Craft/Life

In an age when people like to talk about "the end of blogging," I still read craft blogs. Nowhere near the number that I once did, but as the quantity has diminished, the quality has increased. Now, I focus my attention on the blogs of people whose work I respect and whose writing challenges me to think about what I make and why. One of these blogs is by Karie Westermann; earlier this week she wrote about the commodification of the craft revival. This is a topic that I think about often, and in this blog post I'm adding my voice that conversation.

Love what you love, make what you make, from Dropcloth Samplers

There was a time when I read dozens of posts on craft blogs every day. At that time I was working in commercial publishing (magazines). I was responsible for producing up to 24 craft articles per year, plus associated online content and blog posts – between three and five posts per week – for almost four years. Reading widely – indiscriminately – was a necessity. I had to churn through that much material just to keep the content factory running. So I read blog posts about making necklaces by covering lengths of chain from the hardware store in embroidery floss or spray paint, and I reblogged directions for projects that involved "altering" (let's be real: defacing) books, and I pretended to be interested in Shrinky-Dinks and repurposing thrift store finds. Sometimes I got to do something that actually was interesting – I taught myself basic book-making for one story; commissioned some great knitting patterns and projects by other people; sewed a thing or two I was proud of. But in private, to my friends and family, I often described what I did as "showing people how to make crap out of junk." 

At first it was fun, then it got to be a bit monotonous, and as time wore on, I came to hate the make-it-and-forget-it crafts: activities that involved minimal skill and resulted in things of minimal value, things that were destined for the garbage dump. What value there was in those crafts came from ad sales, from page views and clicks-per-million, not from carrying on time-honoured traditions, building skills, or contributing to a larger movement (no, "pinning" yet another cute way to use a Mason jar doesn't count). It all came down to satisfying someone else's bottom line and it took up almost all of my time. Crafting was my life and it was exhausting.

The more I made crap out of junk, the more I longed to create things that had both style and substance, or, to quote a famous craft revivalist, things that were both beautiful and useful. I learned to sew and knit and embroider when I was a child – I've been practising some of those crafts for almost 30 years now – and the deeper I got into the world of disposable craft, the further away actual craftsmanship seemed. Technique didn't seem to matter; specialized vocabulary seemed a thing of the past. (I'll never forget the blog post I saw that called for "a round circle of wood.") I wasn't contributing to a conversation, I was shouting into the void.

Since then, my life has taken some twists and turns. Crafting is no longer my life or my livelihood. I work for a non-profit organization now, and it's been more than two years since I read a blog post about spray-painting a trinket from a thrift shop. I gave away all my random craft supplies: goodbye, glitter, glue gun, mod-podge. I craft less, and when I do craft, it's mostly knitting. But I'm able to spend time making things that are meaningful to me; that use materials I've chosen according to my own criteria and skills I've taken the time to cultivate. The quantity has diminished, but the quality has increased.

I still think about how we create and assign value to our skills, to the products of our work, and to ourselves. I've met a lot of crafters, and their interests and abilities are as unique as they are. And while I'd like to think there is one right way (my way, obviously) of crafting and promoting craftsmanship, over time I've learned that there isn't. Crafting trends will come and go; commercial interests will exert their influence and succeed or fail. As with many things in life, I suspect it's cyclical; we surely aren't the first people to worry that it's all about to go down the tubes.

In the end, I'm with Karie: I'll practice my craft to the best of my ability. I'll choose the materials that are right for me, and work on projects that have some meaning, or at least some practical application to my life. I'll be honest about the things that work and the things that don't, and thoughtful when I try to figure out why. I'll cultivate meaningful connections in my work and I'll celebrate the contributions that others make to the craft. Maybe we're all doing something slightly different, but we're all in it together.

***

P.S. I don't read as many food blogs as I used to, either, but I read enough that I noticed a little dust-up happening back in March. In a way, this blog post from Lottie+Doof echoes some of Karie's messages – the threat of homogenization; the idea of food blogging as a viable "lifestyle" (read: lucrative job) when really it's a hard grind at which not everyone can be successful; the challenge to stop accepting the status quo, to push boundaries and to "do better." Interesting parallels.
P.P.S. I was lucky to work with a host of brilliantly talented, creative, kind, funny, hard-working people in my magazine days. I want to make it clear that my comments refer to my own work, not to theirs.

