Objects of Use

Oh these gloves came out so pretty. The pics show the color pretty accurately, but can't transmit how soft and utterly luxe they feel, nor can they quite convey the slight glow they have (that would be the 50% silk in there with the Malabrigo merino).

I'm super-happy with the way they fit, too, and can only hope they'll be as perfect on Special J. I used my own arms as a fit model, so we shall see. I realize, now that I see them reclining on their paper towels (very high class) airing themselves out after their run-in with Kookaburra, that this is pretty much the essence of how I knit.

And that maybe I could stop feeling less-than about it.

What I mean is, I tend to pooh-pooh my knitting abilities, such as they are (see?), and to describe myself as not a real knitter, because I knit mostly simple little stockinette things. I mean, I'll throw in a little garter or seed stitch, but for the most part I just make simple stuff like this.

Garments whose appeal is primarily in the color, texture, and feel of the yarn, and in the way they follow the lines of the body.

And it only occurred to me last night, as I was finishing these off, and gently laying them in their bath water (and swooning as I did so - they are really so nice in person), that maybe that's just its own thing. Maybe it's not so much that I suck as a knitter, as that that's my idiom (thank you, Messrs. Python).

The truth is, I probably could knit cables and lace if I tried. I mean, I don't have any trouble with yarnovers or dropped stitch patterns. And knitters with less experience than I tell me that cables are easy-peasy.

I just don't feel drawn to them. When I make something, I am primarily thinking about shape. And I am usually making it out of my own head, with the exception of technical aspects like the thumb-gusset shaping on a mitten (for which I use Ann Budd's Knitters Handy Book of Patterns, with its nice grids in various gauges). I've said before (mostly in comments on other people's blogs) that I can't follow patterns, or at least that the things that turn out best are usually the ones I've made from sketches I drew, and it's true.

That's not to say that I'm anything like a natural-born knitter. I don't even consider that I really learned to knit until I read Barbara Walker's Knitting From the Top, because it was then that I began to understand how knitting works, the three-dimensionality of the medium, and how that matches up with the 3d of our bodies.

At least, that's the part of it that I like working with. That, and a very plain, repetitive knit stitch, and a very nice, soft yarn.

Anyway, I may one day knit a cable - I do like the look of them - but even if I don't, I'd like to think that that's okay, that I can still think of myself as a knitter. Not a super-fantastic, advanced obsessive knitter because I have so many other things to be obsessed by (shut up; I don't mean boys), but a knitter of parts, as they used to say.

It reminds me, now that I think of it, of writing. Arguably the most important thing a writer learns is to believe in his/her own voice. Every voice has its own dignity, its own reason for being, and once you really feel and honor the nature and shape of yours, well, all good things proceed from there.

So this is my voice as a knitter. It's not a voice devoid of mistakes and it's not a voice with intricate stitch patterns. It's about form and shape, and the beauty of the raw materials, and the utility of something that fits well and does its job in a colorful and pleasing way. And maybe in a humble way. Kind of like a homemade pie - you'd never mistake it for coming from a bakery because it's got all kinds of idiosyncrasies; it's lopsided, it's too tall, one side is more done than the other, the juices have bubbled over and left a trail on the bottom of the oven. Yum.