HOMEFREE : KNITTING

(re-post)

Knitting is more than the sum of its parts, far more than two sticks and a string and two stitches. Something weird and wonderful occurs when one knits and this escalates when we let go of the expectation of the destination and let the journey happen. Which is perhaps rather a high falutin' way of saying relax and enjoy the trip, Babe. And you too, Bud.

What is it about Knitting?! Analysis doesn't seem to lead to paralysis in this case. Maybe speculation unravels insight due to the 'opening' click click click rhythm of the needles as they go about their business. Akin to the heart beating and pulsing life. Encouraging the harmony of breath.

What is it...... Well -

I like how the fourth needle in circular knitting creeps backward as it is relieved of its stitches and then, freed of its duty, rests in satisfied balance in the crook of my little finger, until - it somersaults neatly into my right hand, ready and eager to once again take its turn in the predominant position and plunge ahead.

I like how different fibres react with a "you've got to be kidding" response to being set upon (by?) inappropriate needles. (And how this can vary with the temperature or combination or my mood!) Chenille and 'cheap' plastic. Mohair and metal. Cotton and dark wood. "Bone... bone... bone...." I hear the fibres chanting because I have
never encountered a yarn the bone doesn't charm. Bone is chilly to knit with if the weather is at all damp or the wind cool. And I must soothe the angst I feel at thought of origin by assuming that if these bone needles did come from the tusk of an endangered species elephant - it likely, hopefully, was an unfortunate road kill.

I like how these self same fingers can soon forgive the 'coldness' I may have inflicted on them in a stubborn resistance to knitting in inclement conditions and how these fingers will patiently pick out the tangles that can mysteriously clog a length of wool. How these fingers seem to navigate out of chaos as if following a map of their own.

I like how the growing garment in my lap brings a sudden and welcome and warming memory of a baby son, now grown, once occupying that very space.

I like how "purl" becomes magical when we put the wool in back and then perform "purl". Two stitches appear! And if we poke the needle under two stitches and perform "purl" with the wool in back - nothing is gained in that nothing is lost and we have an old lace faggot chain. On two stitches it is a chain. On six stitches it becomes a bookmark. On a dozen or so, a belt. On many, a shawl. On any number, a work of art.

I like how we can knit for others. Literally. I have had this happen often enough to mention it here with confidence that others will respond and relate similar experiences. There truly is a collective consciousness, a Oneness that we touch when we dare to use voice. This 'other' knitting has occurred during 'rescues'. Most recently I was involved in helping a woman with an exquisite baby blanket her mother had been unable to finish because, in her nineties, she was no longer able to knit. Mistakes were evident in the last five or six rows of an otherwise flawless blanket. Another woman tried to painstakingly unravel stitch by stitch but finally asked for, and received, permission to fearlessly frog (rip it! rip it!) back past the mistakes. The challenge then was, with nearly three hundred stitches hanging loose in the berry pattern, to get all the critters back on the needles. We each took an end. We did it. Didn't we? The proof would be when the next row was knit in pattern. Would it match? The wool was fine. The needles were thin and metal. Now, I cannot knit with metal needles. Immediately they make my hands ache and I have to put them down. But as I picked up the shawl and started across in the K1,P1,K1, P3 tog this did not happen. And I knew why. I was not knitting. It was the woman's mother. I could feel her working through my hands, my also aging hands, but still functional. I felt so honoured to be thus engaged. And the 'fresh start' will be seamless.

I like how there is diversity in knitters and knitting and how the tendency is to welcome and appreciate and applaud all. There are the 'follow a pattern perfectly' people. There are the 'follow a pattern not so perfectly' people. There are the 'perfectly knit an original' people. There are the 'not so perfectly knit an original' people. There are intuitive knitters where this is not an issue.

I knit therefore I am therefore I knit.

Posted on June 15, 2004 at 10:14 AM | Permalink

Knitting is more than the sum of its parts, far more than two sticks and a string and two stitches. Something weird and wonderful occurs when one knits and this escalates when we let go of the expectation of the destination and let the journey happen. Which is perhaps rather a high falutin' way of saying relax and enjoy the trip, Babe. And you too, Bud.

What is it about Knitting?! Analysis doesn't seem to lead to paralysis in this case. Maybe speculation unravels insight due to the 'opening' click click click rhythm of the needles as they go about their business. Akin to the heart beating and pulsing life. Encouraging the harmony of breath.

What is it...... Well -

I like how the fourth needle in circular knitting creeps backward as it is relieved of its stitches and then, freed of its duty, rests in satisfied balance in the crook of my little finger, until - it somersaults neatly into my right hand, ready and eager to once again take its turn in the predominant position and plunge ahead.

I like how different fibres react with a "you've got to be kidding" response to being set upon (by?) inappropriate needles. (And how this can vary with the temperature or combination or my mood!) Chenille and 'cheap' plastic. Mohair and metal. Cotton and dark wood. "Bone... bone... bone...." I hear the fibres chanting because I have
never encountered a yarn the bone doesn't charm. Bone is chilly to knit with if the weather is at all damp or the wind cool. And I must soothe the angst I feel at thought of origin by assuming that if these bone needles did come from the tusk of an endangered species elephant - it likely, hopefully, was an unfortunate road kill.

I like how these self same fingers can soon forgive the 'coldness' I may have inflicted on them in a stubborn resistance to knitting in inclement conditions and how these fingers will patiently pick out the tangles that can mysteriously clog a length of wool. How these fingers seem to navigate out of chaos as if following a map of their own.

I like how the growing garment in my lap brings a sudden and welcome and warming memory of a baby son, now grown, once occupying that very space.

I like how "purl" becomes magical when we put the wool in back and then perform "purl". Two stitches appear! And if we poke the needle under two stitches and perform "purl" with the wool in back - nothing is gained in that nothing is lost and we have an old lace faggot chain. On two stitches it is a chain. On six stitches it becomes a bookmark. On a dozen or so, a belt. On many, a shawl. On any number, a work of art.

I like how we can knit for others. Literally. I have had this happen often enough to mention it here with confidence that others will respond and relate similar experiences. There truly is a collective consciousness, a Oneness that we touch when we dare to use voice. This 'other' knitting has occurred during 'rescues'. Most recently I was involved in helping a woman with an exquisite baby blanket her mother had been unable to finish because, in her nineties, she was no longer able to knit. Mistakes were evident in the last five or six rows of an otherwise flawless blanket. Another woman tried to painstakingly unravel stitch by stitch but finally asked for, and received, permission to fearlessly frog (rip it! rip it!) back past the mistakes. The challenge then was, with nearly three hundred stitches hanging loose in the berry pattern, to get all the critters back on the needles. We each took an end. We did it. Didn't we? The proof would be when the next row was knit in pattern. Would it match? The wool was fine. The needles were thin and metal. Now, I cannot knit with metal needles. Immediately they make my hands ache and I have to put them down. But as I picked up the shawl and started across in the K1,P1,K1, P3 tog this did not happen. And I knew why. I was not knitting. It was the woman's mother. I could feel her working through my hands, my also aging hands, but still functional. I felt so honoured to be thus engaged. And the 'fresh start' will be seamless.

I like how there is diversity in knitters and knitting and how the tendency is to welcome and appreciate and applaud all. There are the 'follow a pattern perfectly' people. There are the 'follow a pattern not so perfectly' people. There are the 'perfectly knit an original' people. There are the 'not so perfectly knit an original' people. There are intuitive knitters where this is not an issue.

I knit therefore I am therefore I knit.