English Notebook: Three

Last Bits and Bobs

True to my promise, these photographs from the England trip have no relationship to one another except that what I saw, I liked. And what I liked, I tried to photograph.

This was especially challenging in a setting like King's College Chapel in Cambridge, where the lighting was extremely subdued. It was tough to get a decent shot of anything without recourse to a tripod, so the haul was very small. I suppose I could have tried lying flat on my back in the aisle, as one misguided tourist did; but as he was politely but firmly escorted to the door I'm glad I didn't.

I'm more for details than sweeping views in a space like that. Sure, the vaults and the stained glass are spectacular. They've also been photographed thousands of times. I spent a lot of time admiring them, but the camera turned on for smaller things.





The book above was on a chorister's desk. I had to shoot it "blind" by craning my short, peasanty arm over the top of the desk, therefore the odd angle and framing. The note at the bottom of the cover says NOT TO BE TAKEN AWAY. I've been listening to the annual "Festival of Lessons and Carols" live broadcast from the chapel for years, so it was more than a little thrilling to stand where the music is made.

Even walking past London's Greatest Hits (like the statue of Eros at the center of Piccadilly Circus) I tend to be more attracted to obscurities. These are carved into the entrance of a theater spitting distance from the Piccadilly tube station, half-hidden by posters.



One of the things I notice, in looking them over, is how much of what I love in the London cityscape boils down to color and pattern.



Near Portobello Road. (Click it.)



Somewhere in Kensington. (Click it.)

No visit to London is complete without my friend Jane, who is (surprise) a knitter. Jane arranged for us to have dinner at Brown's Hotel. (I had grouse, of which there is no picture. It was delicious.)

Jane introduced us to her splendid fellow, Nick, who is not only charming but the perfect size to model the Fair Isle sweater Jane had just finished. She took endless pains selecting the colors, none of which shows properly in the photograph because the aggressively trendy hotel bar we were in was lit primarily (and dimly, of course) with purple lights. (Because nothing flatters the human complexion like purple light.)

Still, here is Nick and the sweater.



The sweater isn't even for him. He just agreed to model it. Jane knit it for somebody else. Is that a cooperative boyfriend, or what?

That's not even the most of it. The rank and file of knitters have to carry our work in bags. Not so Jane. Not since she met Nick, who's in a band, and who gave her a yarn road case. A yarn road case. So she can tour.



Love you, Jane. You'll want to hang on to Nick with both hands, dear. And he to you.

There will be one more England entry. About...shopping.

The Ysolda Show

It's Halloween night, and although it means missing a chance to rendezvous with the Great Pumpkin I'm staying in. No costume, unless you count the Japanese kimono I wear as a bathrobe. From the neck down, I suppose, you could call me Yum-Yum; but of course, from the neck down you can call me that on any night of the year.

But this afternoon I had a happy chance to play dress-up. Ysolda Teague came to Chicago for Vogue Knitting Live! and was one of the dozen or so faculty members who got stranded here due to that beastly storm that smashed the Northeast.

We were both more than a little glum about what's happened to New York, New Jersey, and environs; and decided to cheer ourselves with a rummage through the marvelous collection of hats (and a suit) that my grandmother left behind.

My grandmother was a true daughter of the Great Depression. She grew up knowing deprivation, and it taught her the twin virtues of thrift and carefulness. Things bought for "Best" were studiously tended and mended, and never thrown out unless they'd been worn, literally, to rags.

She also saved the lids from plastic margarine tubs, and left us an entire bag stuffed with them, but that's another entry.

After she died, up on the highest shelf of the bedroom closet, we found her hats. They ranged from the mid-1950s through the mid-1960s, and they were all–even the most delicate–in perfect condition, packed in tissue and labeled with her name. Most were made locally. One was even in its original box from Jen's, a Uniontown millinery back in the days when Uniontown was a handsome little place with a certain amount of dignity.

All those years–even after they were long out of fashion–once a year she'd take them down and tend them, re-pack them and put them back. The boxes weren't even dusty.

And at the back of the closet were three skirt suits (all wool with silk linings, two with fur collars). All looking as though they were made yesterday. One came home with me, and the other two are being sent along.

We were lacking much of what usually supports a proper photo shoot: no hairspray, no hairpins aside from the ones Ysolda was already wearing, no rollers or curling iron (such hair as I retain is naturally curly) and not much makeup. I hadn't pulled out the lights or reflectors, and needless to say we hadn't any wardrobe aside from the suit.

But we took advantage of the gentle north light in the dining room, and of the fact that it is damned near impossible to take a bad photograph of Ysolda. For a few shots, I draped her in the black velvet I keep handy for use as a backdrop.

Here's a selection from the afternoon. Any number of blogs can offer you a nightmare on Halloween. Me, I am honored to offer you a dream.

Experience The Magic of Photo Retouching

TO: Franklin
FR: Tom
SUBJ: Photoshop help?

Hey, is there any way you can fix this pic of Augie with Photoshop?

Thanks,
Tom



-----

FR: Franklin
TO: Tom
SUBJ: Re: Photoshop help?

