Trouble Brewing?

I've been so preoccupied with working on the book, scheduling 1,000 Knitters shoots (when they're confirmed, I'll tell all) and doing a bunch of freelance projects that I haven't been able to keep an eye on Dolores as much as I'd like. Need I tell you this is never a good idea?

Gift knitting took over my waking hours in the months leading up to Christmas, so it wasn't until we were sitting around the tree and Abigail ripped open a package printed with cartoon reindeer doing kegstands that I knew about this:



"Well," said Susan, gingerly opening the cover, "at least it's not a seventh copy of Goodnight, Moon."

"It's just a mock up," said Dolores from amid a pile of discarded wrapping, "We're still shopping it around. But I thought I'd give to her now. Somebody needs to take the child's education in hand."

"We're already sort of working on that," said Phil.

"Oh, of course," said Dolores. "A-B-C and what's the capital of Idaho and that sort of thing. But there's so much more to life, and that's where the Little Helper comes in."

"What's this?" said Susan, pulling a smaller booklet from between the pages.

"The supplement to the bartending guide. I've added it on the advice of my agent. You might want to give it a look, yourself. This egg nog is a smidge underpowered."

Susan and Phil agreed to tuck the book away and share it with Abigail when she reaches an appropriate age (some time around 2050, I believe) and that, thank heaven, was the end of it; although Susan later did grudgingly agree that the egg nog recipe was an improvement on Martha Stewart's.

After the holiday rush, we came home and settled down to what passes for normal around here.

I continued working on the handsome socks from The Knitting Man(ual)in between sessions at the drawing board.



I'm really enjoying these. There's just enough to the pattern to keep it from being a dull knit without making it too fussy for public transit or standing in line. I think the end result is fetching. The yarn (a present from Tom, who picked it up on a trip to Michigan at Ewe-nique Knits) is Margo Jones from Schaefer - the first time I've worked with Schaefer yarn. It won't be the last if I have anything to say about it. Good stuff.

Harry and the rest of the sock yarn decided to follow Dolores's writerly example and pick up their pens, and soon I was stepping around fifty-odd little journals or baking cookies for the poetry slams being held in the living room.

However, Dolores apparently has grown bored with the literary life. She's started going out and keeping late hours–late even for her. When she's home, I have to pry her off the computer with a crowbar. Her cell phone rings nonstop, and she rushes into the bathroom to engage in heated but muffled conversations. And she's made a point of grabbing the mail out of the box before I can get to it.

Yesterday Harry looked up from the draft of his latest poem, "If You Are Sad I Will Hug Your Heart," to ask me if I thought Dolores was acting weird.

"It's hard to say, of course. What have you noticed?"

"Well, for starters last week Stan spilled his ink all over her best peignoir and instead of freaking out she just said something about looking at the bigger picture. And then me and the guys were on our way to open mic night at The Alienated Espresso and we ran into Mitchell from The Lucky Horseshoe, and he said she hasn't been there even once since we came home from Maine. They had to lay off two bartenders."

That's all I needed to hear. I'm officially worried.

Knit a Little Lamb: Exciting Conclusion

The Hollywood writers are still on strike, so I figure I got a decent shot at you tuning in to see how the little lamb turns out. You could choose to walk away and watch old episodes of "Bosom Buddies" on DVD, but it would make him cry.



Knitter's choice.

At the end of part two we finished the main shapes and only needed to add small details to finish up. Frankly, I could have covered this all in two installments but I forgot to knit a background swatch to stick the thing on.



Plus it was lunch time and I'd developed an unaccountable craving for souvlaki.

Okay. Pretend the green square (note the garter edges; I love you so much I made the swatch neat and pretty) is the pocket of Abigail's sweater. Whipstitch the lamb body onto it.



It still doesn't look much like a lamb, though. We have to give it a face. And just as we reduced the body to its simplest elements in order to knit it, so we must pick out only the essential details in the face. Happily, there's not a whole lot going on in a lamb's face.



That's all, sister.

Easy enough to render with a bit of doubled sewing thread–chosen in lieu of yarn or embroidery floss because the former is too thick, and the latter is unlikely to stand up to much washing.

Using our simplified sketch as a guide, we add the nose, mouth and beady little eyes.



Now, ears.

You could drive yourself cuckoo knitting two itty-bitty little ear flaps, then painstakingly sew them onto the lamb only to find out they make it look more like an albino bat. But since I've already done that, you don't have to.

