restingmotion

What I Did Over My Christmas Vacation

Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  And it felt wonderful.

 

That statement is, in fact, a bit of an exaggeration. I spent whole days knitting, well maybe 6 or 8 hours of a day. I think that counts.  I reported that I had finished a sock, the second one of a pair.  I have worn them frequently since.  But I also spent a lot of time knitting my cozy, oversized, pink cardigan, a cardigan I dearly hope to finish and wear before the relatively short Knoxville winter comes to an end.  Of course it may also work as a spring sweater as cool evenings and mornings often extend well into the Knoxville spring. Whether late frosts are actually a part of spring or an extension of winter seems to be semantically contentious here, although I do not think that the seasons are determined by temperature alone. 

 

But I digress.  As you can see, I was doing something. I finished the back and one front of this long sweater.  The other front, the sleeves, assembly, and a knitted-on cowl remain.  But this is where the something/nothing debate becomes important. I live in a culture where we admire people who do handwork, admire craft, music, art, but which also thinks of this activity as outside of the “normal” or “productive” part of life and culture. Increasingly think the opposite is true.  It is the making and the makers that are truly living and the rest of the world that is spinning its wheels on a little hamster-wheel of our own creation.  But this is not supposed to be a philosophical post.

What I really did not do was keep up with email, facebook, instagram, or social media in most forms.  I could go whole days without connecting to the inter webs and it felt good.  I saw people individually and socially, but otherwise I explored skills, skills that need significant amount of sharpening before I can achieve that happy place where idea and muscle memory join forces, where the idea is the spark, and one’s collection of tools (skills), as well as one’s ability to get out of one’s own way, can allow art to occur.  I think this tool-building stage of life will take some time.

I did try my hand at some sewing, with mixed results. I made a pair of black silk evening pants which are quite wearable but which do not really live up to my former standards.  There is a good bit of “happy hands at home” imperfection to the finished product.  

 

I could have started with something easier and more practical.  But I have never been one to take the measured, practical path. I had despaired of the fact that all my clothes were casual.  I desperately wanted something dressy, hence the idea of evening pants; but it was a project was both perfect and foolhardy.  Sewing silk, and silk chiffon is tricky under the best of circumstances, and I was starting with two deficits in that I neither had a well-fitting pant pattern or much in terms of recent sewing practice.  Still, I managed to make the pants and the construction is decent, if not couture quality.  I simply served the edges and did not bother making french seams.  The problem came with the tiny hems.  In fact I initially hoped to wear these pants to a Christmas party, but did not because I couldn’t manage the hems.  My plan, and a perfectly logical one at that, was to put the pants aside until after the holiday, when I would make the narrow hems by hand.  I am much more confident of my hand-sewing at the moment than my machine sewing.  But the many edges to be turned under meant that I had several days of hemming ahead of me, so no party pants for the party season.

 

And then, on December 30th my foolish little inner demon reared her head. I decided I could wear the pants to a New Year’s Even party.  There was not enough time for hand-hemming. so I just dove in, figuring that wearing something, and something I made, even if it was finished badly, was more appealing than not trying at all.  

I worked in a variation on the normal procedure, doing the hems first, and then the side seams on the open chiffon panels, reasoning that the hems, being near the floor, would be less visibly wonky to others than the side seams.  That worked.  My hems look like a first year home-ec student did the sewing, but the narrow hems at the sides of the chiffon panels looked good, and I was happy wearing the pants, feeling festive and swishy.  I paired the pants with a sweater I had finished a year ago, and not yet worn, knit in Artyarns Beaded Silk and Sequins and Merino Cloud. And yes, a bathroom selfie seems to be the best I can manage at the moment.

Also shown in this post are two photos of the bowl I made at the “pottery indulgence” workshop I attended, and wrote about, in November.  It too is a bit rustic and far from perfect.  In fact I think if I can learn to celebrate anything, I hope to celebrate the fruits of the process of making, imperfections and all.  But then, I have always felt it is our imperfections that make us human, and therefore lovable. 

 

 

Weekend Update: Socks, Playing with Clay, Music

I ripped the sock back on Saturday, ripped it back to about an inch and a half from the ribbing at the top.  I knew I had dropped a stitch, and was holding it with a marker.  But at some point after the heel I discovered that I had dropped another stitch on the foot, and a I tinked back I also discovered that there were other errors.  I am not a perfectionist.  One error I can live with, but this was too many.  

 

The sock is not done.  But I will be much happier with it, having accepted my mistakes and started over.

Saturday night I went to a “Pottery Indulgence” party/workshop at Arrowmont School of Craft in nearby Gatlinburg.  I had never made anything out of clay before, I was a bit nervous, and my bowl is a bit rough, but I had a lot of fun.