Done. Fifty bucks, please.

-Franklin

Ruts and How to Avoid Them

I don't know about you, but I can't knit all the time. Not that the idea isn't attractive in theory, but in practice it doesn't work. Sore fingers, carpal tunnel, waking up with a merino hangover in a cold pool of your own worsted. Not pretty.

You know how farmers rotate crops to keep the soil fertile? I have to do that occasionally with my creative focus to keep my brain from turning into a dustbowl. Put down the needles, pick up the camera. Put down the camera, pick up the pencil. Put down the pencil, pick up tomatoes.*

The strangest thing is that all this stuff cross-pollinates, even when it seems impossible that it should. I was doing squats at the gym this morning and got an idea for a sweater. Had to run back to the locker room to make notes.

Lately I've been pulling out my toy cameras again. They're Holgas–cheap, all-plastic babies from China that shoot weird, dreamy pictures on medium format film. When I first bought mine, you could pick them up for ten bucks at a good camera store. Since then, they've become a vogue among prissy art students and will set you back fifty, but I still enjoy using mine.

Holgas are, to use a polite word, quirky. The limited focus mechanism has a mind of its own, and occasionally will decline to operate. The body leaks light. The back will fall off unless you tape the camera together. The film doesn't advance properly until you jam a piece of cardboard under the spool. The shutter doesn't click, it just emits a half-hearted "sproing."

Using a Holga forces you to relinquish just about all your control as photographer. You choose what to point the thing at, but that's about it. You go out, you shoot a roll, you send your film to the lab and wait to see what happened. Sometimes nothing, sometimes fun stuff.

These pictures of the BP Bridge in Millenium Park–a stainless steel Frank Gehry production with a superabundance of curves–came back from processing not long ago.

I've taken quite a few shots of the bridge with my Canon, which has multi-point focus, a pro-quality lens, automatic everything with manual overrides–and yet these are the stronger images.

I was looking at them and it occurred to me that I need to do the same thing with one of my current knitting projects. It began with great excitement, then hit a wall as I confronted a million design questions at once. Should I zig? Zag? Both? Neither? I've decided to let go, the way I do with my Holga, and this morning I've finally finished the 4" x 4" swatch.

Only took me two months.

Back to Texas

Dolores, Harry and I are heading south for World Wide Knit in Public Day. The Knitting Nest in Austin, Texas has invited us to come down for the festivities, which at The Knitting Nest are always extremely festive, indeed. Last time I was there, they let me draw all over the wall!



(If you like it, it's available on shirts, bags and kiddie clothes here.)

From 11 am–2 pm I'll be teaching "Introduction to the History, Methods, and Styles of Lace Knitting" (visit the Web site for details) and for the rest of the day I'll be hanging around knitting in air-conditioned comfort. Stop by, won't you, and say hello to the visiting Yankees?

Double Dipping

The eye-popping Summer issue of Twist Collective is up, and I'm in it. Twice, actually. There's my usual illustration for Ann's and Kay's advice column, plus this. I love the Twist folks with all my heart. They said, "Do something. Whatever you want." So I did, and when they saw it they didn't send it back with a note reading, "Too weird. Try again." And what I did is pretty weird.

*For spaghetti sauce. Why, what were you thinking?

Baby Got Flack

You never think about how difficult it is to get your hands on a baby until you really need one in a hurry.

Such was my situation recently. I was photographing this thing and it was made absolutely clear to me that no substitutes for an infant head and shoulders would be acceptable. No pretty dollies, no hat stands, no Styrofoam balls or wads of crumpled tissue paper. Only the genuine article, and pronto. Knitty waits for no man.

I live in a neighborhood that, in spite of its long-standing reputation as a haven for what used to be known as Confirmed Bachelors, is now increasingly home to young families. These days, you’re as liable to trip over a nanny on Halsted Street as you are a drag queen. Soccer mommies mixing with the leather daddies. Ah, progress.

Still, having more kids in the vicinity makes them no easier to borrow. You would be amazed at how reluctant city parents are to cooperate when you rush up–camera in one hand and baby hood in the other–and ask if they would kindly bung this onto junior’s head so you can snap a couple of quick frames. I had no idea strollers could move so fast.

Not neighborly, if you ask me. Downright standoffish.

I was about to concede defeat when a friend-of-a-friend obligingly gave birth to a bouncing baby girl. Together, we collaborated on a series of images that, judging from the response they’ve generated, are either too precious for words, or evidence that I am a child-hating untalented hack who should have my camera taken away and my knitting needles broken in half.



Me, I fall somewhere in the middle. These are far from my best work, having been made in five minutes in dim light so as not to tax either the baby or her mother. I did the best I could, which is sometimes all you can do. On the other hand, I applaud the model’s artistic choices. I feel they lift the series above the banal. Smiley kids are a dime a dozen. This one, like Margo Channing in All About Eve, obviously detests cheap sentiment. I love her for that. If the aura of enfance véritée turns some knitters away–well, I suppose that is the price one pays for pushing boundaries.

