Morally superior mumbo jumbo?

Talking business models makes my head hurt. Why can't I just make stuff (as defined by me) and sell it online (i.e. www.facebook.com's store function, or www.artfire.com, or etsy)? Why not sign up for a tax ID and be done with it? Why can't I have an abstract-like (not abstract) plan?

I think it is really easy to suggest to other people they do work and much harder to do it yourself. The idea people of the world are able to sit in cubicles (imagined or physical) and just talk to people, telling them what they really should do. A huge amount of our current economy is based on paying for inaction in the form of given advice.

I have to admit that I am a master advice-giver. But, under normal circumstances (i.e. those that don't have me using a walker to get around), I am also a master at doing stuff. By being productive, I feel OK about giving advice and asking other people to be, at least mildly, productive.

How does this all relate?

If you have a traditional job, one that isn't self-employment, you have a boss lady that organizes your responsibilities for you. If you are boss lady, and you aren't asking for a loan, who is it that you need to answer to, besides the IRS that is? Yourself. My brain; my game. When was the last time an (traditionally) employed spouse had to justify their business approach to their friends or spouse? Why does this change when you are talking about selling handicrafts--on the side, no less?

Robin Hood and Slow Cloth

Last night I saw a brilliant film. It wasn't deeply thought provoking, but if you are like me, i.e. you might love period pieces about the 13th century's working class and arrow gore, this one is for you. If you have a thing for Russell Crowe or Cate Blanchett, you might want to check it out, just because.

Robin Hood is back! and why am I reading about it on a knitting blog?

Now I am putting words into your mouth.

One of the things about this movie that drew me in was the fabulous work of the costume designer, Janty Yates. How did she, in the 21st century (re)create handcrafted everything? How can I? Lofty goal. Is it necessary? How does handcrafted clothing make you feel when you wear it? Best answer: IN CHARACTER.



sumoroKnits is about me making slow cloth, wearable slow cloth. The character I am hoping for is not Robin Longstride, but the current wearer. I want to make clothes from slow cloth that make people feel more like themselves. I think that if the clothes are hand created, comfortable, and playtime ready, they will certainly fit the bill.

What is this stuff?

Today I went into the knitting stash to parse out what materials I could use to make some prototype baby pants. Fondling yarn is fun, except when it is in your own house and you start worrying about how much you paid for it. 

In doing this safari under my bed, I realized that I have a great deal of sock and other fingering weight fiber (straight Merino, some super-wash, some fabulous faux somethings). I found orange, wine, pinks, mauve, variegated purple, and deep green. All can be pants, or dresses, and go to a nicer home than in a tupperware under my bed. Maybe that is the real purpose of sumoroKnits: to liberate well-deserving fiber by bringing it to its new life.

Like a sculptress I am, removing all the bits of stone that don't look like the smitten kitten. Maybe a better way of thinking about knitting useful items is magically (in the eyes of my non-knitters) turning a ball of string into a sock.

A stitch a day keeps the doctor away.

Needlework keeps me out of trouble. Needlework keeps me out of trouble. Needlework keeps me out of trouble. 

In some ways, absolutely. 


In others, not at all. Needlework in general and knitting specifically is full of transitions and thousands of little events, hand flicks, that come together to form a piece of "slow cloth" (sumoroKnits, 6.9.10). While this could be viewed as one of the best ways of practicing how to deal with change, it is certainly not turning out that way for me (at least not right now). 


Let me back up. In the summer of 2009, hugely pregnant and knitting away on modified bedrest, I completed--in short order--three articles of clothing for little girls. First was a pink shrug jacket I completed in less than 96 hours as a thank you gift, which was followed by a dress and jacket for my soon-to-be infant daughter. I listened to a great deal of National Public Radio and practiced my speed-knitting. I felt like a super-domestic lady. During the same time, I read several books about becoming and being an At-Home Mom. Most talked about how many moms, after the preschool years, become involved in at-home businesses or community volunteering, kid's school functions, or PTA committees. Yeah, yeah. It sounded good at the time, waiting for "mother's hours" for community involvement. 