First we played with texture on a sample slab, then we applied the texture and cut out our bowl shape, refining the edges, smoothing and beveling, and finally folding it up and forming it into a bowl.  I had a little trouble with the seams, but I got them together.  My thumb, index and middle fingers are the ones most plagued by arthritis, but I managed.    Somehow, while I was trying to form my bowl without simultaneously deform it, I was reminded of childhood, of making mud pies with my friend Ginny, and the perfect little turkeys she would mold from the mud.  

Perhaps I am not a natural at clay.  But I would like to play some more. The “handles” on my bowl were a last-minute whim.  I had planned to leave the top plain, but then started drawing free-form leaf shapes in my practice clay.  They may be the best thing I did.  They may prove to be a disaster.  As you can tell, it was time to walk away.

 

Friday night was symphony night, and I took the family.  Grandson O is very interested in percussion, and one of the works on the program was a fabulous percussion concerto, Spices, Perfumes, Toxins! by Avner Dorman.  The percussionists were two members of Nief Norf, a contemporary music group based in Knoxville (which I adore), Andrew Bliss and Mike Truesdell.   The performance was energetic and dynamic, a conversation really between these fabulous musicians and the orchestra itself, almost a marathon given the huge number of percussion instruments the two men played, including marimbas, vibraphones, tom-toms, bells, bongos, drum sets and things I can’t identify.  They brought both power and subtlety to the performance: from the complex tapestry of sounds that was the first movement (spices), through the often delicate lyricism of the middle section and into the dynamic combativeness and melding together of the closing, feeling very redolent of the complexities of modern life.  I was awed, amazed and enlightened.

 

The concert ended with Beethoven’s 7th symphony, a piece that revolves more around rhythmic passages than around complex melodies, and it was heavenly, perhaps the finest Beethoven I have heard this orchestra perform.  It seems that I am becoming boringly repetitive in that I keep saying that the orchestra has never sounded better, and they haven’t.  It is true.  The performance was held lightly, buoyant even, the orchestra seeming to achieve a kind of relational nuance that I tend to associate with fine chamber groups, even if on a larger scale.  The music was crisp, conversational, happy even, as tensions that arose and resolved, like an evening spent with the best of friends.  As I sat listening, my fingers and toes dancing to the music, O’s head resting on my shoulder, I could think of few things more magical.

Holding the Center

I more or less shut the door on the world for a few days.  I went out to see a production of a Christmas Carol Friday night, and Sunday was the Christmas pageant at my church.  Watching little children always makes me smile, the littlest sheep especially.  Somewhere in between the two I watched Alfonso Cuáron's 1995 version of A Little Princess.  All three left me smiling and singing happy little songs to myself. I am no opponent of sappy romanticism.  Sometimes it is exactly what we need.

That also could have been because I spent much of the weekend working on knitting and handwork.  While I watched the movie I did some hand-sewing, alterations and mending on a velvet jacket (above) that I hoped to wear to a couple of holiday parties this week.

But I also did a fair amount of knitting as well, working on a few last-minute gift ideas, as well as a project for myself.  The last-minute gift knitting wasn't particularly pressured.  I'd already done all my shopping and have everyone covered, this was just inspiration knitting.  Ideas popped into my head and my fingers were itching to get started.  One should run with inspiration when it hits after all.  

By Sunday afternoon I had found my equilibrium again and I managed to catch up with the world a bit, reading the Sunday NY Times and this week's Economist between bouts of knitting and a trip to the gym.  Despite the news, and the fact there will be a bit more hustle and bustle over the next few days, I am still humming.  

 

For me, increasingly,  this season isn't really about doing more, but about finding the light and holding the center.   Somehow in my head thoughts are swirling around a bastardization of two metaphors. First there is the idea of life as an aboriginal longhouse, from Louise Penny's newest novel, Kingdom of the Blind, where "Everyoe we meet, every word we speak, every action taken or not taken lies in our longhouse. With us. Always. Never to be expelled or taken away.".  I am juxtaposing that with the idea of a magic circle, rekindled yes, from A Little Princess.  This entire holiday season whatever you celebrate or believe, seems to be about maintaining that circle, about lighting a fire of hope and love, and holding what is important close, be it creativity, friends, family.  Our longhouse is always full and crowded, the busyness of the world always around us.  But within the circle there is love.  What is in your circle?

 

 

 

A Few Notes on Recent Reading

It is December 1st. Project painting continues and I grow weary of the disruption to my routines, to my thoughts, to my ability to find a quiet space to write, think, dream...

 

The post I have been planning to write for a week now is still fragmentary, scattered in bits throughout corners of the house and odd meandering pathways of my mind.  Instead I shall catch you up with a few of the books I've been reading.