Proper Compensation

In lieu of payment, the model’s parents agreed to accept a hand-knit baby hat. Not the hood, obviously–it’s a wee bit much for daily wear in 2009. But a hat of my choice, and of course I want it to be a good one.

I started to whip up a little number of my own devising from the remnants of my Exceptional Niece Abigail’s™ Tulip Jacket. Some of it had gone into the embroidery for Bird and Berry, but there was still plenty to spare.

I did some pondering and charting, and cast on. At about this point in the proceedings,



I realized I have a problem.

I love this hat. Really love it. Really really really love it. Knitting it has been like a ride on a supercharged merry-go-round and I don’t want to get off. And there’s no way it’s leaving the family. It can’t go on me, since I don’t wear pink in the winter. So it’s going to Abigail.

Which means making another hat for the Other Baby. It won’t make any difference to her, or her mother. They haven’t seen this hat. And the other hat will be just as nice, I promise.

So why do I feel guilty?



Stop staring at me. Just stop. Stop it!

Invading America's Dairyland

A reminder to those in the vicinity of La Crosse, Wisconsin that I will have the honor and pleasure of joining you for your annual Knit in Public Day at the La Crosse Public Library. The theme is "Keeping You in Stitches: Knitting and Humor." I shall do my best to be especially funny from 6:30–7:30, when it's my turn to speak. (Natives, please advise. Are cheese jokes off limits?) The rest of the time, I will pursue my more usual course of trying not to say anything too stupid.

Greetings from the Land of Nice

The sky is blue, the air is clean, and everybody keeps smiling at me. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Eau Claire, Wisconsin.

I'm "chilling," as the youngsters say, after yesterday's 1,000 Knitters public shoot at Yellow Dog Knitting. We had about 65 knitters work on the Scarf That Ate America. I'm still not adept at this blogging-on-the-road thing; I forgot to bring my card reader so a fully-illustrated report will have to wait. But here are a few observations.

• Eau Claire is adorable, but not what you would call a metropolis. Martha Stewart could probably fit the downtown area in her backyard and still have room for a swimming pool. And yet I'd say 3/4 of the sitters listed Eau Claire as their address. This town probably has more knitters per square inch than anywhere else in the country.


• The knitters in Eau Claire are very nice. Everyone in Eau Claire is very nice. The hotel staff are very nice. The lady at the used bookshop down the street is very nice. The lady at the bakery across the street is very nice. The writer and the photographer from the local paper are very nice. I have a feeling if I'd been mugged on the way to the shop yesterday, the mugger would have wished me a pleasant morning.


• If you like meat, you can get it in Eau Claire. Last night after the shoot, my effervescent and charismatic hostess, Dixie, took me to dinner at a restaurant where I was able to order a hamburger with BBQ pork on top. Meat on meat. Love it.


• And how, indeed, can I not love a town where a little guy taking pictures of knitters is literally front page news? (Thank goodness I just got my hair done.) I'm tempted to have my books and yarn shipped north and just stay here forever.

Face Time

For as long as I can remember I've always loved a chance to see the inner workings of things. Given the choice, for example, of seeing a great Broadway musical from the front row or the wings, I'd choose the wings.

When I started working on It Itches, I knew next to nothing about how a book is published. After many months, I can now proudly say that I know almost next to nothing.

Recently I learned about the BLAD. To me, BLAD sounds like the name of a dashing Hungarian spy, or perhaps an onomatopoeia describing the sound of vomit. But my patient editor, Anne, explained that it stands for Book Layout And Design. The BLAD is a little sampler of the finished work that Interweave will use to mesmerize wholesale buyers into ordering hundreds of thousands of copies.

Needless to say, I support them in this mission.

So when Anne asked for an author portrait to put into the BLAD I was delighted to comply even though I am my least favorite subject. Interweave's publicity team specifically states that it does not want high school yearbook poses, and indeed my own is a perfect example (on so many levels) of What Not to Do.



(The expression on my face perfectly conveys the joy I felt at being a tuition-paying pupil of my lousy high school. I remember the photographer told me to smile and I snapped, "I am smiling.")

So I decided to create what we in the click-click biz call an "environmental portrait" of myself in my natural setting. However, there proved to be too much traffic in the ice cream aisle at the supermarket; people kept knocking over the light stands with their shopping carts. So I went with Plan B and set up a shot at my drawing board.

To get the proper angle I had to elevate the camera on a tripod about seven feet off the ground, which of course meant to reach it I had to climb up my library steps. All told, with makeup and hair styling and wardrobe consults and such it took four hours to come up with one acceptable frame.



I sent it off to Interweave, and got a sweetly apologetic e-mail response from Anne. Apparently I had misunderstood. The photograph was nice, but...given the nature of the book, they wanted a drawn portrait. How about something like that avatar I'd used on Ravelry. That sure was cute!

This is the avatar she meant.



Honestly, how is the Pulitzer committee supposed to take me seriously with an image like this?

More Portraits



I don't love taking pictures of myself, but you may have noticed I quite enjoy taking pictures of other knitters. And guess what: there are more 1,000 Knitters public shoots on the calendar.

