FO: Talus & Heather

   

Sometimes the boundary between creative integrity and unreasonable self-criticism is a dark and murky line to tread. Take for example, this hat: I started and finished it a few weeks ago, and blocked it soon after, but I haven't had the heart to photograph it until now.

The reason? Because, in my infinite wisdom and forethought, I left it on my blocking table for a few days after it had dried. Each day I would walk by it, sitting in its little patch of sun, and think: now that is a good hat. It's pink and cute, and though it feels different than the original, I'm still quite fond of it.

It wasn't until I picked it up to weave in the ends that I had the sinking realization that while it basked in that bright patch of sunshine, the hat had faded from a clear, lovely pink to a tea-stained rose - just on the side that was facing the sun. A faint yellowed line marked the difference between front and back, and if I could tell, then goddamn it, anyone could.

So I got upset: with myself; with the yarn; with myself again. And I grumpily took photos, and I asked my fellow knitters for their advice. We all came down on the side of overdyeing it, and I let the matter rest until I could stomach the idea of actually doing it.

 

But yesterday, I picked up the hat, and I tried it on again. And somewhere between last week and this week, I unconsciously made the decision that sometimes 'good, not perfect' is good enough. I don't need to tear myself apart over a hat - a hat which, if I didn't point it out to anyone, wouldn't even register as flawed - just because it doesn't live up to my usual (read: unreasonably high) personal creative standards.

Because, for all my misgivings about it, the ethos that has served me best over the years is not perfection, but adventure. Without it, I never would have learned to knit socks, or gone to Indonesia, or gotten married; I wouldn't have built a ballgown, or worked at a yarn shop, or taken jazz piano lessons in Japan. All of those things were scary; they also define the moments at which I've been most thankful to be a human being.

So while perfection can be gorgeous, I don't want it, and neither does my hat. Which, if I do say so myself, is still pretty darn cute.

Details are on Ravelry here.

Happy Monday!

<3

Cory

Open Post: Creativity & Process Blog Hop

A while back, I got tagged by Ariel of Stariel Knits to be part of a blog hop. Life intervened - weddings! fiber festivals! tailoring! oh my! - so I am abysmally late in posting my response.

I don't participate in these kinds of memes very often, but I really like how thought-provoking this one is. Thinking about creativity and process is a big part of my daily life, and I love engaging with others on the topic.

In that vein, I've tagged Kat of The Wayward Knitter, and I'd also like to hear what you think! If one or more of these questions resonates with you, please share your thoughts in the comments.

Here are the questions:

1) What am I working on?

2) How does my work differ from others of its genre?

3) Why do I write/create what I do?

4) How does my writing/creative process work?

 

1) What am I working on?

My primary construction project is my tailored jacket for school. I'm also writing the pattern for Pip, and working on a short story with a fragmented narrative and a noir feel to it.

 

2) How does my work differ from others of its genre?

Both my design and written work are driven by narrative and thoughtful simplicity. I try not to use two words where one will do. I like to use textures and patterns that evoke certain feelings about an object without straying too far into the literal, appropriative, or derivative.

Hitting upon beauty - whether in a well-turned phrase, or an unexpected color combination - is an intuitive and visceral experience for me; on the other hand, I like to understand the source and context of things I find meaningful. I think both are often expressed in my work.

  

3) Why do I write/create what I do?

Because I have to. Indirectly, the creative process is a big part of my emotional self-care. I'm an introvert with a frustratingly high sensory input, and absorbing the emotion of everyday life can be really overwhelming for me. When I'm making or writing things, it allows me to interact with the world in a way that processes and releases that input.

 

4) How does my writing/creative process work?

I always start with an image. It may be a particular moment in time, or a detail of a garment, or a combination of color and texture. Sometimes the image is clear; sometimes it's a feeling without focus that I have to work to define and expand upon. Usually I go through a few drafts, streamlining the details as I go.

Editing is probably both my least and most favorite part of the process: it allows me to focus on what I really want to express, but it can really hurt to kill your darlings. This is one place that my perfectionism can be an asset, though - if I love something, but I can tell it obviously doesn't work, I throw it away.

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Thanks for reading, and happy Friday!

<3

Cory

WIP: Secret Swatching

 

So although our personal lives have been obnoxiously unstable for the last two weeks (more on that later), I've still managed to do some swatching for a design project I'm working on with a friend.  I found a stitch pattern I really liked while browsing sweaters on Etsy, sketched it out and charted it based on the photos, and swatched a little bit the other day.  It reminded me that even though I'm not a big fan of swatching while I'm doing it, it really does give me a lot of information - especially when designing.

The stitch pattern originally had yarnovers as the method of increasing, and while I love the idea for a women's blouse with a lighter yarn, the fabric was just too airy for the garment I'm making.  So I played with lifted increases, and lo and behold, I really like it.  It just goes to show how the best laid plans are sometimes not the right ones!