Toward a handmade wardrobe

One of the things I've been thinking about a lot since I've moved is the role that craft plays in my life, and how the things I make, and the work that goes into making them, have also helped me form my identity and find my community. I've been mulling it over a lot this winter – thinking seems to go hand-in-hand with being in "fibernation" – and now I'm going to start writing about it a bit to see if I can make sense of it. This is the beginning of that process.

With the arrival of spring, my mind turns to sewing, but it's been several years since I've made anything more than a zippered clutch or a tote bag. This year, though, I've got the urge to spend some serious time at my sewing machine.

I've recently read a number of blog posts about making an entire wardrobe – a challenge I've been considering for some time, but that I've never really done anything about. My blog-reading tends to be heavily skewed toward knitting rather than sewing, but there is some crossover, and it's in these posts that I've found my inspiration. Karen's recent posts about wardrobe planning and being very intentional about what she makes really got me thinking, as did Felicia's posts about simple sewing.

In short, they are both talking about taking a good look at what you really love to wear, assessing the clothes that you own, and then making more clothes like the ones that you love. It's about choosing to spend time and money on things that will provide enduring value, rather than one-offs that you're making just for novelty's sake. It seems obvious (how long does it take to knit a sweater? how much did all that yarn or fabric cost?), and in some ways it's a natural extension of the movement away from "fast fashion" toward buying ethically made clothing. It's about being deliberate about how you allocate your resources, whether those resources are money, time or effort (or, realistically, all three).

When it comes to clothes, I know what I like and I have a decent idea of what looks good on me, but I also know that I often choose to make things that fall outside of those two criteria – most of the time because I am attracted by the novelty factor. There are basic things I've made that I wear again and again, and there are elaborate things I've made that never get worn, despite how long I laboured over them or how much the materials cost.

Thing is, sometimes I want to reward myself by splurging on luxurious yarn, or I want to support a designer I know, or I want to join in on a community project – even though I know deep down that the yarn won't stand up to the wear and tear of being a wardrobe staple, or that the pattern won't really flatter me in the way I'd like it to, or that I'm joining the knitalong just for the camaraderie, rather than the end product. If I'm going to make my wardrobe, I need to think more carefully about what I make: I need to go for hard-wearing, versatile wardrobe basics, and limit the more frivolous one-offs.

So one day last week I sat down with a notebook and jotted down ideas about what I'd make if I were to make my entire wardrobe. I thought about what I've made and what I wear, and then zeroed in on where those two categories overlapped. Basic A-line skirts, simple boat-neck tops and yoked cardigans, made with natural fibres, in neutrals or jewel-tones: those are where my strengths lie. I'd like more basic bottoms – especially trousers (a challenge, but one that will be worthwhile, I think.) Complex cabled or lace sweaters in bright hand-dyed yarns are fun to knit, but they don't make it into the repeat-wear pile. I'll save the complex patterns, the hand-dyed yarns and the knitalongs for accessories – quick to knit and something I generally get a lot more wear out of.

I think the next step is to gather some patterns, and maybe try Polyvore to see if it will help me visualize how the patterns go together. Ravelry is a great resource, but what's your favourite source of sewing patterns? I'd be grateful for tips!

Crafty meanderings

April lived up to its reputation: cold, dark, rainy. Not pleasant, but the rain did the trick, and aside from a few crudbergs that remain in shady places, the only sign of the enormous snowbanks that lined the streets all winter is the gravel in the gutters and on the sidewalks – grit from days when salting wasn't enough, bits of asphalt from where the blades of the plows dug too deep into the roads. 

Now the grass is beginning to green, the lichen on the maple trees glows chartreuse in the sun, and brave crocuses and daffodils turn their faces to the light, all purple and yellow. Up the hill on Tulip Street, the boulevards are planted with hundreds of bulbs; I've changed my route to work in the hopes of seeing the first blooms someday soon. Maybe by Victoria Day.