• March 15, 2008: Yellow Dog Knitting in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. Nota bene: Dixie (who I can't wait to meet) is asking folks to sign up in advance, so please check out the shop Web site for full details.
  
  
• March 18, 2008: Windy City Knitting Guild in Chicago. The meeting is open to all; sittings will be first-come, first-served and space will be limited. If you haven't checked out the Guild yet, perhaps this would be a good time to visit. The meeting runs from 6:45–8:55, but I'll begin at 4:30 and have to stop about 8:30 in order to pack up the set.*
  
  
• April 12, 2008: The Yarnery of St. Paul, MN is graciously hosting me at Yarnover from 9 am–5 pm. Yarnover is a daylong event held annually by the Minnesota Knitters Guild, with a free vendor market featuring 24 unique purveyors of fiber from across the Midwest, as well as the opportunity to register for classes with regional and national knitting teachers; for more information, visit www.knitters.org. The Yarnery will soon have model releases on hand for those who'd like to participate; they'd appreciate it if folks would sign up in advance.
  
  
• May 31, 2008: The Knitting Nest in Austin, Texas. You read it right, y'all...Texas. I can't wait. We'll be shooting from 10 am to 5 pm. Yeeeeeeehaaaaaaaw!
  

*Times edited because I am a dim bulb.

Portrait of a Photo Shoot

So, I have this little album devoted to photos of my niece, Abigail. I call it the Abigallery. If you visit my apartment for longer than thirty seconds you will probably have it thrust under your nose. It's not that I'm a proud uncle. It's just that she is an exceptional child in every way.

This morning I've been adding prints to the book, and I ran across the shots from an impromptu family portrait session we did the week after she was born. We did it in the nursery using ambient light, with everybody in denim and pale cottons for a soft, relaxed look. Abby is the first WASP baby in the history of my family (okay, she's half-WASP) and so the Ralph Lauren/Town and Country vibe seemed appropriate.

With an unpredictable subject like a baby, you can't plan your shots too much. You clear the space, set up the lighting to be as all-purpose as possible, and go with the flow. And I find it best to shoot the same way I shoot rodeo: keep the camera to your eye and your finger on the shutter. Good moments are fleeting.

I'm usually not one for conventional, posed groups, but I figured they might be more to the taste of the grandparents and so we started out with a few of those.



What I really wanted, though, was something slightly more unusual so I asked Susan and Phil to lie down on the floor with Abby and just cuddle up together. I shot them from above, and caught some fun vignettes like this.



Getting them out of the rocking chair and into a playful position led to the sort of spontaneity that I generally prefer to formality.



However, at one point I did get the idea to have Abigail lay in a niche created by Susan and Phil's bodies. I wanted an image of her surrounded and protected by her parents, and with their cooperation I got something akin to what I'd imagined.



But I'm almost as fond of this misfire, which happened when I accidentally tripped the shutter while adjusting my position.



Abby, honey, I know from the look on your face exactly what you're thinking. And I'll tell it to you plain: the bad jokes never get any better, and the older you get the weirder they're going to seem. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about.

You can always come stay with Uncle Franklin when it gets to be too much. We'll have lunch downtown and rock the shoe department at Nordstrom.

In Other News

Meanwhile...

I'm a Writer

Sid Leavitt, whose name you may have noticed in the comments recently, has begun a blog in which he blogs about blogs: Readers and Writers Blog. Sid is and has been a pro in the word biz, and so I admit I was gratified to find out I'd been noticed, and favorably. Many thanks to Sid's mother-in-law, Virginia, for sending him over. And many thanks to Sid for his blog, which of course is beautifully written and a heck of a fun read.

Just one quibble, Sid. You say I don't have much in common with you "he-men" out there on the East Coast. And you're correct that I do knit and am a gay Zen Buddhist, but don't drink beer or watch sports. Instead, I bench press 80% of my body weight five mornings a week, and bike four miles on the other two, usually at dawn. Then I come home and do thirty minutes of zazen before heading to work.

So, I'm curious: what is it that qualifies one as a he-man? Must one kiss girls, or will a total lack of self-discipline suffice?

I'm a Reader

Over at Cast On, Brenda Dayne's Podcast for knitters, my essay "Advice from a Poncho" is the wrap-up to Brenda's series "The Secret Lives of Stitches." If you listen and like it (and you don't need an iPod to listen), please tell the boss so she'll have me on again.

Brenda herself presents some interviews she conducted at Wonderwool Wales, which for me is the highlight of the episode. Such wonderful people there - no wonder she stayed. (Although I suspect Tonia had something to do with it, as well.)

I'm a Knitter

The christening shawl has reached the final motif before the edging: a row of little pine trees all the way around the border. This child is a Mainer, after all.

I set off the row of trees from the preceding diamond trellis pattern with two rows of yo, k2tog. And I would like to tell you, in case you are wondering, that yo, k2tog on a round of nearly 900 stitches is boring as all fuck.

