needled

One of my birthday gifts was this lovely skirt designed by Rob Ryan for. . .yes, Clothkits. (I am so predictable). I made it up a few weeks ago — cutting and sewing it neatly and without hitches in (ahem) just three hours. (Sewing hubris? Wot? Me?)The facings and linings worked slightly differently in the pattern instructions than with the big birdie skirt. Not having to match up, pin and sew curves on the facings makes for a much speedier skirt. And what a skirt it is. Absolutely delicious.

I would show you some more pics of the process of making the skirt — but I can’t (missing computer issues continue, O, when will it end?). But one of my favourite things about this garment is its lovely scalloped edging. I obviously needed a top with scallops to match. So I knitted one up.

The top is a sort-of copy of one I saw sported by a knitting comrade at K1 yarns a few thursdays ago. Hers is a version of “Elf” in this Marie Wallin book for Rowan. It has lovely, elaborate crocheted scallops. Mine is a lo-fi seamless raglan, knit from the bottom up, at 5 stitches to the inch, using one strand of kidsilk haze. I just made it up as I went along and crocheted on the scalloped edging using two strands of yarn and a simple repeat. But this is merely because I’m not a very good, or very experienced, crocheter. The edging in the original pattern is much more impressive.

Now, a word about knitting black kidsilk haze: DON’T!. It was like dealing with a fractious, elusive, woolly creature. I couldn’t see my stitches. I couldn’t tell the right from wrong side. I couldn’t see a berloody thing. And that’s to say nothing about the prospect of pulling back stitches or frogging the stuff. The yarn is pure evil! At least the body and sleeves were mindless tubes of stockinette — I just went round and round — but imagine the horror of the crochet. Sheesh. Never again.

So this was not an enjoyable process at all, but the end result is fine, and precisely what I wanted.

We’ve been down in Lancashire for the weekend, and I had a nice walk to Lytham yesterday. I was wearing the top and skirt. It was very windy. I mention this so that you don’t think that I’ve suddenly gone all tufty, or turned into some kind of cone head. And the skirt just wouldn’t hang flat either. But this is simply the effect of a brisk north westerly coming at me head on down the Fylde Coast at 80 miles an hour. Bracing, as they say.

Anyway, here is the whole black and white outfit:

The building I am standing in front of, wearing its own black and white outfit, is, of course, the Lytham Windmill. Along with the Blackpool Tower, it is one of the Fylde’s iconic landmarks. You can go inside, peruse exhibits about milling and regional history, and chat to the nice folk from the Lytham Heritage Group, as we did yesterday. Here’s one more pic.

So:
Pattern: my own made-up seamless raglan tee with crocheted edging. See instructions for similar bottom-up seamless prototypes by EZ or Ann Budd.
Gauge: 5 sts to inch, 3.5 mm addis.
Yarn: Kidsilk haze, black, 2 x 25 g. Yes, this is a top you can make with just 50g of yarn.
Edging: two strands of yarn, 4.5 mm hook, working a repeat of 5 tr, skip 1, 1dc, skip 1 into a round of double crochet.
Ravelled here

Hurrah! Apple have agreed to replace the logic board on the computer. We do not have to shell out. There is An Adventure planned for later. But I have a few hours this morning for reading, knitting. . .

. . . and taking a new direction with Belle’s quilt

(warning: long post!)

Guess where I’ve been this weekend?

(Bruno, the North Ronaldsay ram).

. . . to marvel at some wonderful beasties . . .

(these two lovely ladies belong to Robin and Caroline Sandys-Clarke of Why not Alpacas)

. . .and the stuff that comes off their backs . . .

. . . yes, I was at WOOLFEST!

This year I am writing an article about Woolfest, and this gave me an opportunity to meet and chat with some really lovely people, and to hear about some inspirational businesses, projects, and initiatives. My piece will be about what makes this show so distinctive: its contemporaneity and energy coupled with a deeply held respect for regional identities and long-established craft and textile traditions. And all of this is thanks to the women of the Woolclip co-operative who organise the show.

Woolfest is wonderful! But I have to save its bigger picture and my thoughts for the magazine article. So heres some stuff about what I did and (gulp) bought this weekend.