Instead, simply embroider a single petal from a lazy daisy on either side, and fill 'em both in with a couple stitches each.



And behold, the lamb.



Awwwwww.

It's not just for babies, either. You can do so much with it! L@@K!



Trendy wine coaster.



Cozy antimacassar.



Avant-garde toupée.



Polishing cloth.



Bookmark.



Smurf hideout.



Ironic disguise.



Cat bed.

* Finis *

Knit a Little Lamb: Part Two

When last we left our little lamb, it looked like this.



As this lamb is going to wind up half inside a sweater pocket, we don't need to think about the legs, just the head and body. In the interest of further simplification, we're going to shift the basic shapes slightly to bring them into alignment, thus.



And that's what we've got to knit first.

This is where you have to draw on your own knowledge, experience, and preferences as a knitter. There are probably as many ways to realize those shapes in knitting as there are knitters. You could, for example, simply knit up two stockinette shapes in the appropriate sizes.

On the other hand, as this lamb will be placed against a stockinette ground, why not try out a textured stitch to give it a little more visual oomph? Maybe the render the fluffy body in moss stitch?

Let's try it. Cast on as many stitches as you think you need, and go.



Not bad. Good enough to continue. In fact, rather than knit two pieces, what if we used texture to suggest the separation between head and body? Maybe render the face in stockinette? And we could throw in a pair of decreases at the "shoulder" line for shaping.



Promising. Enough to go on. I find that when you're improvising like this, it's extremely important to make frequent stops for assessment–something I learned from Maggie Righetti in Knitting in Plain English. When I started knitting I felt guilty about constantly pausing to look at my work, until I read Maggie's sound advice that you should do so to decide if you like it–and rip it back if you don't. That has saved me a lot of time and trouble.

So, here's the finished body and head in one piece.



It's okay. The top corners are a bit sharp, but maybe they can be fudged in the sewing. But the face looks sunken when it should project forward, as a glance at the model shows.



(Awwwwwwww.)

We could undo the head. Or, before we go that far, we could try knitting the lamb a little oval snoot, since that's the bit that really sticks out in the original, and apply it over the stockinette face. Maybe that'd counteract the sunken effect. It'll only take a few minutes.



Hmm. Not bad. Let's sew it down, and tuck a bunch of yarn ends underneath to give it a little extra volume.



And there we are–the basic shapes are in place. It's not quite ready to baaaaaaaa, but it's gettin' there.

Next time, we'll finish up by adding the details to the face and head.

New in the Shop

I was procrastinating feeling inspired a couple of days ago and made up a new design for the shop, which for the moment is on bags and shirts. If there's interest in having it on magnets or journals or cards or whatever, do speak up and I'll see what I can do.



(Yeah, I played Dungeons and Dragons as a kid. You wanna make something of it?)

Knit a Little Lamb: Part One

I remember the first time I read a knitting blog in which the writer described how she often started projects not only without patterns, but without any fixed idea of what she was going to make. She said something akin to, "I just pick up the needles and watch what happens."

That gave me chills.

Back then, I was newly emerged from long, dark years of knitting the same scarf and mittens over and over in solitude, using whatever yarn I happened to find. My proudest technical achievement was figuring out on my own how to work the thumb gore in the mitten pattern. It was incomprehensible to me that person could use yarn and needles as a sketchbook. I'd been "making up" stuff for years on paper; but what sort of freaky genius would you need to be to doodle with wool?

As it turns out, you don't really need to be genius, and I'm proof. When I put up the pictures of Abigail's Sheep in the Meadow sweater, this question came to mind because several of you were kind enough to ask how I'd made the sheep for the pocket. I realized I had no handy answer, because I improvised as I went along. I'd doodled with wool, or in this case a wool/cotton blend. Fancy that.

I've decided it boils down to having these things at your command:

1. enough curiosity to want to deviate from written patterns, or make up your own;
2. a willingness to pause and examine what's in front of you;
3. a willingness to try different approaches until you create what pleases you;
   
4. a working knowledge of basic moves in knitting, including increases, decreases, and the basic effects on the fabric created by knit, purl, and y/o;
5. patience; and
   
6. the understanding that it's just knitting, it's done one stitch at a time at your own pace, and you can undo it if you don't like it.

Since you asked, I 'm going to press my mental rewind button and see if I can reconstruct how I did it.

Mind you, this may prove incredibly boring. But as you asked for it, you have only yourself to blame.