 

I was looking forward to reading Thomas Keneally's new novel Napoleon's Last Island but in the end I did not finish it before it was due back at the library.  I have no regrets.  Keneally is an excellent writer, the prose was beautiful, the story well thought out and well managed, but as the novel progressed I became increasingly bored.  It was a shame, as the conceit was fabulous and full of potential:  Napoleon's exile through the eyes of a child who befriended him.  But in the end I felt the narrator was not herself interesting enough of a character to maintain the story.  The writing was elegant but elegantly boring, a pedantic accounting of what, where, and when without spark.

 

 

I started reading Francine Prose's Mr. Monkey immediately after picking it up from the library, and was smitten.  I put it aside however as I could see that as much as it was an engaging fast paced story, and much as I wanted to crawl into a corner with a blanket and a cup of coffee and engorge myself in the tale, I forced myself to slow down. It is a book that rewards all the attention one is willing to give it.  Passing itself off as a light-hearted romp through the production of an off- off-Broadway production of a children's musical, it is really a satire of modern life, both tragic and comic.  It is an at times grim depiction of despair and the toll taken by a lifetime of failed expectations and also a celebration of life.  The author accomplishes all of this through the sympathy and gentleness behind the development of her characters.  The story is deftly told from multiple perspectives, and it is a told in a way that adds humanity to the story itself as we see each character as they see themselves, as they wish to be seen by others, and as they are actually seen.  But that seeing, which could be brutal, is not.  The book is lighthearted and funny, but it is also kind and humane and deceptively deep.  It has crept under my skin.

 

I'll end with a few thoughts that have been swirling around in my head since recently rereading Wendy Mogel's The Blessing of a Skinned Knee.   I like, and have kept, this book primarily because of its focus on achieving a balanced life through moderation, celebration, and sanctification, principles I feel are essential to happiness in life.  I've been thinking about this a lot lately, that we each have been given a gift, the gift of life, and our purpose in life is to use this gift well and not squander it.  In the process we sometimes forget about the principles above, especially sanctification.  We get overwhelmed by big issues, we grow comfortable and complacent in our lives, and we forget that there is a holiness or a sanctity in every day actions.  Our lives are our sanctuary, our homes are our sanctuary, and everything we do, even the most mundane tasks, can be a lifting up, an opportunity to connect with the holiness of life.  Yes, often we feel like much of life is a burden,  I am as prone to this as anyone (see opening paragraph) but instead I'd like to suggest that when we allow the weight of the world to oppress us, even in incredibly tiny ways, we are relinquishing some part of our gift.  This is the season of advent in the Christian tradition, a season of preparation and waiting, and perhaps a season to cultivate gratitude and the sanctity of caring for ourselves, our homes, and our neighbors.

 

 

 

 

A Few Snippets From San Francisco.

All I can say is that I didn't intend to drag this out so long...

 

Here I am my first morning in San Francisco ready to go out.  It is cool and I intend to walk around a while and perhaps snag myself a treat before meeting Lisa for lunch.  Although you can't tell, and I forgot to take pictures during the day, the jacket is navy, and I am wearing a winey-purple tunic under it. By the time I met Lisa, the scarf was either tied to my handbag, or stuffed inside. 

After admiring each other's watches I mentioned that I needed a second watch, one without a leather strap, one that I could wear working outside in the humid summer heat.  I had been considering an Apple watch for some time, especially the lavender-strapped variety she had linked to in her blog.  However, each time I went shopping for one in Knoxville the lavender was out of stock, and I was reluctant to order it sight unseen. And so, after a conversation-filled lunch, being only a couple of blocks away, we proceeded to the Apple Store.

The store is architecturally brilliant, and I wish I had taken more pictures, had spent more time looking at the way the store uses light and space, creating something that is both protected and open, modern yet with a respect for the past.  Alas I was entranced with the process of spending money and being kitted out in my new watch.

The next day I went to the Fort Mason Center with friends to see the American Craft Council Show.  We had a lovely time.  I was surprised in that the show seemed smaller and quieter than I had remembered the early shows at Rhinebeck being, or the Baltimore and Atlanta shows, which I remember as being mammoth and crowded.  But it has been years, and perhaps my memory is faulty.  There was much to see, and I collected some cards from artists whose work I admired.  The  tiles pictured above reminded me of paint colors I had been looking at recently, and they also appeal to that part of me that loves old Craftsman tiles (and over-the top art nouveau tiles as well), that same part of me that still dreams of a 1920's or 1930s house.

But this necklace was the only thing I purchased.  It seems there was a gray and lavender and rose gold theme going on. Two simple beads on a cord.  It was the specific shapes and colors that attracted me, and its casual simplicity.  The necklace is exactly the kind of simple shape I love, especially in the summer, when it feels too hot for any excess.