making a gauge swatch; I compare it to doing a sketch. I used to give Olivia my swatches for her dolls and stuffies, and occasionally, I use them for coasters or bookmarks.

When I finished this sweater, actually completing it in the season when it can be worn, I proudly purchased buttons. Beautiful buttons worthy of being sewn on promptly.

But what did I do? I forced myself to sew on two of the five, and then I let the sweater sit for three weeks. Why, when I could have been wearing it? A few steps away from the finish line, and I was done as far as I was concerned, except for the fact that I had an unwearable sweater and three stunning buttons sitting in a little plastic bag.

I pushed myself by making the sweater the subject of this blog post. One morning I sat at my sunny kitchen table and in no time got those three buttons sewn on. I wondered why I had procrastinated so.

I marveled at the yarn all over again. I remember when I chose it, I saw it as light blue, with a greyish hint. Then one day I was knitting in bright daylight, and all of a sudden I saw the flecks in the tweed: mauve, cream, turquoise, royal blue, grey. I was astonished. How did I not see those colors in the store?


As I was photographing this sweater, I decided to claim this color scheme for a little while. I like to immerse myself in certain colors for a period of time, crafting, make clothing choices, sometimes choosing little purchases for the kitchen.

Maybe I finally learned that inspiration comes at the end of a project, too, and without intention, it has given me a direction for other creative outlets.

Currently, I'm about three inches away from finishing a scarf in a different blue. I could knock that off this weekend if I really want to.

Waves

This was supposed to be my Fall sweater. Red for apple season. I thought this would be perfect in October, when for us it is certainly no longer Summer.

The fact that this sweater took me about six months longer to complete than expected is probably due to a confluence of events. I ran out of yarn twice and had to wait until I could get more of the same dye lot. While waiting, I knitted a sleeve of O.'s sweater and didn't want to stop until I had finished it. Then there was also a couple weeks waiting for the zipper to be inserted (more about that in a minute).

I am primarily an evening knitter. Mr. Savory and I sit down in our respective spots on the couch after A. and O. are in bed. When I first starting knitting, maybe four years ago, O. went to sleep around 8:15 or so. Now, it's 9:15 or 9:30. Over the course of four years, I have lost an hour of knitting a night!

The choice of red was a big stretch for me. I wanted to challenge myself. I normally would choose a shade of blue or green or burgundy.

This pattern is level one, "easy, straightforward knitting". I thought this project was the one where I would learn how to put in a zipper. I was a little worried about it, but I figured if it was level one, well, I'd manage.

When it came time to insert that zipper I headed for the yarn shop. Someone very experienced sat down with me, took a look, and told me she has only once put in a zipper. She suggested I take my sweater to a tailor (she gave me a name), and have her do it.

I made a stop at the fabric store for a zipper. Attaching a zipper to a knitted garment, oh, that's tricky they told me. This second opinion pretty much squashed my yearnings to try it myself.

The tailor scoffed, made quite a fuss, wondering how she would do this, and begrudgingly told me she'd figure it out. I left wondering why a project with a zipper is considered "easy, straightforward knitting".

So, I never did learn how to insert a zipper, and I have a feeling that I never will. I suppose this was a project where I learned what I will not try again.

I see pretty buttons in my knitting future; colorful, shiny, big, small, patterned, plain. Easy and straightforward, and far more fun than an ol' zipper, any day.

To My Artist

She told the ceramics teacher that she was the only artist in the family.

The teacher seemed to need confirmation of this, and asked me at pickup, "are you an artist?"

I hesitated, not really knowing how to answer. I said, "well, once upon a time I was an art historian." She wanted to know all about this.

Then I tentatively said, "and I knit."

"Well, it's all interrelated," she said. I said that I thought so, too.

On some level I was surprised and disappointed by O.'s answer. Then again, I really don't think of myself as an artist--not in the fine-arts sense of painting, drawing, sculpting. These are the arts O. does. She wants to be a potter.

I guess in her view, I'm a Mom, and I knit, cook, bake and write about those activities, but I am not an artist.

Maybe I craft. Does that sound right?

One recent morning while A. was at camp, O. and I sat upstairs in the lounge at the yarn store. I brought the sweater I am knitting and she brought her sewing basket. She made a dress for one of her American Girl dolls.

I think about what my art history study has given me. I have the ability to see. I am always pointing out to O. colors, light, patterns in all that is around us. When we look at art, I point out certain qualities to her.

Alas, I have no ability with a paintbrush or oil pastel. Put my hands in some flour, or give me some baskets of fresh vegetables, fruit and herbs and my mind starts whirling and composing. I can work by feel and sight.

Now, that doesn't mean I really know or understand the science and alchemy of baking, but I'm starting to pay closer attention, particularly in the bread department.

This week O. is taking a needle arts day camp. This should land her squarely in the craft arena. I suppose one day she will put all these influences together.

They are all interrelated after all.