The task before us is:

Knit a lamb to be attached, as appliqué, to the pocket of a baby sweater.

Step One: Take a Good Look at Your Subject

I'm a firm believer in a dictum often expressed by Charles M. Schulz, creator of Peanuts and a personal household god: if you can't draw it realistically, you can't cartoon it convincingly.

Not that you must be able to sketch a photorealistic lamb in order to knit one. No.

But if you're trying to simplify an object in order to render it in stitches, you should have the level of familiarity that comes of from closely examining the original. You can't show everything, so you'll have to determine what the absolutely essential details are. What makes a lamb look like a lamb?

So, in case you don't have a flock in the backyard, here's a photograph of a lamb. (You may pause to say, "Awwwwwwwwww.")



Wait–who said, "Pass the mint sauce?"

That's not my own sheep; I found it online. When you need reference material in a hurry, Google's image search function is your friend. Just be forewarned: seemingly innocent queries like "sheep" or "cupcake" can yield shocking results. Turn on the "safe search" filter if you have a low tolerance for surprises.

Usually, when I'm drawing an object I haven't worked with a whole lot, I don't just look at one picture. If possible, I seek out the real thing and make sketches or photographs on the spot. If that's impossible, I look over photographs of as many as I can in order to synthesize in my head what the essential characteristics are.

In the case of the lamb, you might decide after some concentrated looking that these characteristics communicate "lamb" visually:



Or you might find yourself focused on other aspects. There are no correct answers. This is your lamb, seen through your eyes. You will find your own path to lambishness.

Step Two: Establish a Simple Silhouette

Usually it's the shape or outline of the object, also called the silhouette, that most efficiently communicates at a glance what one is looking at. I find this to be especially true of animals.

Smaller details, like noses, are often suprisingly similar even across species. Here are two noses from that perennially opposed pair, the lion and the lamb.



Simplify them, as in a cartoon, and the similarity is even greater.



Silhouettes are another story. Pull back to reveal the full outline of the head, and you're never going to mistake these two for cousins, even with all other details removed.



Since in this case we're knitting a small, flat item at a relatively large gauge (about five stitches to the inch), our silhouette is extremely important–there won't be much room for smaller details. Furthermore, the silhouette must be reduced to its absolute basics–the simplest and fewest geometric forms.

So, as the final step for today's entry, here's how you might see the major outlines of the sheep you intend to knit.

You need a head.



And you need a body.



Together, they look like this.



Next time, we pick up the needles.

I hope you can bear the suspense.

Bear Shoot

What is a boy raised in the tropics to do when he's freezing to death in the midst of a nasty, chilly Chicago January?

Why, go north to Michigan, that's what!

(It made sense at the time. Never answer your e-mail when you've been dipping into a bottle of champagne left over from New Year's Eve.)

But a promise is a promise, and I want so much to meet you folks over there on the other side of the lake; so there's going to be a 1,000 Knitters shoot at the one-and-only Threadbear Fiber Arts Studio in Lansing, Michigan on Saturday, January 26 from 10 am to 5:30 pm.

The usual guidelines apply: no advance registration, etcetera. If you're not familiar with how it all works, please take a look before you come on over.

On the other hand, a trip to the Frostbite Belt is a fun excuse to wear my new Maltese Fisherman's Hat from Knitter's Almanac.

I was lucky enough to spend one perfect day in Malta, two summers ago on a university tour. We docked in Valletta, the capital, and I ditched the sightseeing excursion. Rather than be stuck on a bus, I wandered at whim up and down (mostly up, it seemed at the time) streets like these.







Needless to say, I fell in love with the place. The memory still haunts me. I hope to go back some day.

I kept an eye out for fishermen wearing anything that looked like Elizabeth Zimmermann's famously offbeat design. But it was June, and not weather for wool, so I can't say from personal experience that any self-respecting Maltese would be caught dead wearing one of these.



Right. It's not exactly...sedate. But I love it. Look at the adorable ear flaps. Flap, flap.



They cover the neck, too. And my swanlike neck is terribly, terribly sensitive to frosty winter draughts, don't you know.



And then as lagniappe in addition to all that function, you get a pointy top with a tassel!

I made out of Malabrigo Chunky that I picked up at ImagiKnit, so it's all squishy and soft like a kitten. Of course, I'd never wear a kitten on my head. That would be silly. But this?



Oh, yeah. Smooth, baby. Smooth.

1000 Knitters at Purl Diva

Deep breath. 2008. Hold hands and leap!