I'm a Photographer

I have not been able to count the number of responses I've had to my call for models for the 1,000 Knitters project. This makes me happier than words can express. I swear, there cannot be a more enthusiastic, can-do group of people on the planet than knitters.

Since it will be a little while before I can get back to all of you - we're talking hundreds of messages, I haven't even been able to look at all of them - here is a little mass update:

1. Thank you for your interest. I can't wait to meet you.
   
   
2. For those who can come to Chicago, it looks like I'm going to schedule one or more days for folks to come by and be snapped, probably at my home or some location on the north side, in the city proper. All the shots will be set against a simple, white drop, so the location itself is not terribly important.
   
   
3. For those who can't make it on group days, we'll see about setting up individual times.
   
   
4. For those who cannot come to Chicago, wanderlust is overtaking me at the sight of your various locations. There must be some way to get my Canon together and take it on the road without bankrupting myself or losing my job, and I'm going to find it.
   
   
5. I have heard from a potential sponsor at the Stitches Midwest Marketplace. A really good sponsor. I would totally tell you more but I can't tell you more right now. Isn't the suspense just awful?
   

Glencora Goes to Work

On May 8, 2006 I wrote the following in my entry about the finished Glencora Baby Shawl:

Now that the shawl's finished, it'll be wrapped up and laid away to await a baby, as yet unborn, who might need it.

I had no idea that a little more than a year later, the hypothetical "baby born in spring" for whom I knitted the tulips and rosebuds would be not only a reality, but an addition to la famiglia. And with infinite thoughtfulness, her parents chose Glencora to wrap her up for the trip home.


Mommy made the hat.

And it has become her naptime companion, too.



Could I be prouder? Indeed I could not.

1,000 Update

I am thrilled with the response to this. If you've written to me, you will hear back. If you don't live near Chicago and can't get here, don't fret. I will find a way to get out there and cast the net far and wide.

There have been a few responses in which folks have felt the need to qualify themselves, i.e., "I'm fat, but if that's not a problem...".

No, that is not a problem. When I said you need only be a knitter, I meant you need be only a knitter. I am beyond sick and tired of everybody who is not a supermodel feeling the s/he needs to hide from the camera lens. That, my dears, is a poisonous notion fed to us by marketers who know that anxiety sells products. If you were already happy with your skin, you wouldn't buy their cosmetics, would you?

Just as many of us who knit and spin are in rebellion against mass production, I am in rebellion against mass self-hatred. I'm coming to realize that this will definitely be a theme running through the portrait project.

You are the only you out there, and you are the one I am looking for, because this project is about celebrating you. Don't apologize for being yourself.

(There will now be a pause while I try to practice what I preach.)

So, I Have This Idea

But First, A Word of Thanks

Your messages about the arrival of Abigail have been icing on the cake, a delight to me and to my entire family. Thank you all so much for taking the time to write words of encouragement and congratulations.

I can't wait to record my impressions of the new arrival after our first opportunity to meet in person, which is scheduled for next week. (Note to Susan and Phil: Auntie Dolores is coming with me. Please tie up the dogs so we don't have a repeat of the Christmas Eve incident.)

Oh–And a Word About the Shawl

I've tried four or five approaches to writing a nice, fat entry about the christening shawl and admit defeat. The fact is, even if I had hours to style a good photograph it would still only look like a pile of string. Since it's on a circular needle, I can't spread it out to show you details.

So, a mere slip of an update. I've nearly finished the main portion of the border, which is worked in the diamonds-and-mesh pattern I showed you last time. Then there will be a narrow strip of buttercups on a stockinette ground. Then, and I can scarcely imagine it, I will work the edging.

At the moment, it feels as though I were born knitting this piece, and that in my next incarnation I will emerge still clutching it.

Now, the Idea

Ages ago a photographer who was acting as my mentor encouraged me to take on a large project, something that:

• could not be completed in a month;
• was outside the normal scope of my work; and
  
• that pushed one or more of my fear buttons.

I decided to undertake an ambitious portrait series: 1,000 gay men from Chicago. I still think the idea has merit, but the logistics have proved beyond my ability. For every man who has agreed to sit for my camera, there have been ten who:

• consider themselves model material and feel I should pay them a sitting fee plus royalties,
• are really looking to live out a sex-with-the-photographer fantasy, or
  
• back out at the last minute because, suddenly, they feel fat.

At this rate, I'll drop dead before I have thirty images.

But I'm still fascinated with the idea of capturing concretely something as nebulous and ephemeral as a community. And last week, as I was lying in bed contemplating mortality, the ill-fated portrait project intersected with an essay I've just recorded for Brenda Dayne's podcast, and a new idea emerged.

Why 1,000 gay men? They're not my only community. Why not honor 1,000 knitters?