My reality has turned out somewhat differently as I opted to start the community involvement and taking courses for personal/professional advance when my daughter was just born. I am now finding myself in another category of at-home parent: the person hoping to be staring in their own 'cottage industry' play. 


Cottage industries, as defined by investorwords.com, are those "where the creation of products and services is home-based, rather than factory-based. While products and services created by cottage industry are often unique and distinctive given the fact that they are usually not mass-produced, producers in this sector often face numerous disadvantages when trying to compete with much larger factory-based companies" (2010). My idea to start a line of knit children's clothes is definitely a cottage industry plan. The point is not to take over the world, or even the market, it is to develop personal (not personalized) clothing soaked in love (figuratively, of course) for more than just my own kids. 


If you couldn't tell, I am an idea lady. My brain keeps me sane, at the same time as it keeps me dangerously close to combustion, and just having ideas and implementing them is my drug of choice. I am now committing myself to MORE STITCHIN' AND LESS BITCHIN'. It is cheaper than a psychiatrist and much more empowering. 

Knit Your Bit: a comment on knitting's sweet rewards.

Back to an old question; what, exactly, is the perceived end goal when I start a new knitting project? 

Pre-project: More than once I have purchased a book or single pattern for want of the perfect life (don't you love that commercial photography!!), or at least perfect bind-off and cast off. At that moment, I always have really meant to make the item, or at least something similar. I think something along the lines of, "I'll really need some cute buttons; I'll get these ... only $0.50 a piece." My $3.00 is still sitting in the bottom of the knitting bin, only it ain't in the form of liquid cash. If you are anything like me, around your house is a pile of money, or maybe three, that is masquerading as unused (or un-usable) craft supplies. 
Pre-cast on: At this moment, I am now thinking, "Which of the 10 projects I meant to start this year will I start now?"Hmm. Who'll win? Will it be the portable scarf or the cabled item that will require more concentration than cross-stitch? Looking into my yarn stash I remember that I bought each skein for a reason. How they assemble into projects is a mystery. All I know is that there was a plan when I adopted every last skein. 
Cast-on: ... here come the visions of grandeur. Let the showing off begin. "I am making a A." What wonderful yarn. "They sell it at B; here is its ingredient list." "I'll be done by the end of the month; what, oh what, will I do when I complete this beautiful piece?" I haven't figured that out for myself, but I have resolved to knit down my yarn stash. 


And then there is the next question: What to do with the end products? Are they for sale; are they for show? Does that effect my initiative and process-based focus? I hope not, and so does my imagined future self, the quietly cool Buddha-like craft show diva. 

I am how I knit.

I have been collecting pattern ideas over the last week on my quest to develop a line of kids clothes and accessories that have the potential to be fun to knit, to be fun to wear, and to become toddler-approved. I have been haunting lion brand's searchable pattern site, ravelry, the blogosphere and my own bookshelf for inspiration.

My ideas vary from PANTS (size newborn through 4T) in various materials and styles to a MOBILE with stuffed hearts and flowers hanging from it. I like the empire-waisted shirt/dress idea over leggings and have also found several patterns to start from there. Other dresses have caught my eye. I like the idea of little bags to put things in. It is hard to not put a link in my newly founded bookmark bar folder ... but I am trying to exclude things that are irrelevant or require a hoard of house elves. I am on the hunt for plain patterns that explain their guts and I can make fancy with my fanciful imagination.


Full disclosure: I cheat on knitting on a semi-regular basis with counted cross-stitch patterns. What is counted cross-stitch? Simply, it is needlework in which the cloth (linen, aida, whatever) does not have any guide to where the needle goes except the holes in its weave. The rules come from the pattern and the colors from DMC. More disclosure: I bought the entire DMC catalog and spent a morning or two pregnant with my daughter separating hundreds of embroidery thread skeins into 0-99, 100-199, etc. categories so I could find my colors later. Cross-stitch, for me, is an exercise in pattern recognition, exacting hand-eye coordination, and, er, humility. Actually, quite the opposite. I frame my work and place it where people have to see it and ask, "You MADE that? Wow." Humble? Not really.