Some of my work at the moment involves writing about a group of Eighteenth- and Nineteenth-century women whose attitudes to consumption are hesitant at best, and I think that their negative view of shopping (as something in which you are inevitably exchanging/ losing part of yourself) rather rubs off on me. As a consequence, I tend not to talk about my stash, or about buying yarn or fabric on this blog. And my not-buying-clothes-for-a-year project-thing has also made me regard stuff and its acquisition with a weird, nigh pompous embarrassment. Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I discussed my stash-ambivalence with Felix, who among her many other talents, is a fount of tremendous Good Sense. In response to my problem with yarn as just another soul-sapping commodity, she spoke articulately about 1) how her stash represented a series of promises of time saved up, time that was going to be well spent in the future; 2) how her stash spoke to her of a whole world of creative possibility, enabling any project or experiment that might spring to her mind; and 3) how it was an incredibly positive thing to be spending one’s money in support of yarn producers, spinners and dyers — the artists and artisans one respects and admires. In the face of this wisdom, my concerns about commerce, stash guilt, and yarn p*rn all seemed rather foolish, frankly. Why should I be embarrassed about the stuff that I buy?

My experience as a Woolfest consumer was Immensely Satisfying. So I thought I’d show you the stuff that I bought, and why I bought it.

Evidently I am in my blue period, or summat, as I bought a lot of blue things.

1) Bowmont Braf 4 ply. A few skeins in a few different colours — enough to make a fairisle-ish top. Bowmont Braf is a new Welsh cross-breed and the wool these sheep produce is completely amazing. It’s a shame you can’t really see how it feels — otherwise the knitters among you would be making peculiar appreciative noises. It is incredibly soft and springy and, knitted up, has a very pleasing velvety, matt quality that is very distinctive. It feels like cashmere, frankly, but with much more loft and body — it behaves like wool — which of course it is. I saw and felt a sweater knitted in it at last years Woolfest and haven’t stopped thinking about it since. I had to get some. It is spun and dyed in Wales too.

2. Linen embroidery thread from Mulberry Dyer. The dye is woad and on linen it is luminous and lovely. I can stitch with it and foolishly imagine I am back in the early eighteenth century.

3. Several skeins of wonderful Blue Faced Leicester DK from Artisan Threads. (My photo here does not do the range of subtle blues in this yarn any sort of justice). Jill and Penny are two talented textile artists based in Nairn, in the Scottish Highlands, who just launched their new company selling naturally dyed fleeces, yarn and thread. (Their website is not up yet, but should be very soon). Most of what they sell is locally sourced and produced, and they talk about the animals from which their yarn originated as articulately as they do about dyes and dying. Their knack with colour is really amazing and their yarns are all utterly beautiful — subtle, and slightly semi-solid. At every stage, process is an important part of the end product — and the end product is very good indeed. Perhaps the best compliment I can give this yarn is to say that the only place I’ve ever seen anything remotely like it is at Shilasdair. It is truly beautiful stuff and, if I was a spinner, I’d have been snapping up a fleece or two as well.

Top and bottom left are laceweight cashmere/silk and bluefaced leicester ‘dazzle’ sock yarn, both from the Natural Dye Studio. Their yarn is Very Nice. Top right is merino sock yarn from The Yarn Yard. Natalie is based just outside Edinburgh, and this is the first time I’ve met her or her yarns — which are gorgeous. She runs a sock club which is unlike others I’ve come across as you can drop in and out as and when you like. Tempting. Bottom right is rather a poignant purchase — this is Cheviot Aran dyed by Carolyn Rawlinson, who established Woolfest in 2005, and who recently sadly died. I actually bought two skeins of this same raspberry coloured yarn last year at the WoolClip’s shop in Caldbeck and have been playing around swatching with it and thinking that two skeins just weren’t enough to do justice to the yarn — which clearly wants cables. I bought a few more skeins in exactly the same colourway yesterday with mixed feelings — this was the last of her yarn. When I make something with this, it will have Carolyn Rawlinson’s memory knitted all the way through it.

and finally . . .