Announcing: The Thousand Knitters Project

Beginning today, I'm seeking anyone who self-identifies as a knitter to become part of The Thousand Knitters Project. Here are the particulars:

• Subjects will be photographed anywhere from half- to full-length, displaying a work-in-progress or finished object.
• There will be no payment for sitting, but subjects will be given either an electronic file or a finished 8"x10" print.
• Individual sittings will take no longer than 15 minutes.
• The portraits will be assembled for display in at least an electronic venue (i.e., Web site), and other formats depending on how the project evolves.
• All subjects will be asked to sign a standard model release, giving me permission to use the images in my work and waiving the right to compensation.
• Subjects can (and I hope, will) be any and every age, shape, size, race, religion, gender, orientation, nationality. The only thing that matters is that you knit and/or crochet.
• For the time being, sittings will take place in Chicago, so you'd need to be able to get here. If this takes off, we'll see about shooting in other cities.
• Yes, if you crochet or spin, you're welcome to join in. But I have to draw the line somewhere, so let's wait see how this goes and then maybe I can get to the quilters and the cross-stitchers and...
  

Knitters have always given, and still give, so much to the world. But with a very few exceptions they are lost to history. Let's see if, in some small way, we can change that.

Interested? Write to me at portraits at franklinhabit daht cahm with the subject line "1,000." That's it, just "1,000." I'll be using the subject line to pre-sort the messages, so please be sure to use the correct subject. Give me some idea of when you might be available and we'll go from there.

And one more thing: If possible, I'd love to tap into the crowds coming in for Stitches Midwest. If you'll be a vendor at the market, and are willing to discuss the possibility of allowing me space to set up a chair and small backdrop–about as much as you'd need for a book signing–contact me at franklin at franklinhabit daht cahm. In return, I could offer advertising, photography, and possibly some monetary compensation.

*Not a ground-breaking idea; Richard Avedon's American West series is my inspiration.

Santa Fe

Hi, kids. I'm back from Santa Fe, New Mexico. My first visit. Stunning.

I've added it to the wheel of possibilities. Yes, I know it's expensive–but one does grow weary of believing one will only ever be able to afford to live in places so uncomfortable and unattractive that the rents are cheap, you know what I mean? I'm tired of being practical about everything.

Before I steel myself for another day in the salt mines, here are a few snapshots. I love to photograph religious shrines, and New Mexico delivered. I don't think any of these will wind up in my portfolio, but it certainly was fun taking them. Not pictured, because none of the shots are particularly interesting, is the honest-to-goodness Tibetan Buddhist stupa I visited.

I love Santa Fe.


Loretto Chapel


Loretto Chapel


Canyon Road


Juan Diego, Shrine of the Virgin of Guadalupe, El Santuario de Chimayo


Crucifix with Votive Offerings, El Santuario de Chimayo

All images ©Franklin Habit. Use without permission in any format prohibited.

Now, Where Was I?

There are trips after which you think, "My, that was pleasant, but it's nice to be home." And then there trips, rare trips, after which you think, "I'm not the same person who left four days ago."

This trip was one of the latter.

Where did I go? Here's a hint.



No, not Anchorage. Here's another hint.



Who said Buffalo?

What do you need, a picture of a breast implant? I was in Los Angeles.

Here's how it happened.

Not long ago two knit bloggers struck up a long-distance friendship. This one lives in New York City. He was going out to Los Angeles for his second appearance on DIY Network's "Knitty Gritty."

He was talking about the TV appearance with the second blogger, who lives in Chicago. The second blogger made a joke about coming along to help out, and the first blogger said, only half-joking, that he'd already imagined that could be fun. And then they laughed, and then nobody was joking. And then suddenly there were plane tickets, and two bloggers who had never met in person sat in their respective cities thinking, "What the hell just happened?"

Which is how John Brinegar and I wound up walking at sunset on the beach in Santa Monica,



which I must say for the record is rather nicer than walking down State Street in December by myself.

John seemed to enjoy it, as well.



It turns out that he and I knit at the same gauge, which made it possible for me to help put the finishing touches on his step-outs for the show. (I won't explain step-outs, since you all read Yarn Harlot anyhow.) This photo is so that my Mom and Dad will know which bits to cheer for when the episode airs.



I just hope they spell my name properly in the credit roll.

Curiously, I have discovered that I have almost no photographs from a day-and-a-half at the studio. I was too blissed out to click the shutter, I guess. No, not blissed out. That suggests calm. I was giddy.

It can be tough sitting around on a set when you're not involved in the production, but the folks at "Knitty Gritty" were so jolly and accomodating I didn't feel de trop at any point. Instead, I got to watch Something Being Made. I've always enjoyed that. I'd rather be behind the scenes than in the audience, any time, and this was my first visit to a television studio.

And aside from the people who make the show, there were the other guests who kept popping in and out as their episodes were put together, including Amy Singer, Iris Schreier, Jennifer Hansen (aka Stitch Diva), and Stephen of HizKnits fame. Stephen taped just before John, and then much to my delight decided to stick around which meant we got to sit together and dish and bond and bitch and kvetch and giggle–you know, the things all men do when in good company.

And Amy let me try on this hemp slip-stitch sweater from her new book (the one with no sheep in it) which fit me as though it had been made to measure. (Amy honey, you have my address. Parcel post will work just fine–winter won't be over for ages.)