Counted cross-stitch is meditative in its structure. The colors have to be what the pattern suggests or the image will look weird. I have no control over the pattern ... and I like it.

This means that I am a crafter (not just a knitter) who likes the structure of a pattern but wants to put her own stamp on everything. What do I do to resolve this dichotomy? Maybe I should purchase MacStitch 2010; or maybe, I just need a bigger set of needles.

Make nice.

I spent some of this afternoon watching "Climate and Sustainability: Moving By Degrees." I'd like to comment; politics aside, I swear. I feel sometimes as if I must be a time traveler: I am watching a live streaming videocast at the same time as I support handcrafts. What gives?


Sustainable consumption. Sustainable consumption is a fancy academic term for a discussion of the what the economy would look like if our focus were not on economic prosperity, but on ecological prosperity. It focuses on what our communities might look like if our focus was not being hyper-rich (in carbon or $$), but on cooperative economics.


It says: Let's look to happy, sustainably so, ways of living. What does knitting have to do with it?


Philosophically, knitting is "slow cloth", a crafters version of slow food. Slow food is defined by Slow Food USA as "an idea, a way of living and a way of eating. It is a global, grassroots movement with thousands of members around the world that links the pleasure of food with a commitment to community and the environment." Sound familiar? 


Knit-maste. 

My yarn gave me hives. Time to quit the acrylic.

The moral of the story is that ancient acrylic with the name "DuPont" stamped on the side and a hardened price tag with a number less than $1.00 is dangerous. I am now in the process of itching the back of my legs, all swollen from knitting 5 rows of, ironically, a bowtie.

Hence, the work has been ripped out and the offending yarn, and everything it shared a plastic bin with, has been banished to the trash can. Quite liberating. Out out damn spot ... I want nothing to do with you. DuPont, you may make other things, but, PLEASE, stay away from my crafty products.

I should be knitting. Right now.

Wanderlust is the best way to describe it.
I have found recently that raising children is as much about self-analysis as it is about satisfying my desire for structure in an ALMOST completely unstructured world. The structure of the knitting pattern, even if I choose to fuddle with it, is incredibly calming.
It has a beginning. It has a suggested needle size and gauge. As I explained to my son, "I am changing that ball into a sock. Aren't I magical?" He agrees. The pattern has stages and just before I get completely frustrated with it, it has an end and chance to tie up and weave in loose ends.

In terms of the pattern: I am either (a) before, (b) during, or (c) after. There are often thousands of events (stitches, yarn overs, needle changes) between (A) and (C); however, no one can begrudge my speed, path, or intellectual capacity. Progress is progress.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

Solitude: A state of mind.

Knitting, in whatever venue, requires a certain selfishness of mind. Depending on complexity, the selfishness is either in the conscious or unconscious mind.

I prefer lower complexity pieces that tie up my unconscious mind. Remembering all my decreases (or increases) along a well-crafted length of ribbing or stockinette, even if it is knitted in the round, is honestly blissful.

Why? It proves to me that my fingers and my hands are geniuses. I don't need fancy. I just need even. And? It is completely meditative.

PS: The second leg warmer progresses.

Knitting as a past-time meets knitting as a chore.

Is knitting luxury? Are the pieces we make actually used? If they were, could we equate knitting to a really involved chore, like ironing 1000 shirts or picking up a toddler lifetime of dropped Cheerios with a set of toothpick size chopsticks? If our pieces aren't used, or mightn't be, can we accept that all the effort--and spouse or child ignoring--is worth it for the satisfaction derived from a good ol' bind off?

Hmm. 

I used to think that knitting was a deserved luxury; now, I am convinced otherwise. Indulge me with the telling of two parables, starring yours truly. 