. . .no, I did not buy myself a ram. In fact, I only purchased the last item — a herdwick-themed gift for Mr B. The other three pics provide context for his Herdwick obsession. Item one is a noble animal I saw at Woolfest on Saturday; item 2 is himself cavorting in his Herdwick sweater, knitted by me from the wool from Pam Hall’s Herdwicks, and item 3 is his proudly-owned Herdwick tie, bought last year at the Woolclip. He likes Herdwicks. So I bought him item 4 — a rather nice china mug with the phiz of a herdwick upon it — just one of many new products designed by the talented team behind Herdy, an interesting new initiative now lending these quintessentially lakeland animals a new identity and, through their range of lovely bespoke wool products, a vital new lease of life as well.

Other weekend highlights included these beautiful hand-carved sticks on show at the Ullswater Country Fair. . .

. . . and the lush variety of colours in the Cumberland Pencil Museum in Keswick.

Did you know you can see the world’s largest coloured pencil there? Well, you can . . .

Wot? Actual knitting content? Warning: I’ve got a little over-excited by the fact I’ve actually knitted something, so this post is picture-heavy.

Given all my quilting/ stitching / sewing activities, knitting has been taking something of a back seat recently. It is nice to stitch when the evenings are so light and this is a novelty I feel I should take advantage of. So this shrug thing has been on my needles for some months, now. I’ve been rather faffing around with it — knitting it on and off — and finally finished it last week.

The pattern is built around the basic shape of the shrug in this book (see pic in purple toward the bottom of the page) but there are a few mods.
1) The stitch pattern is different: I used a 10 row back-and-forth version of the lace pattern in Cookie A’s ubiquitous Monkey, alternating with a 6 row front-crossed cable.
2) Why is there so much berloody seaming in these patterns? I just picked up the edging and knitted it in 1×1 rib one one circular needle, in the round, all the way along the back and two fronts. This has drawn the front in nicely and gives a good fitted shape. Can’t see what would be added by knitting the back and front edgings separately. This is a garment that needs to hug the body. It would not benefit from tailored seams. Weird.
3) I knitted this with thinner yarn, at a tighter gauge, on smaller needles: 3.25 mm and 6 stitches to the inch. I used Rowan 4 ply soft. Not a particularly interesting yarn, but I am actually quite fond of it. It comes in some nice colours, wears well, and has super stitch definition.

So I got to wear the monkey shrug out for a nice lunch in Leith. Here come the pics.

(Nce view there of my midge-bitten calves. Highland walking wounds. Oh well . . . )

And because I felt you should see some of Leith as well as me:

This is Paul Grimes tribute to Leith, its working people, and their history. I am very fond of it.

Pattern: Debbie Bliss Shrug (with mods)
Yarn: Rowan 4 ply soft. 4 x 50g. (I used exactly 4 balls).
Needles: one 3.25 circ for the whole thing.
Ravelled here.

I really like it — all except the shoulder seams — which I reckon it would look better without. If only I had thought beforehand I might have devised a way of kitchener-ing it together, or just having a seam at the underarms. Shrugs and boleros do not need seams. Hmm. I am now very tempted to knit Ysolda’s lovely Briar Rose which neatly illustrates how this is the case.

Jeanette’s question about technique has been on my mind. How do I want to finish the top of the T-shirt quilt? Really? How does it want to be done? I don’t want to lose the fluidity, or the pouffiness, or the wonkiness, for that matter. How much hand quilting should I do? Just in the ditch between blocks? Perhaps I should just tie it?

I have been really troubling about what I should do and how it will look. Meanwhile, I am halfway through sewing another thing for me, for wearing. I have been working on it this evening with a couple of beers and radio 4 (that’s living, I tell ya). I am at the finishing stages and I had an odd but good moment, which has led me to think I should try not to worry about the quilt, and take the attitude I usually do with knitting, which is to just go with it, and it will probably be alright.

While I like crewel embroidery, and quite enjoy finishing my knitting (unlike others I know) I have always disliked slip-stitching linings and hems — this, I think, goes back to having to sew the hems of my school skirts (sorry, Ma, but you know it is true — I was a horribly precocious 12 year old, and would have rather been reading a Georgette Heyer novel, or pretending I had the stigmata, or something, than slip-stitching the hem of a skirt). Anyway, there was a moment this evening, while distractedly slip-stitching the lining of my garment to its zip-tape, when my hands just started to work the other way . I had changed what I was doing and was slip stitching the right way! it felt right!