One moment so I can sweep up all the dropped names.

The day after the taping was free and clear, so we met up with the formidably cool Wendy of Knit and Tonic at Wildfibers, which I didn't realize until we got there is owned by Mel Clark, who collaborated with Tracey Ullman on Knit Two Together. I didn't buy much, but what I bought...well, I'm saving that until last.

Wendy led John and I out to Malibu, where we sat at a restaurant by the ocean and watched dolphins and pelicans and aggressive seagulls, and ate peanuts, and dished and bitched and kvetched and giggled and bonded–you know, the things all knitters do when in good company.

Afterwards, we went down to the beach and used Wendy's clapotis to pretend we were doing a location shoot for Rebecca magazine.



"Ja! Ach du lieber! I em dee krazee skinnee German knitter! I em zo filled vit gemütlichkeit my head vill explode et enny zecond!"

And then home, and then another sunset, and then a knitting lesson, and then the goodbyes, and the airport, and home again. Typing this, looking out to the frigid lake over the snow in Lincoln Park, through the frost that is covering half the windowpanes.

I don't know why, but a different person left for LAX on Wednesday than is sitting here right now. Maybe it's because Southern California has always scared and intimidated me–it's the only city I've ever been too that has done so. This time it didn't. Instead I felt magnified, more confident, as though I were being carefully lit and retouched everywhere I went. Hell, I even got a compliment from a stranger in a restaurant.

This all feels weird for a guy who spent the first 33 or 34 years of his life (I'm 35) trying miserably to be what other people expected him to be. Never worked. That phase is finally ending, I guess, although I don't usually notice it except in brief moments of clarity. I had one in, of all places, Wildfibers.

I was looking around in the sock yarns for something masculine and shoved aside a skein of Wildfoote in lime green to pick up a little bundle of quiet rust-and-brown that was behind it. And then I picked up the lime green. And I imagined myself wearing socks made of it, and I thought how bright it is, and how silly that would look, and how respectable men never, ever wear bright lime green socks.

And then in a flash I realized three things:

1. I love strong colors.
   
   
2. I really want a pair of lime green socks.
   
   
3. I just don't give a fuck any more if people think I'm respectable–particularly people who are going to judge me according to the color of my damned socks.

For 35 years I have allowed (among many others) the Pope; my nasty fourth grade teacher, Mrs Hess; various administrators, faculty, and alumni of Harvard University; the citizens of Back Bay and Beacon Hill; assorted ex-boyfriends; and my employers past and present to live in my head and decide what I like, what I wear, what I listen to, how I view the world and above all, how I view myself. Today's eviction day, folks. Get out.



Wherever you are reading this, whoever you are, I hope you feel at some point today...or any day...as good as I do right now.

Go to Your Happy Place

I should not be blogging today, as there's work to do. But when I logged in to check e-mails yesterday's rant about missing Rhinebeck popped up and I hate the idea of it sitting there until Monday. I don't like whiny blogs and I don't want this to become one.

I know that in the grand scheme of things, missing a fiber festival ranks low on the list of tragedies that can befall a person. I know I haven't exactly been deprived of knitting events lately. My anger came more out of the manner in which my vacation was revoked, and that's symptomatic of much larger issues with my employer. But I don't write about work in here, so that's all I'm going to say.

Here's something nicer to think about. This was taken in a village on the island of Crete called Kritsa. It's not large, but the main business street is packed with small shops selling beautiful handmade needlework. This is one of the reasons why.



There. That's better.

Be Where You Are

While on my last trip, I took 2,000 photographs over 14 days that began at 6 a.m. and ended at midnight. I never missed our arrival in, or departure from, any port. I did everything I could to be mindful, drink it all down and revel in being abroad.

And now I'm looking at some of the frames and thinking I can't have appreciated what I was seeing, or I would not have been able to come back to Chicago. I would have jumped ship, sent for my books and my boyfriend, and started life as an expatriate.

Here it's so gray. Raining, humid. The air is murky. Everything droops. Even the green leaves are dull as old paint. Looking at some of these frames almost hurts.



Monument at dusk. Mahón, Minorca.

Zen teaches us to appreciate the beauty of what is there, where we are. Clearly, that's the lesson I need to focus on today. As of this minute, I'm flunking.

Let's Get Anal

Packing for Amsterdam/Holland/Belgium has begun, though I'm not outta here until 5 April. I can't help it - I'm not one of those freewheeling people who can just throw a toothbrush in a bag and buy my underwear en route.