What's to be done when it seems like the grey, rainy days will never end? Hunker down with the pinkest knitting project you can find, of course. This is a February baby sweater for a March baby. She might turn out to be a tomboy, who knows, but she's the first girl baby in my circle in a few years, and I couldn't resist the pink yarn, the lace, the mother-of-pearl buttons. 

In other news, I signed up for a weaving class. It's a step (or three) up from my little rigid heddle loom: a four-heddle floor loom, big enough to make a blanket on, if I really wanted to. Tomorrow we warp our looms, which might take the entire three-hour class; then we start our samplers. If we get far enough, there's a scarf in the offing. (The first project always seems to be a scarf. I get it, but...a lady can only make so many scarves she'll never wear. Maybe I'll magic the finished object into a pencil case or something.)

In knitting news, I did a bit of stash diving yesterday. I have enough yarn to make three weeks' worth of socks, four sweaters, one toy rabbit, a fair-size afghan and any number of shawl-type accessories, which I should probably try to remember next time I start fantasizing about spending an entire paycheque on yarn when I'm in Toronto at the end of the month. A fond hope but true.

I'm working on a hap as part of the Knit British hapalong. I love just about everything about this project – the history behind the garment, the organic construction, the endless possibilities for colour combinations, the versatility of the finished object. I've wanted to make one for myself for ages, and I know I'll get a lot of wear out of this one.

Given how long its taken spring to arrive, I'm not sure how much wear I'll get out of this dress (erm, maybe that should be, "given that it's still just yardage.."). But hope springs eternal! And so today I've got some cutting-out to do, and a bit of practising to get my French seams back up to snuff.

Hmmm, and what's this? Plans are afoot. More later this week!

March 29 – Craft scenes

I'm still not used to having a space that's dedicated to crafting. Sitting down at my desk to sew still seems really novel; it's best in the morning, when the light streams in.

Took a class in paper-template patchwork. Very interesting; lots of potential.

I've been thinking big thoughts about levels of skill, experience and experimentation, tools and materials, how we signal that we belong in a community, how those communities form and shift and change. I've got pages of scribbled notes all over my desk, but I'm having trouble getting the thoughts to coalesce.

Meanwhile, my mind has turned to sewing, as sure a sign as any that spring is on its way. 

I pulled out some springy skeins to inspire me. They last longer and require less upkeep than tulips.

Spring cleaned my knitting notions box. Doing that always makes me think of Amélie.

Needed a bit of whimsy in my knitting, so I'm making a sheep. Didn't encourage the month to go out like a lamb, though; I woke up to another 20 cm of snow on the ground this morning.

Took my table runner off the loom. Should have ironed it pre-photography, obviously. Pleased with my progress. Next up, a Noro scarf.

Took a look at the classics on my bookshelf.

What have you been up to?

March 19: Weaving update

So, I thought it might be interesting to show you my weaving so far. These swatches are not masterpieces by any stretch of the imagination, but there's something satisfying about the first finished objects in any craft, even if they are practically the dictionary definition of raggle-taggle. (Not that that's stopping me from using them as coasters!)

Basic info:

Yarn: Tanis Fiber Arts Yellow Label (DK weight) in Sand and Grape

Heddle: 8-dent (supplied in the Cricket kit; generally intended for use with worsted-weight yarns)

Warp ends: 4 Sand / 10 Grape / 10 Sand / 10 Grape / 4 Sand

Swatch #1:

Beating too hard after every pick meant that this was a very tight weave and didn't really show off the plaid at all. It was late when I started; I was sitting on the floor with the loom at an odd angle; I had a really intense mystery show on in the back ground. I think those things might all have contributed to this. 

If you look at the edges you can see how loopy the weft is, and how uneven the edges are. This is my widest swatch, at 4.5". I didn't leave long enough ends, so finishing with knots was a challenge. BUT: it's fabric!

Swatch #2:

This is the one that I'm most pleased with, actually. The fringe leaves a bit to be desired, but for a first time out with hemstitching, I'm pretty pleased. (I used this tutorial.) I wasn't beating so hard, so you actually get a sense of the plaid. And my edges are much more even. This measures 4.25" across.