Number 1: My freshman year of high school I started a new, relatively small, private high school that felt like the biggest organization on the planet. A few months into school I acquired a boyfriend, who, to my adolescent hormone infused brain, had the best smelling hair I had ever ... well, anyway. I was knitting a scarf, which I still have, out of mohair I purchased at the now defunct Woolcott's. I felt super cool. Not only did my mom now let me travel into Boston on the train with my oh-so-cultured 14 year old friends, but I was on the leading edge of a major trend: the knit in a meeting/class. 

When you knit in a meeting or other public place when other people are merely paying attention, you are telling the world, in screaming body language, that you are so talented that you can produce the next trendy accessory whilst engaged in the conversation that plebeians need their whole brains for. Either that or that you are so cool you don't need whatever they are trying to sell you. 

Anyway, there I was, either smelling my boyfriend's sexy hair or knitting away at my rightly-flavored gray scarf, when my Humanities teacher turned drama teacher suggested I step away from the boy, or the knitting, or both, and start remembering my lines. 

I should tell you, my part in that play was the voice of God. Ironic. Did you know that God is a knitter? 

Number 2: Getting a Ph.D. in Biology sucks and requires that your weight in tears be shed between when you start, all naive (and sh*t), and you finish it off by getting drunk on a pear martini in your doctoral regalia. If you want to make it, you take up something to calm your nerves: 

A. social alcoholism,  

B. smoking, or 

C. needlework. 

My point being that sometime in 2003, after having not knit much since high school, I took up cross stitch and knitting again. It brought me closer to my happy place and cemented friendships. Instead of discussing, AGAIN, the aggravation of having no clue when we would be moving on to the next stages of our lives, we could discuss tension, fiber content, and pattern authors. 

... and now, as a mommy, I can tell you the same things are true. How is being a mom like being in graduate school? You never know when the next stage of your life is starting and although you have a huge amount of influence over it, it is blind influence. Your children have no investment in your sanity, just your hours. So, if you are a mom and you haven't already, learn how to knit and join a mom's group, lest you spend your child's youth wondering when it'll be over so you can move onto the next stage, which will likely be no simpler. 

Now, back to knitting. My point is that knitting is not a luxury, neither is it a chore. We hope that our end products will be loved, of course; more importantly, we require the practice of focusing on some colorful sock yarn and stitch counts, or some such nonsense, to keep us out of trouble. 

Moral: Next knit in public day, I'll be taking the Ergo for a spin. Want to come? 

Choosing a wearable project for your kid.

I love knitting for children. In some ways, I always have.

I was seven when I started knitting. At the time, I was in home-schooling--along with my brother--and we were sailing. Our teacher taught me how to knit. We started with squares, as many of us do, because they can have all the basic skills.

Cast on. Tension maintenance: first with a knit stitch and then a purl. Cast off; block.

My early projects were for my bear, Growsly: first blankets, then sleeping bags for his camping trips in the aft salon of our traveling school house.

Now, in adulthood, I am still knitting for children. Kids knits are cute, fun, and relatively painless in that they are ... for small people. The challenge is not lost in small garments, however.

We hope our kids, or our friend's kids, will love the sweater, the socks, the hat, or jacket we knit. We choose the colors, the soft yarn, and the pattern with courageous thoughts of a small child loving our creation, maybe even on the level of a favorite blankie. The challenge is that children choose their own favorites.

My quest: to develop a line of casual, handmade kids clothes that are loved, and can be loved hard. It will be a line that Growsly (my bear) could appreciate and my son Charlie will more than tolerate.

                                                                  

One leg-warmer done.

Large knitting projects are very satisfying. Large knitting projects with two identical pieces are dangerous, in to say they require time, dedication, and an intense to desire to impress someone.

Maybe yourself; maybe your spouse; maybe your best knitting buddy.

I recently had foot surgery to repair a life-long pronation and year-old collapsed arch. This means, with two little kids, that I am camped out--queen-like--on my pull-out couch, knitting. I chose a pattern off of Lion Brand Yarns mobile site, quite good if you are of the iTouch, iPod, iPad, etc. generation, and, of course, I chose a leg-warmer pair made using size 3 needles and sock yarn.

When I finish warmer #2, I'll post a picture.