Gawd knows what is different, I really can’t explain it, but all I can say is that before I started sticking the needle in like this my hands were doing The Bad Thing that they must have been doing since I was twelve. I only hated slip-stitching because I was a crappy slip-stitcher. Suddenly I was zooming down the zip like nobody’s business and it felt good and speedy, like crochet, or picking up stitches, or knitting continental. Somehow, and quite unlike my approach to knitting, I have never thought about sewing or embroidery as a physical technique — I did not reflect on the appropriate motion of my hands. This is evidently about my attitude to the activity, and I do feel that something has changed. It is equivalent to a moment about three years ago when, after winding a strand around my ring finger, I felt that my right hand had begun to feed the yarn towards the needles in a way that controlled my tension in a way that was exactly right. I’ve had a few beers, remember, and the temptation here is to wankily philosophise, but I do feel, just as I do with knitting that the thing is to Trust Yer Hands. Now it is time for the T-Shirt quilt top. . .

Note: my slipped-stitch lining fabric has a knitting theme. Of course it does!

You may be wondering what has happened to Belle’s quilts. Well, it is taking time. I have to choose the right moments to work on them. They feel and smell of Belle. Making them is not an easy thing. But there has been some progress recently.

For the first quilt I chose twelve of Belle’s many stripey t-shirts. I cut them up and pieced them. The cutting was emotionally rather difficult. Once I had the pieces, though, the process became more abstracted and easier to do. I was making something, not cutting up her clothes, and the t-shirts were becoming another thing.

So the block design I chose is (rather loosely) based on those used in ‘bedspread 31′ in this book:

(There are some really lovely designs for all sorts of things in here and, because the diagrams are so clear, you do not need to read Japanese.)

Piecing the T-shirts was quite tricky at times, because of the different mix of fabrics. Some are made of pure, and rather heavy cotton jersey, others are lighter, and contain different percentages of viscose, lycra, and elastene. Not only did the pieces (being made of essentially of knit stockinette) want to curl up, each separate piece behaved differently under the sewing machine because they were made of different fibres. And the fact that I wanted my stripes to go in different directions — often against the grain of the fabric — complicated matters even further. Aigh!

Here are the pieced blocks laid out:

you can see how they like to curl. I tamed those babies with pins and sewing machine . . .

. . . and then put them all together:

Hurrah! I have now finished piecing the quilt top, and this is as far as I’ve got.

This quilt is supposed to have a seaside aesthetic — deck chairs and beach huts — and I’m pleased that it seems to suggest this (well it does to me in any case). Because of the unruly nature of the fabric (and perhaps, too, my own ineptitude) there is nothing neat about the piecing, but:
1) I really want the quilt to look like it is made, for its origins to be suggested, if not entirely visible
2) wobbly is a good look. Oh yes. A look I like.

Though cotton jersey — in various percentages and weights of cotton — is certainly not ideal quilting material, the resulting top is satisfyingly soft, and very fluid. I rather like it so far. But rather than face the horror of feeding acres of jersey through my machine again, I am going to quilt it all by hand. This might prove interesting as I’ve never attempted this before. I’m actually looking forward to it, though, which, given the emotional and difficult nature of the project, is a good thing.

Speaking of cotton jersey, I’ve been reading Natalie Chanin’s Alabama Stitch Book. All her projects involve pieced jersey, and all of them are sewn by hand. No feeding lycra mixes through your machine for her! Chanin designs clothes and accessories rather than quilts, and she certainly has lots of interesting ideas for recycling and refashioning cotton — putting a notoriously high-impact commodity to good new use. Admiring the idea of the book immensely, I felt almost ashamed that there was nothing in it that I actually really liked or was inspired by. This is probably because I just don’t go for stencils or reverse applique, or something. However, it was certainly refreshing to read an introduction from a designer who clearly thinks about the meanings of fabric, is sensitive to different textile traditions and histories, and makes these things integral to her design process. But though I enjoyed the book’s introduction, and found Chanin thoughtful and intelligent as well as creative, I did think that the particular spin she put on the history of cotton in the South was weirdly obfuscatory at times. To put it bluntly, it all felt a bit white.

Anyway, more from the t-shirt quilt soon. Have a nice weekend.

The postie has been bringing me a right bag of treats lately. Here’s a selection.

Big thanks to Lara, Felix, Jesse, Annushka, and Philippa!