I found this recipe a couple days ago. It has O. written all over it. I plan for us to make this together, or at the very least, eat it together. I link you to a slice of chocolate craft.

Parched

This is my Spring sweater. By the time I finished it, of course, the weather had turned Summer-like. I'm sure I'll still find a cool day or evening to wear it, though. It's is knit with a cotton yarn.

I don't know how a recently-turned 10 year old can be so perceptive, but O. and I had the same thought. It's time for me to try something a little harder.

My next project will need a zipper sewn in. That will be my something new. I'm already worried about it!

Cozy

Hello knitters. I had an inevitable first on this project.

There was a mistake in the pattern (gasp!)

Now, it's not as if I didn't think such a thing could happen. I've seen corrections to patterns posted online.

I think I figured the odds were that it would never happen to me. I am a slow knitter after all, and I'm not going through dozens of patterns.

However, there I was, sitting struggling on my couch, wondering why my rib didn't look like the rib in the photo. I went down one needle size, then another.

I kept thinking there was something very wrong. Could it be a mistake? I didn't have the confidence to question Debbie Bliss, so I went back to the yarn store to buy new yarn.

I talked with staff in the store. We found different yarn, and I went home and tried again. Back I came a few days later with the book under my arm.

She looked up the pattern on Ravelry. She took a closer look at the pattern and the gauge instructions. She counted out stitches.

Then she said it.

There was a mistake in the number of stitches called for in the gauge swatch.

I felt so relieved. I also knew I could have figured this out myself had I summoned the confidence to question what was in print. I may not be an advanced knitter, but I have knit a coat after all.

I can't say I enjoyed this project. Maybe the initial struggle soured the experience, or maybe it was working with six strands of yarn.

I do feel a sense of satisfaction, however, when I look at these leg warmers. Satisfaction beyond having knit something for O.

I persevered, and I am a tiny bit of a better knitter for having done so.

Keld

Knitting projects acquire a history. Their life spans the time from yarn selection to the final seaming.

As a project grows, the season may change, a holiday may pass, or something I am dreading will be overcome. I estimate how long the project will take and run through the future weeks or months in my mind. I place myself in that future date. Sometimes I am cast into the unknown.

This coat began in early June. I grabbed one of the final days before Summer vacation when both O. and A. were in school to go buy my yarn.

The receipt from the shop for my yarn was dated June 2nd. Two days before O. finished Second Grade, 3 days before her 9th birthday, and 4 days before her all-day birthday party in the back yard.

It was also 10 days before A.'s IEP meeting with the School District to begin transitioning him for September to a new school.

When it was time, I packed up most, but not all, of the green alpaca for our annual Cape May vacation. I took comfort in the knowledge that we were staying within walking distance of the yarn shop in case I needed their expertise.

I did indeed. I learned that the length of the gauge swatch matters just as much as the width. It was in Cape May that I unraveled the first half of the back of the coat when I realized it would be too big. Each project I learn something new, even if it means feeling a little foolish.

After 8 Summers in Cape May, we decided to visit the alpaca farm that every year I read about. Unexpectedly, I ended up in a conversation with one of the owners about their deceased son. She looked at A. and wished us good luck with him on our way out. Then she told me about her son who died in childhood of a fatal form of a related disorder to A.'s. I think of this couple often, and all sorts of emotions stir.

The coat grew over the rest of the long, stressful Summer that was dominated by anxiety of where A. would go to school.

I was only working on the coat in the evenings after O. and A. were asleep, and Husband and I would sit and watch baseball or a show. Any weekend babysitting time was spent working in the garden or hanging out at the pool club with O.

On I knitted, evening after evening, through the second season episodes of Mad Men, the first season of McCloud's Daughters. Through the good news that A. could go to the School for the Blind.

I knitted while wrestling with my "great matter", and the conflicting feelings brought on by the changing plans of re-located close friends, and O.'s best school friend. They were back to visit, but with dual vacation plans there wouldn't be much time to see them before they left again. Yet, they might stay for good. Not sure. Yes, they were staying, but bf was changing schools. I worried for O.

I was still knitting as O. happily returned to school, and A. finally started. The evenings were chilly, and we started closing the windows at night. October came, and I knew I would finish in time for the leaves to drop and soup to be made. I needed to buy more yarn to finish. 2 skeins. I even found the same dye lot. Finally, before Halloween, it was time to buy my buttons. I was almost shaking to be in the yarn store with my coat, all in one piece. There were ooohs and aaahs. Mostly, I think over seeing that beautiful yarn in use.

And then one evening, a weekday evening like maybe 120 before it, I stood up holding the whole thing. Buttons and all. Husband took it and helped me put it on.

"It's heavy", he said. Indeed it is. Heavy with more than than the 12 skeins of alpaca yarn and 3 wooden buttons it is made from.

I wore it last Saturday evening when we went out to the Spring Mill Cafe for dinner. It's a little longer than it appeared in the book, but it felt so soft and warm.

I felt a little glow of pride. I will wear it's complications of craft and history well.