Apologies to Shakespeare
I have never been a craft enthusiast and not because I don’t see the value and beauty in creative pursuits but because I have no skill in the field. Not a skerrick of ability in knitting, sewing, embroidery or crochet. Take, for instance, the simple act of sewing a button on a shirt…my efforts look a little like I’ve commissioned a group of kindergartners to have a go. Hems…thank goodness for the safety pin and the stapler. I once had a go at macrame in school and was relegated to remedial craft. I think that meant I was allowed to admire the work of others and sometimes help the teacher hang them up.
And it’s not that I don’t come from a long line of talented crafters. My mother was brilliant. I say this because she could knit things that people could actually wear. Out of scraps and a few hours she would create jumpers and cardigans, baby layettes and hats. If it was an Olympic sport she would have been on the Australian team. Possibly even able to bring home a medal. It was a kind of magic that I’ve envied but never sought to replicate. For many years after she died I kept her last piece of unfinished knitting thinking that one day I’d complete it in her honour. It was hallowed craft. Mum died in 2003…it remains unfinished.
So what lead me to think this winter I should take up the needles and hone a skill that has hitherto alluded me? Fate? An advertisement claiming the mindfulness of the click-clack? The cold? Finally the readiness to take my place in the generational line of knitters?
Or simply delusion and madness.
My first effort was a scarf. The world’s simplest form of stitches that would, after time and row after row, result in a thing of beauty and warmth. Warm it might be but beauty remains out of reach. My knitting defies the laws of physics, the laws of universal order and mathematics. I dutifully cast on (tech term) 56 stitches. I count them, several times yet somehow about row ten the number has grown to 61 stitches creating an unbecoming bulge on one side. Undaunted I knit on only to find an uninvited inward curve where I’m now down to 54 stitches. How does it happen? I intensify my concentration carefully transferring each woolly loop with the dedication of a master chess player. And still there’s a weird transfiguration in the stitch count. HOW???? And to add insult to injury the lumps and dips have now been joined by a strange and unacceptable loop of yarn than simply appeared as if to mock my zealous caution. Bugger!
Abandoning the lumpy edged scarf I embrace a new knitting project. I saw a YouTube clip that convinced me that beanies knitted on circular needles was a beginner’s dream. I have since commented on that woman’s channel that she is at once a wizard and a profound liar.
I started with a friend’s circular needles. (These are pointy bits joined by a wire). They were however for a project far in excess of my 72 stitches. There was no way on earth that 72 hapless little loops would stretch around 80cm of needle. It was a battle that resulted in further exacerbating bicep tendonitis and an invention of new language that expressed the disbelief that anything could be achieved. Turns out you have to have circular needles smaller than the thing you are knitting. Lesson learned, new needles purchased and a new hat begun.
Again some weirdness ensued. At least I wasn’t hurting myself this time but the thing that emerged from hours of work did not appear to be like YouTube liar’s example. It looked almost like a hat but not one you’d be likely to wear. It simultaneously could have fitted a pumpkin or a grapefruit and a strange hole appeared somewhere mid hat. Useful for a unicorn I suppose. Then the worst thing of all…as I closed in on completion, without any action from me, dozens of stitches kamikazed off the needle. We want nothing to do with this crap. I’m sure that was what they were thinking as they unravelled. I’d seen my mother pick up ‘dropped’ stitches so I thought I’d be able to do the same…a most unlikely proposition. I picked up something that were not stitches, the effort could not be saved.
I’m no quitter so I thought I’d try again. There were moments where stitches leapt to freedom, loops and holes appeared, a wrist strained as I made some valiant effort to shape the crown of the hat and a final last ditch attempt to cast off (more tech language). A hat, albeit unusual, and possibly unwearable was done. Kind family members identified it as a hat. That was the end of the praise.
So what seems like hundreds of hours of work I have completed one hat…suitable for a unicorn or a conical shaped noggin and a partially completed scarf that might be better suited to be a dog blanket. Although any self-respecting dog might bury it in the garden. And we might ask ourselves why? Why attempt to do something one is so obviously ill-equipped to do?
I have few answers. Perhaps it is because my knitting might be a metaphor for some lives. Great intention, brilliant vision, poor execution, disappointing results. Or maybe it is about taking on the challenge of something that takes us out of our comfort zone. Or the brain work of learning a new skill (in my case the skill was swearing creatively, certainly not the knitting). Perhaps it was a brief reconnection with my mother. Although I do have memories of her calling me 'cack handed' when I once knitted in my youth. (Inept/clumsy) Perhaps this was the lesson...remembering her words of wisdom.
Although hilarious now I’m done with the great craft experiment I remain a little sad that the skills of my mother and her generation have not been realised in me. I regret not paying attention to her work. I failed to marvel at her ability to knit, watch television, drink a cup of tea, answer the phone, read a book and quite possibly light a fire and change a light bulb without her stitches transmogrifying into a loopy holey mess. Her stitches never threw themselves into the unravelling sadness of discarded yarn. They stayed on her needles and got the job done.
The mystery of knitting will remain a feature of the winter. Of this winter, I’m not sure I’ll have recovered enough to give it another go in the winters to come.
I have a hat-kind-of-head-covering thing for anyone who’d like it. Don’t all rush in at once!
The beauty of handmade is in the imperfections. – Unknown
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