Nutmeg

Cast on by hand in MadelineTosh sock yarn.  So soft!

Carefully (so carefully) transferred off the needle onto the knitting machine.

For row, upon row, upon row of speedy, satisfying machine knitting.  It’s physical stuff pushing that carriage back and forth, and noisy (poor husband driven nearly to distraction).  But fun too (for me).

And finished with a jumble of vintage buttons – different colours, same shape found at a local favourite market.

And destined to be worn in heavy rotation over winter.  Details on Ravelry.

 

exhale

Tiny free-form stitches – layered and layered on the front of a garment to be constructed next week at craft camp.

I have a box full of these little embroideries.  Modern boro that has been started and not finished.  A constructed skirt that was started but put to one side as the denim is too unyeilding. A larger piece that was coming along beautifully until life got in the way and I somewhow can’t catch the muse that inspired the beginning.   They will all be finished one day – and there is beauty in that as well – a nod to the origins of Boro that came from mending, an appreciation of wabi-sabi, and the evolutionary nature of this kind of art form.

A recent inspiration came from Annekata, and her link to Junko Oki’s work, which had me pick up the needle again and sit by the fire on a cold weekend, in the company of Oscar who was more than happy to chill out and relax with me.

Match made in heaven really.  A warm fire, a relaxed cat and an armful of threads.  Will post the finished garment when it’s done.

 

row and row and row

It’s a funny thing being kicked.

Sometimes it can be an active thing – where someone has perhaps through no ill intent left you with a bruise.  Sometimes it’s not active – it’s a kick through stagnation – an internal kick that leaves a different kind of bruise and you know that you should have paid more attention to your own life.  And sometimes it’s a kick so well lined up it can leave you wondering what happened for that to occur – was it your fault – was it someone elses – was it just the timing…

I’ve had a variety of kicks lately and though upbeat in the knowledge that all kicks push you in the direction you should be going I am finding myself a little sore and in need of some comforting renewal.

It’s coming in the form of Stephanie Japel’s Shapely boyfriend Cardigan.  Link to the free pattern HERE.  Knitted in a very soft Alpaca blend in rows and rows of stripes – my favourite way of knitting.

I find knitting stripes incredibly soothing – particularly when they are random and not repeated, which is easiest to do in a top-down garment.  I have no idea how it will turn out – and my last cardigan – though carefully measured and in expensive solid coloured yarn was knitted entirely twice and still looked like a horrible accident.

I’m hoping this one will turn out better – but even if it doesn’t it’s rewarding in the process and useful to just take the time to sit quietly and think about which direction to point my oars and row as I’m knitting row on row on row.

Row on.

Morning

I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been much of a morning person.  It takes me a while to wake up, and I do enjoy the feeling of stretching under a warm blanket and just enjoying being warm and relaxed before having to get vertical and rush about.

But there’s something wonderful about our house with its spiral staircase in the middle that separates the sleeping quarters from the living quarters.  As painful as it can be some days to traipse up and down with folded washing and linen to be put away, there is something magical about coming down to greet the day before the sun has filled the rooms and being the first to do that.

It is still.  It is quiet.  It is waiting to have life breathed back into it.

And I love that little moment of walking down the stairs and choosing to start the day.

Bricks

Yesterday morning I was running late – left my coffee on the bench in the rush to get out the door, get the kids to school, start the trek through traffic and over the bridge to work.  And, stuck in traffic I saw an old haunt – The Wall, just off Carlisle Street in Balaclava.

Great coffee, a lovely 5 minutes in the sunshine waiting for it.  And I thought – life should be more of this.  A bit more slow, a bit less crazy.  A bit more time to enjoy how good life is.  I wonder if it’s possible or if I’m being greedy, but I guess that’s the journey isn’t it – to see what works for your own best life…

wrapped up

100% merino wrap – worn bib-style and fastened with a brooch made from vintage kimono fabric.

I’m all about colour lately.

When I was growing up, nobody wore black except for italian or greek widows – in their shapeless layers, sensible shoes and sometimes with headscarves.  You would see them tending to their gardens or carrying bags of vegetables back from the shop.  Black felt like a desert. Or – on the flip side, dangerous.  Bikies wore black, and Sandra Dee on Grease when she was transformed into uber-tart.  ‘Slack black’, we said in the schoolyard.

100% merino wrap – worn shawl-style and fastened with a brooch made from vintage kimono fabric.

Nobody wore black.  And there was such a focus in the 70′s and early 80′s on colour.  Vibrant, in your face, eye-popping mismatching wild, wild colour.  I had purple jeans when I was 8.  Lots of us did.  A white belt, white shoes.  Orange was king.   But there was colour-fear too.  I wasn’t a pink kid.  Really, never.  I remember playground taunts; ‘Ink pink, you stink‘.  Luckily not in my direction….   Oversized hand-knitted colourful jumpers.  Red Doc Marten boots,  Jewel bright shirts and cropped t-shirts.  Neon fads that suited no-one.  White frilly shirts with pastel jeans.  That’s probably too much information eh….