The top pic shows some absolutely delicious Oxford Kitchen Yarn’s sock yarn in the plum colourway. The colour (which is not quite true in the photo) has a precise and very evocative childhood association for me — of blackcurrant jam mixed into rice pudding (thanks so much, L!) You see here also lovely buttons, badges and ribbons, as well as the Fantastical Reality Radio Show activity booklet which has brought me untold joy over the past few days. It has also made me strangely — nay, not a little obsessively — aware of ordinary household sounds. Mr B was bemused to discover me with a dictaphone, recording the sounds of making a pot of tea. And you’ll see from the last photo that I’m already putting Philippa’s red grossgrain to good use. More of this later.

Meanwhile, miscellaneous weekend things.
A sunday lunch of bread and beer:

I made the bread (unusual, this, as I don’t bake much) but not the beer. It is a dark mild - much lighter and more refreshing than it looks in that picture - delicious.

Also, I made a keyring with a bee in it. Just because I could.

did you know you can get a bag of blank keyrings for around 3p each on ebay? well you can . . .

Finally, something to see and something to avoid from the past couple of days.

ONE TO SEE: The Writing in The Sand, Sirkka-Liisa Konttinen, Amber Films (1991).
Having frequented the Side Gallery, cinema and cafe in Newcastle, and admiring the work of the Amber collective, I was looking forward to this DVD immensely, and it did not disappoint. Built out of of Konttinen’s fabulous photographs of the beaches and people of the North East, The Writing on the Sand is a miracle of editing: narrative-driven and highly cinematic. I am fond of British documentaries about leisure, and particularly seaside-associated leisure, but am often troubled by how treatments of this theme patronise their subjects. Lindsay Anderson’s O! Dreamland is a case in point (much as I love Lindsay Anderson). Written in the Sand, though, is a frank and affectionate, exuberant and celebratory portrait of people enjoying themselves outside. It’s really a great piece of work. And, as well as being a stunning document of the changeable and well-loved beaches and climate of the North East over the past 20 years; and providing an evocative, poetic critique of the effects of marine pollution, this short film also also conveys a very powerful message about the importance of public (and particularly recreational) space, and the threat to it from the wholescale privatisation of the British landscape — our beaches in particular. Eat that, Donald Trump (together with your plans for turning the dunes of Balmedie into golfing-hell)

I’m now very tempted to buy this book of Konttinen’s original photographs.

ONE TO AVOID:
Why, when I read the blurb (Michael Jackson connects with Marilyn Monroe on a Scottish island retreat for celebrity impersonators) did I think it might be a good idea to go and see Mister Lonely? Why, having disliked with a passion every other film I’ve seen by Harmony Korine did I still go and see it? I suspect the presence of Samantha Morton swung it for me, but that was two hours of my life I will never get back again. If I start going on about just how bad a film this was I’ll never stop . . .but it was seriously vacuous twaddle, made all the worse the worse for thinking that it actually had something to say. I soon got bored of noticing James Fox and David Blaine, or wondering what on earth Werner Herzog was doing there &c &c, and had to divert myself for the last hour and a half of the film (groan) by thinking about the design and construction of the lacy cardigan worn by the Shirley Temple impersonator. One final thing, though: by anybody’s standards, Diego Luna makes a terrible Michael Jackson.

I almost fell off the not-buying-clothing wagon — I purchased fabric and notions in a kit, which one cuts out and sews at home. Does this count? Nearly, but not quite, I reckon. Anyway, said kit came from Clothkits. I remember the original Clothkits very clearly from when I was a kid. Ma made a lot of our clothes back then, and while I’m pretty sure that none of them were ‘actual’ clothkits, there were certainly a lot of their catalogues hanging around being oohed and aahed over. (You can get a flavour of the full-on 70s feel of their garments here .)

Anyway my clothkit skirt arrived this morning. Wot a treat. I was in near raptures when I opened the package. Its just so bloody tasty. I had to make it up right away. The pieces are printed directly onto the fabric:

and it comes with zip, thread, instructions and a Liberty print lining:

The instructions were very clear and straightforward. In just a few hours, I had a skirt. This skirt made me seriously happy making it (so satisfying). And yet I am (if possible) even happier wearing it. It is a very jolly skirt. Just check out the lining and facing:

how jolly are those buggies on the lining?

