Inspiration and obsession
I spent last weekend at a fiber arts festival. More precisely, I spent the weekend at Madrona in Tacoma.
It was like a little piece of heaven. Knitters were everywhere. Spinners were everywhere. Everyone was wearing stunning handknits, and no one thought you were weird if you fondled the edge of their scarf.
I spent a lot of money on yarn, but got every scent out of it (ha! Just noticed I typed "scent" but I'm leaving it, because I have this thing about sniffing yarn. What? Is that weird?) I came home with cashmere, silk/merino and this crazy thing called tencel. To be honest, I don't even know what tencel is, but let me tell you, it's glorious and I am going to make a shawl. Yes, a shawl. I don't even know if I wear shawls, but I have to make one. They had a sample of it hanging up and it was stunning.
Deciding to knit something I'm not sure I'll even wear solved a question I've been wondering about. In knitting, there are process knitters and product knitters. Some knitters fall into both categories, but most are pretty firmly one or the other. For process knitters, it's all about the process. They love the feel of yarn and delight in new skills and the actual process of making thing. Product knitters love the beauty of a knitted item, and what really gets them going is the idea of a warm, perfect hat or stellar sweater. A product knitter would never knit something they (or someone they know) might never use.
I was beginning to think recently that I am a process knitter. I decided this when I ran out of yarn on a recent trip. I was seriously considering ripping back what I had, and knitting it again. I had Suzanne with me, though, and I'm pretty sure this would have stopped her heart. She's a good friend (and pregnant) so this seemed like a bad idea. In this case, the problem was solved by a lucky visit to a yarn shop. So, I left Leavenworth without answering my question about product vs. process.
Now, though, I have answer. I'm going to knit a shawl. I have visions of wearing it with a slinky black dress, but that will probably never happen. I'm knitting it anyway. I think I'm going to put myself in the process knitter camp.
Not that I don't care about the products. I do. A lot.
Sorry, I got off track, I was talking about Madrona.
My favorite part of Madrona was a class with Stephanie-Pearl McPhee, aka the Yarn Harlot. The Yarn Harlot is a brilliant woman with a killer sense of humor. I've always loved her blog and her books. I wasn't able to get onto her class at first, but put myself on the wait list. I was thrilled when I got a call just a few days before Madrona to say there was a spot for me. I had to get up at 6:30 after working until midnight, but I'd do it again in a second.
Stephanie teaches a style of knitting called lever knitting, or Irish cottage knitting. It looks like this. This is what she was teaching us. It's fast, it's efficient. I'm entranced.
I learned many other things from her, and I'm already a faster knitter because of it. (I won't bore you all with it, but if you're a knitter and curious, ask. I'd be happy to share the tips.)
I also took a class from Ann Bourgeois of Philosopher's Wool. Ann taught fair-isle style knitting. Everyone in this class had already knit with two colors, so we got to try some really cool stuff, mainly cool twists and textures. (There is a video of Ann teaching basic fair-islehere.)
I had a moment of enlightentment during this class. I had always associated a particular smell with my Grandpa Norm. I never thought about it, but I just always thought it was the smell of boats. In this class though, Ann gaves us small bits of her yarn to use for our practice. I opened the bag and the smell hit me in the face. Her wool is very minimally processed and still has the fresh, sheepy, lanolin smell. Grandpa must have something wool that he wears, or used to wear, and that association has stuck with me.
I've been practicing the fun stuff I learned every since, and I'm obsessed. (Not that I needed a trip to a knitting festival to remind me of that.)
It was like a little piece of heaven. Knitters were everywhere. Spinners were everywhere. Everyone was wearing stunning handknits, and no one thought you were weird if you fondled the edge of their scarf.
I spent a lot of money on yarn, but got every scent out of it (ha! Just noticed I typed "scent" but I'm leaving it, because I have this thing about sniffing yarn. What? Is that weird?) I came home with cashmere, silk/merino and this crazy thing called tencel. To be honest, I don't even know what tencel is, but let me tell you, it's glorious and I am going to make a shawl. Yes, a shawl. I don't even know if I wear shawls, but I have to make one. They had a sample of it hanging up and it was stunning.
Deciding to knit something I'm not sure I'll even wear solved a question I've been wondering about. In knitting, there are process knitters and product knitters. Some knitters fall into both categories, but most are pretty firmly one or the other. For process knitters, it's all about the process. They love the feel of yarn and delight in new skills and the actual process of making thing. Product knitters love the beauty of a knitted item, and what really gets them going is the idea of a warm, perfect hat or stellar sweater. A product knitter would never knit something they (or someone they know) might never use.
I was beginning to think recently that I am a process knitter. I decided this when I ran out of yarn on a recent trip. I was seriously considering ripping back what I had, and knitting it again. I had Suzanne with me, though, and I'm pretty sure this would have stopped her heart. She's a good friend (and pregnant) so this seemed like a bad idea. In this case, the problem was solved by a lucky visit to a yarn shop. So, I left Leavenworth without answering my question about product vs. process.
Now, though, I have answer. I'm going to knit a shawl. I have visions of wearing it with a slinky black dress, but that will probably never happen. I'm knitting it anyway. I think I'm going to put myself in the process knitter camp.
Not that I don't care about the products. I do. A lot.
Sorry, I got off track, I was talking about Madrona.
My favorite part of Madrona was a class with Stephanie-Pearl McPhee, aka the Yarn Harlot. The Yarn Harlot is a brilliant woman with a killer sense of humor. I've always loved her blog and her books. I wasn't able to get onto her class at first, but put myself on the wait list. I was thrilled when I got a call just a few days before Madrona to say there was a spot for me. I had to get up at 6:30 after working until midnight, but I'd do it again in a second.
Stephanie teaches a style of knitting called lever knitting, or Irish cottage knitting. It looks like this. This is what she was teaching us. It's fast, it's efficient. I'm entranced.
I learned many other things from her, and I'm already a faster knitter because of it. (I won't bore you all with it, but if you're a knitter and curious, ask. I'd be happy to share the tips.)
I also took a class from Ann Bourgeois of Philosopher's Wool. Ann taught fair-isle style knitting. Everyone in this class had already knit with two colors, so we got to try some really cool stuff, mainly cool twists and textures. (There is a video of Ann teaching basic fair-islehere.)
I had a moment of enlightentment during this class. I had always associated a particular smell with my Grandpa Norm. I never thought about it, but I just always thought it was the smell of boats. In this class though, Ann gaves us small bits of her yarn to use for our practice. I opened the bag and the smell hit me in the face. Her wool is very minimally processed and still has the fresh, sheepy, lanolin smell. Grandpa must have something wool that he wears, or used to wear, and that association has stuck with me.
I've been practicing the fun stuff I learned every since, and I'm obsessed. (Not that I needed a trip to a knitting festival to remind me of that.)