Philosophy: The rhythm of the needles brings peace to my soul.
When I was about five, my little German grandma taught me how to knit. I made a scarf for my dad. It was done in blue Red Heart Yarn and it barely fit around his neck. He still has it.
My grandma grew up in Ulm during World War II. Back then, learning to knit and darn socks was as much of a staple for girls in third grade as learning to add and subtract, maybe more so.
I found myself returning to my needles throughout my life when things got tough. There is a rhythm in them and sitting with some yarn for awhile, listening to them click, is a sort of meditation. Plus, you get something in the end.
The best memories I have from childhood were sitting on my grandma’s couch, knitting with her. She’d count my stitches for me (in German) and offer to pick up the ones I dropped, but I always insisted on doing that myself.
About six years ago, I taught myself to crochet. I became what I like to call the curator of a fine collection of woolen fibers. I started writing patterns if I couldn’t find exactly what I wanted and teaching my friends this craft. The ones that didn’t want to learn the skill were never short on requests for finished items I personalized for them.
Learning to knit or crochet or create anything new out of nothing, for that matter, is an art all itself. It’s learning a new language. What falls away when yarn is put to steel or bamboo or your needles of choice is nothing short of a miracle. Woven into each of those stitches is the maker’s time, persistence, intention and soul. That’s art, friends.
So, I invite you to follow me through the challenges of “doing yarns” (as my kids used to call it). You can find my favorite things here, my projects, patterns and insight. Even if you don’t work with yarn, we all make art of some kind. Even your grocery list is art in its own right.
Maybe we can learn something together. At the very least, we can weave a story.