Anyway, we just went out for a pint (to what, to my mind, is the best pub in Edinburgh — and also, happily, my local) and I got Mr B to take some pics. Here is the skirt from the front:

And the side:

and the whole shebang:

How nice to have lovely, long, light, Scottish evenings again.

So I heartily recommend the big-birdie. The pattern covers a good range of (5) sizes, and is a good fit; the fabric amounts were generous, and the instructions completely failsafe (I inserted zip, and attached facings and lining without breaking into a sweat or (what’s more usual) making some sort of bobbly, wobbly, rumply mess). But it’s the quality of the fabric and design that really swings it for me — a super matt baby-cord cotton exterior, a very appealing print by the wonderful Jane Foster, and a tana lawn lining. And everything made and printed in the UK.

My attempts to refresh my summer wardrobe without buying anything are reaching interesting lengths. I seem to be spending all moments when not working, eating, or snoozing at the sewing machine. If my maniacal dressmaking activities are boring you, look away now (I fear that the thrill of my new clothes is certainly wearing thin on Mr B, who just mutters, ‘yes, very nice’ at each new item and goes back to reading his issue of ‘What’s Brewing?’)

Here is the fruit of yesterday evening’s labours. I had been looking at Mariko Fujinaka’s instructions for a ’summer top’ in The Crafter’s Companion and decided, with some modifications, to give it a go.
Again, I used another old top as the the template, and cut out front, back, and facings:

(old top, new pieces)

I sewed the facings to the front and back, then seamed it up the sides. Then I added the now-obligatory external pockets (which you have no doubt noticed are something of a theme with me). These ones are an obvious echo of those I knitted a few weeks ago for the kaari sweater

yes, and more buttons too . . .

I then made some running stitches around the neck and along the pocket (to separate off three different sections) with sashiko thread:

I am very pleased with how neatly I managed the seams and facings:

so here’s the finished top:

and me in it

Nice and simple. This was made from the remaining piece of dark indigo-dyed cotton I used for the top in the previous post, and two fat quarters (one with a wave, and one with a crane-fly print). Again, it’s a Japanese dobby-weave fabric. It has a linen-like hand and hang, both of which I really like. I only have a few more fat quarters of this lovely stuff left and am tempted to combine the whole shebang into some joyous all-over garment of Japanese dobby. I may look odd, but who cares? I really enjoyed Felix’s recent post, in which she talks about her forthcoming patchwork skirt as a ‘portable case of ideas.’ Brilliant!

I clearly missed crafting while we were away walking in Ireland over the bank holiday. I spent today’s early hours thinking about the logistics of a top I’ve been intending to sew. So I just got up and sewed it. I used one of my favourite tops as the prototype:

This top is very close fitting with a nice, hidden side zip. I didn’t fancy my chances at managing to sew in the zip neatly enough, so I decided my new top would fasten with an obi-style tie belt — and probably needed more ease in it in order to fit over my head. I also wanted the bodice and ’skirt’ bit of the tops to be in different fabrics. So I drew round the front and back of the bodice of the old top, doubling up for facings and adding in an extra half inch of ease either side. I sewed the facings and outside pieces together, turned them right way round and pressed them, then drew round the ’skirt’ bit of the old top, adding seam allowances (but no extra ease this time). Then I sewed the bodice and skirt together:

and then sewed on a tie-belt, top-stitching several lines at the front:

here’s the waist:

I finally sewed on some straps, and added some decorative buttons at the front:

(I heart these buttons)

. . . here are buttons and belt. . .

. . .and here’s the finished article:

Jeez! I made that!
(Messy Tuesday/Sunday kitchen . . . ahem)

The top is made from two different Japanese fabrics, bought (again) at the Knitting and Stitching show in Harrogate. The quality of the cotton is just superb — a broad weave with a slightly worn feel. I love the chrysanthemum (kiku) print against the indigo dye of the plain fabric. These are just delicious textiles. It’s probably a good job that its so hard to source them, or I’d probably be beggaring myself.

In this instance, I feel oddly lucky to have been cheated in the chest department, since I reckon this is the only way such a close-fitting top might fit over one’s head without a zip or other side opening. I am feeling rather smug all round, frankly. This is definitely the most successful thing I’ve sewn without a pattern. I really, really like it. If the weather stays like this I may even get a chance to wear it. The time is now, and in Scotland. . .