I was going to begin the new year with a de rigeur post about resolutions or 2007-in-review. But no. I make (and break) resolutions on an hourly basis and there are too many parts of 2007 I don't care to contemplate this morning, even at a distance.

Much more fun to scribble about most recent 1,000 Knitters shoot, which happened December 22 at Purl Diva in Brunswick, Maine.

When Ellen Rodgers, the eponymous diva/owner, wrote to ask me about doing a shoot so close to Christmas I admit I hesitated. I loved the idea of finally working in an eastern location, but I figured that so close to a major holiday she might go to a lot of trouble only to wind up with four or five people in the shop.

However, Ellen's enthusiasm was contagious; and after having so many commenters write, "What? You went yarn shopping in Maine and you didn't go to Purl Diva?" I was feeling damned curious about her. I also wanted to see The Yarn Turban in person.

You may well have seen Ellen's turban either in her cute logo or on her Ravelry avatar, but if not, here she is in full fig.



I need not point out that a knitter who is happy to walk about thus arrayed is a knitter with whom it is impossible to have a dull time.

When I got to the shop an hour early–trailing a supportive entourage of sister, father, and brother-in-law–I was startled to find the place already packed. Ellen and Paul (her incredibly sweet boyfriend) had set up a fantastic shooting space in the shop's office complete with stool, backdrop, and a pair of studio lamps from Paul's own collection (he's an artist).

I set up as quickly as I could and started snapping, and didn't stop for three hours. In the office, I could hear quite a hum coming from the shop but had no idea how many folks were coming in until Paul brought me the startling news that by about five o'clock there were thirty people waiting.

And such people. I must introduce you to Lilith, Knitter 0277, who drove to Maine from Connecticut just to for the occasion.



I really didn't know what to say. I felt like she should have gotten more out of the deal than a two-minute chat and a couple rows of garter stitch. Perhaps I should have taken off my socks and used them to put on a puppet show for her. All she got was a hug.

And they just kept coming, all these warm people who slogged through snow and ice to grow the scarf and light up the project. I saw, as you might imagine, some perfectly gorgeous knitting. These are knitters for whom layers of wool are a necessity.



I love to imagine the day when the prints are finally hung on the wall, and I can stand in the corner and watch knitters and non-knitters stroll past. The non-knitters most likely will be struck by the range of ages and physiognomies. The knitters, on the other hand, I can see peering closely at this portrait or that and saying, "That's by Norah Gaughan, isn't it?" or "How many Clapotis have you counted so far?"

Among the first sitters of the session was somebody I'm proud to know: Dr. Mel, also known as the Saint Francis of Southern Maine.



Mel has at different times patched up both my sister's female beagle (who ate raisins and batteries) and Purl Diva's own Loki (who had a difference of opinion with a pit bull). In my family we consider him not only a fun friend, but also a sort of guardian angel. (The good doctor is presently asking for help in supporting the care of Phoebe, a dog who's been in a dreadful accident. If you don't mind having your heart broken so early in 2008, I urge you to check the story out here.)

We had lots of related knitters. Several mother-daughter pairs, pairs of sisters, a mother and her young son fresh from the ski slopes (hiya, Youssef!), and a husband and wife who stopped in on the way to dinner with the in-laws.



And we had the record broken for most knitters from one family all showing up together: James (son), Suzanne (daughter), and Dianne (mama). I was so happy that once their portraits were made I pulled them all together for a group shot.



All told, we had an astonishing 36 knitters turn out in the space of three hours, and Ellen was number 300.

She let me do this.



And then she gave me a present, which included a freaking gorgeous skein of locally spun-and-dyed yarn, "Beach Blanket II" from Loose Ends Yarn of Brunswick. Check it out.



Incidentally, one of the things I love about Purl Diva and couple of the other shops in Maine (including The Yarn Sellar in York, whose owner, Patti, is Knitter 0266) is that they keep local products on the shelves. There's nothing better than going yarn hunting when you're traveling and picking up something beautiful you'd most likely not find back home.

We capped off the evening with a restorative dinner at a fantabulous Mexican place in Brunswick, and then Paul chauffered me back to Gorham. The complete royal treatment.

Thanks, Ellen. Thanks, Paul. Thanks to all who were there that night,* all who took part in the first year of The 1,000 Knitters Project, and all who've been among the many who supported it at a distance.

The next 700 of you: get ready.

*By the way, Ellen's own delightful account of the evening is in her blog.