Swatch #3:

I don't know if I'd give this full "third time's a charm" status, but I definitely felt a better sense of flow with this. Still working on tension issues, but generally more consistent across the board. Measures 4" across and about 12" long (shown folded in half). Thought about using it to sew up a little pouch...might still do that. Maybe.

Things I learned:

Unlike in knitting, where you wash your finished object in cold water, in weaving you wash in hot water with a harsher soap, because you actually want to encourage the threads to "full out" – blooming and even felting a bit. (Side note: The first time I saw "full out" in reference to weaving I thought it was a typo for "fill out." It wasn't until I made the connection to fulling – treating knitting fabric with hot water, soap and agitation – that I figured it out.) This helps fill in what can be a very open weave. This makes me think that maybe superwash wool isn't the best choice for weaving, as it's been treated so that it's less likely to full.

Also, loom waste: it's significant! People talk about weaving as a way to work through your stash quickly, and they aren't exaggerating. If you're used to eking out every last inch of yarn from your skein for just-one-more knit stitch, intentionally leaving long ends when warping feels odd – but not as odd as trimming them at the end feels. One look at those skew-whiff knots on Swatch #1 was enough to convince me that the waste is worth it. I can definitely see this as a way to work through some of my sock yarn stash and I'm already thinking about Christmas scarves for 2015.

Weaving in ends is going to take some practice. I'm finding it hard to make them look...intentional.

Finally, I need a resource book. I found a copy of Weaving for Beginners at the library, but it's focussed more toward table and floor looms; the chapter on rigid heddle looms is rather perfunctory. Any recommendations?

Things I want:

- 10- and 12-dent heddles 

- a shuttle with a bobbin

- a good rigid heddle resource book 

What's next:

Having gone quick-and-dirty for my first outing with the Cricket, I decided I was up for something a little more challenging, so on the weekend I used the yarn that came with the kit to warp up a 60" warp for a table runner. It's a very Easter-y purple and green worsted (a brand I'm not familiar with); I'm using Rowan Fine Yarn Worsted from my stash for the weft. So far so good:

I'm still trying to work on tension, especially on the sides, and on weaving in my ends neatly. I'm trying not to worry too much about colour-fastness and the fulling process – I'll cross that bridge if I come to it. I'm not sure, but I suspect this project might be the weaving equivalent of a beginner's garter-stitch scarf.

I'll let you know how it turns out. Any questions? Suggestions for resources? Tips and tricks? Let me know!

March 7: Adventures

Oh hi.

It's still winter here. There is still a six-inch thick coating of ice on all the sidewalks. The snowbanks are still taller than I am. It's still cold.

But I'm sitting in a quiet house right now and I can hear the snow melting off the roof. Somewhere nearby a red-winged blackbird sings. If you look carefully out of the corner of your eye as you speed by on the highway, you can see that the branches of the maple trees are reddening. Two nights ago it was the sap moon. Spring is coming.

Last weekend I drove out to Gaspereau Valley Fibres. It's a yarn store on a working sheep farm in the Annapolis Valley, not far from Wolfville. Every knitter I've met here talks about it reverently, so with a car and some free time on my hands I made the trek.

The store is in an old barn that's been fitted out with shelves and tables and a woodstove, and it's chock-a-block with (mostly local) yarn, plus knitting, weaving, felting and rug-hooking supplies. There's a store cat, and a sign on the door warning about store-cat-eating eagles. A bit different from the urban yarn stores that I'm used to. Definitely worth the drive.

I was in search of two things: a skein of Koigu for a baby layette for a girl I work with (if you want the quickest, easiest, cutest baby gift, one skien of KPPPM is enough to make these booties and this wee hat) and a loom.

Yep, a loom.

I took a weaving class a couple years ago and that sated my curiosity for a while. But then a couple of weeks ago I saw Shireenn's colour-shifting scarf. It's beautiful – a far cry from what I'd made with my scraps of Cascade 220. Inspired, I headed to GVF because I knew they had rigid heddle looms in stock.

I came home with a 15" Cricket loom and a new hobby.

It only took about 45 minutes to put together, including the time it took to find the screwdriver. Warping took about half an hour.

I'm using TFA yellow label left over from my African flower blanket. I think it's important to use nice things – even if you're just learning, even if the results might be a bit wonky.