100% merino wrap – un-fastened and suitable for layering under a jacket for an extra layer of warmth and visual detail.

When I left high school there was a revolution.  Black started sneaking in – not just for goths or punks, but for the early-adopter mainstream too.  I remember the huge relief of being able to take anything black out of the cupboard knowing it went with anything else that was black.  Loads of us dressed entirely in black and channelled Japanese designers with edgy minimalist detailing.  Design pared back to its purest essence. We were all so serious in the 90′s…

100% merino wrap – worn bib-style and fastened at the shoulder with a brooch made from vintage kimono fabric.

Black is a tempting lover – making bulges invisible and a cheap fabric look better. In Melbourne, in has become de riguer.  Which doesn’t make it bad – there are times when ONLY black will do, and one of my favourite shops is almost entirely black.  It’s an expensive shop and I can’t afford it, but it’s lovely going in and seeing the sea of black – it’s calming somehow.  Allows one to focus on the detail because the lack of colour is no distraction.  And I do enjoy that too.

100% merino wrap – worn as a bolero vest – tied behind the back.

But it’s also an energy sapper for me.

I find too much black on a daily basis makes me lethargic.  And I’m positive in my case it’s because what I’m seeing peripherally isn’t feeding me.  But after wearing black for so long, it can be difficult to work colour back into ones wardrobe don’t you think!

100% merino wrap – worn vest-style and fastened with a brooch made from vintage kimono fabric.

So I struggle with it but am determined to make it an everyday thing.  And on the days I’m wearing colour I am happier, more inspired and nicer to be around – perhaps because I’m wearing something cheerful, but also because change can be a very, very good thing, especially in the wardrobe department.  When I’m wearing colour I absolutely get more smiles.

This wrap (my own design) was made by me on a Vintage Brother Knitting machine.  They take a while, but are thoroughly rewarding and such a joy when the colour pooling starts happening and random stripes appear.  They can be worn so many ways and are a great layering piece.  I’ve knitted a quantity in a wide variety of colours (and one black/grey) and they will be available at The Canterbury Art Show – in their Gift Shop here this weekend from 4-6 of May along with some of my paintings and a whole lot of other goodness from local and interstate artists and crafts people.

And if there are any left, I might even put them in an online shop…  Wouldn’t that be fun!

Friday Night Feasts

Keema Mattar + Chapati cooked by Mr 11.

As I kid I loved to cook.  My forays were mostly biscuits & cakes – with a Saturday afternoon solo baking session a regular thing as a teen.  I’m certain my motivation at first would have been the opportunity to eat raw biscuit dough or lick the bowl without interference but as time went on it was the thrill of looking up a recipe – trotting out to get anything lacking from the local milk bar, and then attempting to make chocolate eclairs, neenish tarts or some other old-fashioned treat and enjoying it and the praise that came with serving it up.

In the interests of hopefully one day being able to kick back with a glass on wine while dinner is being made for me child-empowerment, we have in the last few months been enjoying a Friday kids meal night – where the kids cook dinner (with assistance at this point).  We discuss the possibilities in the car on the way to school – shop for whatever else is needed on the way home from school and then Miss 7 cooks dessert (spectacular cakes for the last 2 weeks – assemblages often involving ice-cream previous weeks), and Mr 11 cooks a main.

They both love the opportunity to learn something new, help, be involved in the choices for the family and try new things.  Some weeks we have had visitors staying so the thrill has been doubled for them.

Mr 11 making Chapati

But last week was a highlight, with Keema Mattar (an Indian spiced mince dish) and Home made Chapati (an Indian flatbread) both whipped up by Mr 11 following a recipe by the very talented Sas of 1=2.  Recipe here.  We cooked a half quantity of the Keema Mattar in the knowledge that there might be some leftovers to play with the following day – and servings were generous, incredibly tasty and very, very easy.  Miss 7 who has been picky of late scoffed the lot and asked for some for lunch the next day.

I have to say a huge thanks to Sas for the recipe and indeed sharing her blog 1=2 with the world.  I think it’s a brilliant concept she’s come up with – Healthy tasty recipes, that are family & budget friendly and brilliantly often double-quantity, the idea being that the leftovers are set aside as the base of another different recipe.  Skip on over and have a look.  The Keema Mattar we made was supposed to turn into samosas – which is why I made it in the first place but it didn’t get that far – we ate the lot as it was!

This blog NEEDS to be a book – I have a towering stack of black and white printouts that have been tried or are standing by – it would be so much nicer to have them in a hardback….

And then we had carrot cake – and I’m sorry to say there are no photos…  It was very good too.

And the rain came down

The Window Seat.  Oil on board.

Yesterday saw us retreat to the studio for a long day session.  Ipod blaring, doors wide open (must post a studio shot someday soon), and a brief visit from the smallest family member – who enjoyed exploring spider-webbed corners and briefly settled on a rug on the floor.

