Yeah, yeah, I think I have been neglecting this poor blog... and my crafting lately. I have finished a monkey recently that will be put on Etsy... eventually... and I recently finished my first... imperfect... granny square baby blanket. Don't get me wrong, I've been crafting this whole time, I've just been neglecting this blog a bit.
Any way... I recently purchased an electronic copy of Interweave Knits Accessories from 2009 on a blow out sale (Only .10!) and I came across this wonderful article at the end that perfectly sums up my feelings about knitting, crochet, and crafting in general. I hope I'm not breaking any rules by passing this article along, as I have the author and source listed here, but someone please let me know if I should take this down so as to not make anyone upset.
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Knitting Gives Me More Than Socks
JENNIFER NASTU
I went to a business seminar recently and brought along my knitting. When the speaker began, I got to work. The harder I listened, absorbing new ideas, the faster my hands worked on my sock.
That afternoon, with my finished sock nestled in my new knitting bag and my hands—without knitting to keep them busy—restlessly doodling, the speaker made a remark that made my head snap up.
She was speaking about a woman who had been on her board of directors. “She never listened,” said our speaker. “She came to board meetings with her knitting and knitted the whole meeting long.” My cheeks burned. I felt thankful that my socks were safely tucked away. Later, I apologized to the speaker for seeming rude.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said. “You didn’t knit for that long.”
“That’s not the point,” I said. I tried to explain that my brain works better when my hands are busy, but she had gone on to someone else.
She didn’t understand. But then again, I thought, a few years ago I myself wouldn’t have understood. Though I’ve always kept my hands busy while my brain works—mostly doodling—I never thought about the brain-hand connection until I started knitting.
I haven’t been knitting long. My first project, done just over two years ago, was a pair of midnight blue chenille mittens. I was so obsessed that I worked on them in the car at stoplights. Never mind that somehow I increased the number of stitches so that when the mittens were finished I had to keep my hands fisted to keep the mittens from falling off. Never mind that cotton chenille isn’t very warm and my hands froze. It didn’t matter—they were beautiful.
My next projects were hats—many, many hats. I wrote stories in my head while I knitted—around and around until I had enough hats to keep the heads of all my family members warm. My father-in-law, a
gruff old softie who’d give me the moon if he could, cried when I gave him his hat—as though I’d given the stars in return.
Then I tried a sweater, made from rug cotton on size eleven needles. The bulky yarn reminded me of fall, and I thought of breezy days in college, remembered a friend I hadn’t thought of in years, composed a letter I’d write down later. The sweater looks, perhaps predictably, like a bathmat. I’ve never worn it but can’t throw it away. I’m hoping I’ll get a puppy soon: the sweater would make a perfect dog bed.
After that I bought a silk/cashmere blend in soft pink and knitted myself a shawl. It took months to finish, and as I worked I thought of the type of person I’d be when I wore it: tall and willowy, confident and feminine. I felt a keen sense of loss when I finally finished. Now what would I knit?
Four black hats (escapist knitting); a cotton vest in shades of pink and baby blue (reluctant knitting: “I’ll never finish this, and I’m not sure I want to”); dozens of Christmas presents (panic knitting: “If I make something for Mom then I have to make something for Dad and it’s Christmas Eve”); a Fair Isle sweater (challenging knitting: “Will I ever get the hang of this?”); staff projects for the magazine (deadline knitting). Some projects haven’t worked out; they sit tangled and sad in the bottom of my knitting basket. These are difficult to bear, and I cringe when I come upon them, feeling like a neglectful mother.
And then there are dry spells, and they are each different, as well. There’s the “I don’t have any ideas” spell, the “I don’t have any good yarn” spell (despite the overflowing state of my yarn cabinet) and, of course, the “there are too many things to knit in the world and I can’t knit all of them so I won’t knit anything” spell. This last is the most painful: I am like a sullen teenager again, refusing the beauties of the world if I can’t have them all. It’s the one that causes my heart to race and my hands to sweat whenever I see something being knitted. I want to run to the yarn store and spend enough money to give my household a heart attack, yet I hold myself back, pretending to be aloof. When this happens, I ease back into knitting with a simple hat, which always gets my mind on track again, percolating happily as my hands keep busy.
I know better. It’s not mindless, not a distraction. In fact it’s just the opposite: an attraction, one between my hands and my brain. I make no brilliant leaps when I’m knitting. I haven’t solved the problem of world hunger or cured cancer or balanced my finances. Instead I wonder and daydream. I have ideas. I create.
Jennifer Nastu learned to knit thanks to her friends here at Interweave. She wholeheartedly blames them for the current state of her addiction.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Wow, this seriously does sum up my feelings about crafting. I knit at my work meetings, and I always feel a mixture of awe at what I am creating, annoyance because they claim I distract them, or disbelief that I am really paying attention, when really I am doing to to stay focused and not fall asleep during the meetings. Doodling doesn't do it for me, I need to keep my hands and some portion of my mind busy so I can attend to the two hours of meeting 'boring-ness.'