Traveling Camera Bag Checklist

1. Canon G2 camera body
   
2. Adapter attachment thingie
   
3. Step-down rings (two)
   
4. Wide-angle adapter (Europe is often wide)
   
5. Telephoto adapter (Europe is often far away)
   
6. Flash unit (stock with new batteries)
7. Extra set flash batteries (was Boy Scout, so am Always Prepared)
   
8. Flash diffuser (to avoid "crime scene photo" shots)
   
9. Lens drops (for when lens gets dirty)
   
10. Lens tissues (for when lens watches sad movie)
    
11. Lens brush (for when lens has bad hair day)
12. Batteries (three)
    
13. Battery charger w/ Euro voltage cable
    
14. CF memory cards: 1 GB (one), 512 MB (two), 256 MB (one), 128 MB (two)
15. Memory card safe (brushed steel so has kind of cool top-secret look to it)
    
16. Lens hood (lens is sometimes shy)
    
17. Polarizing filter (causes extreme left-right divisions on sensitive issues)
    
18. UV filter (protects images from sunburn)
    
19. Spare lens cap (for when first falls into river, or is eaten by aggressive farm animal)
    
20. Camera electrical cords with plug adapter
    
21. Holgas (2), pre-loaded
    
22. 400 speed 120 film for Holgas (6 rolls)
23. Camera tape to plug light leaks and keep backs from falling off Holgas
    
24. Notepad and pen (necessary to take notes, especially when day's shooting includes 20 churches, or 10 quaint villages, or 470 cobblestone streets)
    
25. Breath mints (not nice to kill friendly natives with dragon breath)
    
26. Flat mini-umbrella (Europe is very damp)

This all goes into a neato backpack-style camera case I'll take on the plane. The top-loading walkaround shoulder bag that I'll actually use, and the camera tripod, both go into the big suitcase.

Aren't you glad you knit?

Another Print

Near the Vaci Utca, Budapest, 2005
Originally uploaded by panopticon.

I finished this up two nights ago and just realized I forgot to post it here. This is for the Danube portfolio.

There will be three portfolios, when the project is done: Danube, Rodeo, and Chicago. There may be one more: Children.

The individual mounted prints will go into the portfolio case as needed depending upon the person or organization I'm showing it to.

It's a flexible way to work, recommended to me by an established pro whose experience and judgement I trust.

Per MarQ1's thoughtful request, I'm going to take a picture of the finished case and post it (I hope) this weekend.

And speaking of the weekend, I wish all and sundry a peaceful Easter (if that's your thing) or just plain peace.

And to all persons, regardless of denomination, I wish at least one Cadbury egg.

Another Print

Fishermen's Bastion, Budapest.
Originally uploaded by panopticon.

One more for the Danube portfolio.

The blue of the sky, which is rather intense and gives the print its punch, refuses to come through on a computer screen. I'm not going to fuss with it, though.

Now, off to the hardware store to see about getting a can of beeswax for the finish on the portfolio case.

Knit, and Pearl

Public Market. Budapest, 2003.
Originally uploaded by panopticon.

Above is the latest finished print. We're gettin' there.

The quality of the light in the Public Market in Budapest was the first thing I noticed. It comes in from high up, bounces off the ineffably soft color of the walls, and bathes everything in a tone that (to me) mimics the quality of the "golden hour" at the end of a fair day.

I could be wrong, but this woman probably does not think of herself as a beauty. To me, she is.

The first time I saw it, in 2003, it was wonderful - an actual market full of real people truly marketing. It was the same a year later, except that the real people were supplemented by 15,000 pushy Japanese tourists. Alas, poor Budapest. You are now officially Over.

Also on the portfolio front, a trip to Pearl Art & Craft yielded a very promising carrying case, though it didn't come from the shop's portfolio section. But once I'm done with it, I think it'll look pretty sharp.

Actually, Chris and I found the selection at Pearl to be spectacularly bad. They were out of most everything we were looking for - and our list was both long and commonplace.

They didn't have a single pre-cut matte in stock in the exotic size I was looking for (11x16), and most of the mattes they did have were in weird colors or had been banged up so much they were useless.

They were entirely out of google eyes for Chris's orange chenille stuffed octopus.

And if you're tempted by the listing in Stitch 'n' Bitch Nation to check out their knitting supplies, don't bother. Even my low expectations were too high. Nearly the entire shelf of yarn was empty. There were a few odd skeins of so-cheap-it-squeaks acrylics, and ugly novelty yarns in shades like booger green. The needle selection included one or two packs of double-points in sizes 01 and 4, and a size 8 circular on a loop too short to do anybody much good. They had no point protectors at all, no bobbins, no yarn scissors, no ring markers. There were, however, empty spaces marked for a healthy cross-section of basic notions.

So while Chris was checking out the book section, I asked a so-helpful employee about the depleted state of things and whether it was the norm, or had they just had a big sale? She said they don't make much of an effort to stock those shelves because nobody really wants knitting stuff.

Hello?

In or Out?

Flower Seller
Originally uploaded by panopticon.

Opinions, please.

Occasionally the thrill of having got a shot under challenging circumstances colors my opinion of the shot itself.

I had to pile a lot of Hungarian money into this dear lady's hands (enough, I think, to buy about 40 of those little nosegays) before she would agree to a picture. No problem, except that the moment I lifted the camera she changed her mind and started grousing at me.

Is it a good shot? Is it interesting? Is it portfolio material? Or is it just a snapshot with a highly-colored memory behind it? I'm considering swapping out one of the other portfolio images to make room for this one, and other eyes would be handy.

Opinions invited (cheap shots ignored).