And then the rain came down.  Buckets of it – pelting the tin roof in deafening bursts and dripping on the floor, showing us there is a leak in the roof – we didn’t know we had.  It HAILED.  It was brutal and thrilling and thoroughly fun.

I LOVE rain.  And it was like having our very own grown-up cubby, which I suppose it is.

I painted solidly all afternoon.  Pushing through a total painting crisis (Carona & cake needed) to make 2 good works and reminding myself of the most valuable advice I ever received about making art – That a bad painting is a wonderful gift – the opportunity to push the work in a totally new direction and make something unexpected- nothing ventured nothing gained.

I love drawing – but rarely use it with my art – mostly keeping it as a quiet and personal journey, but recently I’ve been revisiting scratching into paint and enjoying the process immensely.  One of those drawn/painted works (above) will be making its way to the annual Canterbury Art show – a show that I’m very sentimental about.  Drop off for the show is next weekend, and it’s open 4-6 May.  I love that all works are available to view online, which is a fun journey in itself without leaving your chair.

Will let you know when it’s up!

Forward

It used to be, that I had a lot of time to sit and watch.  To walk at a toddler’s pace – marvelling at the veins in leaves, endlessly inspired by a branch, a sweep of hills or the shadow thrown by a pebble.

As busy as children make you feel, with their constant needs and constant companionship, they also bring an intense peace – or so I find in retrospect.  Perhaps that’s my zen leanings – to actively seek the beauty in mundanity, or the beauty nearby to focus on and make hanging out the 5th load of washing a pleasure rather than a problem (so lucky to have a washing line, doesn’t that peg feel smooth in the palm…).  I carried a camera always as we walked – not to point at them but to catch what we saw.  And we always saw a lot.

My kids are both at school now – well on their way to more independence, and they are still quite time-absorbing but in a totally different way.  There are arguments to soothe.  Negotiations to umpire.  More clothes to be washed.  Life lessons to be discussed and tears to be wiped from wounds far deeper than a grazed knee.  Improvised dancing sessions to audience and witty banter to giggle at.  They are amazing people my kids.

I find myself with much less time of my own to sit and watch.  Far less solitary moments and the need to actively make the time to find a quiet corner and still my own mind.  This has certainly impacted on my art-making and my well of invested inspiration.

To be sure – my wellspring these days is a very natural and almost constant sense of pure joy in every day, instead of a determined ‘pollyanna‘ pursuit to find the joyfulness in any difficult situation, but this has, put me into the kind of blissful torpor that I am determined to shake myself out of.

I am determined, to stop more often again and see the beauty in what is lying at my feet – without thinking ‘I can and will change that soon’, and work on expanding that into thoughts, pictures and paintings that will feed off each other in a more organic way.

I am needing to paint, and waiting to paint, but find myself without the inspirations that were once so plentiful.   I need to make a date with myself every day, I think, to get back in touch with the eyes that saw so deeply.  And perhaps if those 5 minutes have not been found organically, they must be gained at the end of the day to get back into the habits that were once so helpful.

Moving forward, looking down, looking around, looking deep.  Looking forward.

the problem with tuck is that it’s spelt wrong….

See that red thing around my neck?  I’m making them like mad – all different colours – on the knitting machine.  Nothing fancy – but very flexible and able to be worn a number of different ways – that extrmely bright, almost-orange red thing has become an constant accessory for me in the last few weeks of cold mornings and sunny days and I get quite a thrill about having designed and made it myself.

I’ll post more on that another time, but need to post this knitting machine win first…

Arn’t I a natural!  check the clenched fist, fixed smile and slightly panicked look about the eyes.

I recenly attended a workshop run by Brianna Reed with the usual mob of machine-craftsters.  It’s so brilliant to be on the journey of discovery with these ladies.  We swear at our machines and admire each other’s efforts.  We eat good food and stop for a chat and go home EXHAUSTED.

The back view – great tunic – not sure about the model….. though to be fair I had been wearing it for hours by then and enjoying it’s coziness and the colour.

I LOVE this design – which is a fitted tunic in Tuck stitch, though when I make another it will be a bit larger.  It was made all in one piece, with genius contrasting short-rows at the back for a bit of flare and better fit and a couple of rows of slip obn the front to add a great vertical line-detail.

This is what Tuck stitch looks like – and to get it right on my machine involved an insanely small tension and discovery after discovery on the fickle nature of a knitting machine.  HONESTLY – everything can be set up perfectly and from one second to the next it’s a totally different story.  Tuck stitch is lovely – interesting, dense and stretchy, and spelt wrong – there should be an F in there somewhere for the grief it caused…..

Oh the rows I undid…… 2 minutes to knit, 2 hours to unpick.  I cam close to despair.

I will ABSOLUTELY be attempting another one – the shoulder shaping and simple shape lends itself to so many variations and such wardobe flexibility, though there may be a glass of wine involved to ease my own tensions at tackling it solo…

In any case, another one is needed as Oscar seems to have claimed this one as his own.