I hope to add a few more things to this blog in the near future. Don't give up on me!
Any way... I recently purchased an electronic copy of Interweave Knits Accessories from 2009 on a blow out sale (Only .10!) and I came across this wonderful article at the end that perfectly sums up my feelings about knitting, crochet, and crafting in general. I hope I'm not breaking any rules by passing this article along, as I have the author and source listed here, but someone please let me know if I should take this down so as to not make anyone upset.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Knitting Gives Me More Than Socks
JENNIFER NASTU
I went to a business seminar recently and brought along my knitting. When the speaker began, I got to work. The harder I listened, absorbing new ideas, the faster my hands worked on my sock.
That afternoon, with my finished sock nestled in my new knitting bag and my hands—without knitting to keep them busy—restlessly doodling, the speaker made a remark that made my head snap up.
She was speaking about a woman who had been on her board of directors. “She never listened,” said our speaker. “She came to board meetings with her knitting and knitted the whole meeting long.” My cheeks burned. I felt thankful that my socks were safely tucked away. Later, I apologized to the speaker for seeming rude.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said. “You didn’t knit for that long.”
“That’s not the point,” I said. I tried to explain that my brain works better when my hands are busy, but she had gone on to someone else.
She didn’t understand. But then again, I thought, a few years ago I myself wouldn’t have understood. Though I’ve always kept my hands busy while my brain works—mostly doodling—I never thought about the brain-hand connection until I started knitting.
I haven’t been knitting long. My first project, done just over two years ago, was a pair of midnight blue chenille mittens. I was so obsessed that I worked on them in the car at stoplights. Never mind that somehow I increased the number of stitches so that when the mittens were finished I had to keep my hands fisted to keep the mittens from falling off. Never mind that cotton chenille isn’t very warm and my hands froze. It didn’t matter—they were beautiful.
My next projects were hats—many, many hats. I wrote stories in my head while I knitted—around and around until I had enough hats to keep the heads of all my family members warm. My father-in-law, a
gruff old softie who’d give me the moon if he could, cried when I gave him his hat—as though I’d given the stars in return.
Then I tried a sweater, made from rug cotton on size eleven needles. The bulky yarn reminded me of fall, and I thought of breezy days in college, remembered a friend I hadn’t thought of in years, composed a letter I’d write down later. The sweater looks, perhaps predictably, like a bathmat. I’ve never worn it but can’t throw it away. I’m hoping I’ll get a puppy soon: the sweater would make a perfect dog bed.
After that I bought a silk/cashmere blend in soft pink and knitted myself a shawl. It took months to finish, and as I worked I thought of the type of person I’d be when I wore it: tall and willowy, confident and feminine. I felt a keen sense of loss when I finally finished. Now what would I knit?
Four black hats (escapist knitting); a cotton vest in shades of pink and baby blue (reluctant knitting: “I’ll never finish this, and I’m not sure I want to”); dozens of Christmas presents (panic knitting: “If I make something for Mom then I have to make something for Dad and it’s Christmas Eve”); a Fair Isle sweater (challenging knitting: “Will I ever get the hang of this?”); staff projects for the magazine (deadline knitting). Some projects haven’t worked out; they sit tangled and sad in the bottom of my knitting basket. These are difficult to bear, and I cringe when I come upon them, feeling like a neglectful mother.
And then there are dry spells, and they are each different, as well. There’s the “I don’t have any ideas” spell, the “I don’t have any good yarn” spell (despite the overflowing state of my yarn cabinet) and, of course, the “there are too many things to knit in the world and I can’t knit all of them so I won’t knit anything” spell. This last is the most painful: I am like a sullen teenager again, refusing the beauties of the world if I can’t have them all. It’s the one that causes my heart to race and my hands to sweat whenever I see something being knitted. I want to run to the yarn store and spend enough money to give my household a heart attack, yet I hold myself back, pretending to be aloof. When this happens, I ease back into knitting with a simple hat, which always gets my mind on track again, percolating happily as my hands keep busy.
I know better. It’s not mindless, not a distraction. In fact it’s just the opposite: an attraction, one between my hands and my brain. I make no brilliant leaps when I’m knitting. I haven’t solved the problem of world hunger or cured cancer or balanced my finances. Instead I wonder and daydream. I have ideas. I create.
Jennifer Nastu learned to knit thanks to her friends here at Interweave. She wholeheartedly blames them for the current state of her addiction.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Wow, this seriously does sum up my feelings about crafting. I knit at my work meetings, and I always feel a mixture of awe at what I am creating, annoyance because they claim I distract them, or disbelief that I am really paying attention, when really I am doing to to stay focused and not fall asleep during the meetings. Doodling doesn't do it for me, I need to keep my hands and some portion of my mind busy so I can attend to the two hours of meeting 'boring-ness.'
I hope to add a few more things to this blog in the near future. Don't give up on me!