I have to remind myself that sometimes the doing is the thing, and to give myself a break if it's not perfect on the first go. Nothing's ever perfect on the first go. 

Sometimes people see me knitting and say they tried to learn to knit and gave up because they couldn't do it, usually after one crooked potholder. As though I haven't made my fair share of hats riddled with unintentional yarnovers or wibbly-wobbly scarves. It drives me crazy. I don't believe in making ugly things on purpose, but I do believe in giving yourself room to make mistakes as you learn.

I'm trying to keep that in mind as I weave.

(Don't be fooled: I'm still a little vain. This is my second attempt. The first one was pretty – you guessed it – wibbly-wobbly.)

Perfect? No. Fun? Yes. I've got a lot to learn, but I don't mind. Maybe I'll be a bit better by the time spring rolls around.

February 13: Baking in the dead of winter

We're in the thick of it here, winter-wise, and I'm obsessed with hygge.

So far, this has translated into lighting lots of candles, having drinks in cozy pubs...and making bread. It's just basic sandwich bread – but oh, it's good.

I let the mixer do most of the hard work.

A few good turns on the countertop...

And into the pan it goes.

Success!

January 27 – A stitch in time

So here's a thing about being a sock knitter: eventually you become a sock darner.

You might remember these socks from before. I discovered recently that they needed a bit more help...so out came the needle and yarn and darning egg again.

And then this weekend I discovered that another pair of socks was on the verge of holey-ness. These socks – I think of them as "the first of the modern era," as they're the first pair I made when I really got back into knitting again, about six years ago – were made with a super sturdy yarn (a good 25% acrylic blend does wonders for preserving lifespan) but worn spots come even to the best of socks.

A bit of weaving, a bit of Swiss darning, a bit of making-it-up-as-I-go, and these guys are ready to go back into service for at least a little while longer. It might not be super pretty, but I find it enjoyable in its own way, and I'm certainly faster at darning socks than I am at knitting them!

More on darning: Rachel's post about her visit to The Department of Repair; Tom of Holland on darning samplers and a really cool sweater repair; Kate Atherley on darning basics in Knitty; super skilful repairs to inspire you from Addison Embroidery.

Jan 11 – The other side

Well. That was a whirlwind.

Since last we met I've packed, moved, unpacked, started my job, flown home for Christmas, flown back to Halifax, gone back to work and unpacked a bit more. I've been the lucky recipient of endless amounts of hospitality as my belongings wended their way cross-country in the back of a moving van. I'm lucky to have many kind and generous friends who've made the transition easier than I'd imagined it could be. 

In between all the travel and packing and unpacking, I marked sixty final exams and forty portfolios, enjoyed multiple goodbye parties, knitted a few tiny Christmas socks, watched a friend's son take his first steps, and ate the best part of a tin of Quality Street. Somewhere in there I ate turkey; had trifle for breakfast; soaked up as much time with friends as I could (never enough, but still: we tried).

Now I'm here, settled in to my new home, getting into the swing of a new routine. I'm mastering the hills (oh my goodness, the hills), have located the yarn shops and a knitting group (though I've barely knit a stitch – too distracted), and I hosted my first dinner party last night. My first visitor from Upper Canada is due to arrive in less than a month. It's coming together.

Today I picked up the camera and followed the sun around the apartment. Some scenes...

This bowl just glows in the right light.

A housewarming gift from my sister. Everyone needs a wiener dog to guard their keys!

These are going to be a pair of long johns, eventually. Hopefully sooner rather than later: it's COLD here! (I know, I know, it's winter in Canada. But still.)

They renovated my building but left the original ceiling in the entryway.

La plus ça change...made these cookies and felt right at home.

A stool for perching on at breakfast time. It needs a cushion. I've got the fabric – just need to get my hands on a pillow form.

I filled the spare room with craft supplies. Naturally.

I've got a window over the sink! The perfect home for some of my favourite things.

I can watch the sun set while I wash the dishes. The skies here are spectacular – a by-product of the frigid temperatures.

Old friends.

Fresh flowers – I'm so happy that it's tulip time again.

I've always thought of clear skies like this as "Nova Scotia blue."

So that's that. Home. Hooray!