2024 has got off to a faltering start, as January’s are want to, with less of the galvanising impetus to refresh and renew that September has (for me at least), and more of a collective struggle against the dark. Conversations at the post office and over the phone to friends begin with commiserations that the worst of the winter weather is still to come, the inevitable and yet always surprising life curve balls, lack of motivation, tangles of thoughts (and in my case yarn), and oh yes, the tax return. This isn’t an apology for my lack of newsletters this year to date, although for that I am sorry and feeling guilty too, nor is it to wallow in the not-so-good stuff, but I suppose I wanted to offer a brief explanation for my hiatus in regular scheduling.
I don’t like to let people down, and when I commit to something I never intend to devote less than 110% to its completion to the very best of my abilities. It’s the prerogative of the freelancer to under promise and over deliver. But here I am writing my first fortnightly newsletter of the year in week 6. Sigh. I do apologise.
I recently read the term ‘oblique journal’ via Rob Walker’s Substack ‘The Art of Noticing’ and as someone who has never committed to writing a personal diary (well not since a few self-indulgent months as a precocious art student circa 1976) or even to maintaining one notebook at a time, the concept appealed. The idea is a seemingly random list or collection of things that document or mark the passing of time. Not intended for public consumption but reserved for personal reflection. Rob’s example is a list of his past purchases via Amazon and how they inadvertently catalogue life events, both every day and significant. It reminded me of the Joan Didion essay ‘On Keeping a Notebook’ in which she says, “we are talking about something private, about the bits of the mind’s string too short to use, an indiscriminate and erratic assemblage with meaning only for its maker”. Looking around my studio, I realised that my knitted swatches are just this, markers of thought processes, evidence of projects past, future and never to be finished, tangible moments in time. And it’s not just small swatches, but other textiles too, that enter into your life carrying and holding meaning, if only for you.
Taking notice of textiles that I have made, or that have been given, gifted or sent to me over the past few weeks since the start of 2024 is a reminder of what has happened in these last 6 weeks (when I haven’t been writing this newsletter!).
A vintage scrap of patched together pieces of dyed indigo cotton held together with visible sashiko stitches is a souvenir from a Japanese boro market, found by Bella on her month-long trip to Japan in December. It has already provided inspiration for a series of repair workshops, encouraged me to add my own layer of handwork to stabilise the textile, and will continue to act as a reminder of Bella’s adventure. It’s a reminder too of why one had to repair in the past, and how choosing good quality materials and fibres that can be worn out, patched up and restored to full use will become a necessity once again in the future of textiles.
An unexpected family bereavement followed by the poignant sorting of a lifetime’s worth of possessions has unearthed a box of 3 brand-new never-been-unwrapped 100% linen tea towels from Country Road. A much-loved Australian brand that I worked for in the 1990s, travelling back and forth to Oz several times a year, and affording me the opportunity to share trips to the fabulous city of Melbourne with my extended family. Serendipitously, Country Road has also purveyed my consciousness this month via an Instagram post by Mary Portas, which was celebrating the brand’s founder Steve Bennet, whom I had the absolute good fortune to have worked with directly. I often hold up the company, under his leadership alongside his sister Jane Parker as a paradigm of good business, with a genuine appreciation of design, innovation and craftsmanship. More on that another time.
As she was not a knitter, there are no unfinished projects to be discovered at my late sister-in-law’s home but had there been I would have certainly gathered them up and finished them myself, so that they could be loved and treasured as intended. It’s often the case when someone dies that they leave behind projects half done, piles of mending or favourite, much-worn jumpers or cardigans in need of some care. More often than not its these textiles that mean the most, holding memories and evidence of the person within their very fabric. I recently came across the wonderfully considered (and named!) Loose Ends Project, who in their own words, “aim to ease grief, create community, and inspire generosity by matching volunteer handwork finishers with projects people have left unfinished due to death or disability”. And indeed, when teaching a workshop about knitwear repair recently, every participant had shared their own story of a sweater too precious not to mend, and that engaging with those knits and purls was a form of healing too.
In brighter news I recently welcomed a new puppy into Knight Kraft HQ, a sweet cosy, warm, comforting and fluffy little thing that for all those reasons just had to be named, Slipper. A friend came to meet her bearing a beautifully handknitted garter stitch blanket in stripes of delicate pastels to coordinate with her fawn colouring. Of course, Slipper immediately set about unravelling any loose ends and ‘customising’ the blanket to her own taste. But it has already provided comfort on a trip to the vet, and sanctuary in her own spot in the living room of her new, and unfamiliar home.
Back to my pile of swatches. I’ve been experimenting with plying up various stash yarns to make a super-chunky weight and I love the unexpected textures that this creates. It’s a process I return to intermittently and this swatch using 3 different tweed yarns from around the studio is also a recap of some of last year’s projects. There are at least 3 single mittens – iterations of a soon to be launched pattern, based on a very old classic design from the Molto! days, made in a 4ply British wool. A denim blue square of 100% hemp fibre, a favourite yarn that I am so pleased to be working with again. This was one of the first truly sustainable yarns that I came across probably about 20 years ago, and yet the properties and benefits of this fibre are still underrated. So, I’m excited to be able to promote it again with a men’s knit design (coming soon!). And there’s a stocking stitch swatch in which I deliberately made a hole in order to experiment with different darning techniques, evidence of the full circle that has been uppermost in my mind of late, and that we must all come round to, learning to value the loved and worn over the new and flawless.
You, like me, are probably never without a project on the needles, in a bag, or over the back of the sofa. Evenings, months and challenges pass, and all the while rows are made, sometimes quickly and without thinking, and at other times painstakingly slowly, ticking off each box on chart. And within these stitches, each one processed by hand, are captured memories and feelings of that moment in time. Making a list of these makes, simply logging the pattern and the yarn used can act as a journal, making sense of your time well spent and how far you’ve come. To share Rob Walker’s advice, “Be open to the oblique journals, memories, fragmentary stories that you may be creating, without even trying.”
Beautiful writing. I found it cheering
Such wonderful memories Erika, the 50 year anniversary of CR has certainly been an opportunity to think back to some amazing, frenetic times, (many of those spent with you!). Your musings reminded me of a partly knitted baby dress I found when Mum passed away, I would have out it away somewhere (that bowerbird instinct remains strong!), so might be worth finishing one of these days. Sending love to you both.