Monday, May 21, 2007
BETWEEN A ROCK AND A SOFT PLACE
For the Grotto Scarf, pictured above and one of the patterns in my Knitaly book, the colors grey and moss green play starring roles, inspired in part by the ice age droppings lumbering around my house in the form of huge boulders. Apparently, a few eons ago, a glacier passed through town, leaving these granite beomoths behind as prehistoric calling cards. Now my husband moves them about our property, groups them in little rock concerts and slices them up for the walls you see in the photo. Yes, while I try to knit them up...
Embraced by stone: my house from the steps.
I do love stone. Rocks are so, well, solid and seemingly everlasting, aren't they (few 'new' rocks exist in the natural world)? And, if that weren't reason enough to love them, every world-steady rock face is also a color-shifter. Stone is rarely a single flat-faced color. Take the grey in granite, for instance: rarely will you find a solitary, monotonous, foggy shade but, instead, can catch the rich layered hues of time layered on time. Stone colors change constantly according to fluctuations of light and circumstance and, should you be lucky enough to add regular trickles of water, well a serious moss happening is bound to follow.
THe Grotto Scarf is my homage to stone and moss, water over rock. Certainly my voyage to Tuscany increased this attraction after I stumbled upon countless mysterious little grottos tucked away in the hillsides. Trickling water, ancient springs, sacred places—why not put all that into a scarf? I chose predominantly grey Tilli Tomas beaded silk with waterfalls of silk ribbons to create the effect of water over stone, mixing in lots of textury green yarn to evoke moss.
Add a stream of ribbon...
Speaking of old, Hannah Epstein, who isn't the least bit old, models the scarf in one of my ancient shirts. See that green blouse she's wearing? Thirty years old. Yes, the blouse is older than she. I made it from a piece of fine raw Indian silk and can't bear to part with it even though it tugs against the mountain regions.
PS: Details on Knitania to follow this week. How about a private guided tour through some the VIctoria&Albert's non-public textile rooms?
Posted by Jane on 05/21 at 06:54 PM
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Thursday, May 17, 2007
THE COLORS OF SPAIN, PT 1
The Shell Dance Capelet looks out over Spain
If it's true that we only use 10% of our brain's true capacity and I dedicate at least half of my available cranium resources to the pursuit of color, what's left? Awful thought, that. Maybe I'm running on empty, my brain so stuffed with designerly notions, I can't retain a solid thought. I can't remember my own cell number but I recall exactly what color a friend wore to dinner three years ago.
In fact, I know what I was wearing in grade five when my now oldest friend came up to me in the school yard to say: 'You dress funny. Let's be friends' --a teal coat, gold velvet tam with a brown pompom on top, gold knee socks and red shoes, hardly the dress code of the day. I'd periodically raid my mother's closet for interesting pieces to combine with my own duds. Though Edith claims me to be ahead of my time, I suspect plain eccentricity ruled my day. I didn't understand why dressing in the boring uniform of freshly peer-pressed skirts and penny loafers equated to popularity.
I'm digressing again. Really, I began writing today about the colors of Spain. My first impressions of the countryside, formed as they were during the first few rainy days of my visit, are of soft, sherbert yellows fused with pink melding into soft green. Everywhere I looked, the stepped landscape of orchards blurred into the mist forming the nexus of my Spanish memory clips. Rain makes for interesting light, blending watery brush strokes across the landscape.
The hue of stepped orchards captured in yarn
Amal and I spoke about color and landscape constantly, studying her swatches as if they were little texture shots of everything around us. Those hanks of Colinette yarn caught my eye because they seemed to capture the exact colors of the stepped hills right outside her front door. What you can't see from the 'stepped yarn' photo are the sprigs of new cherry blossoms and the loquat-laden trees just off to the right. Hence the yellow and the pink.
After I returned home, I ambled through my own designs for similiar Spanish colorings and came across the Shell Dance capelet, a paler-than-usual (for me) drop-stitch wrap knit in Blue Heron rayon tape and rayon metallic. It so reminded me of those stepped hills and of the lovely ochre-hued light that suffuses the land on misty days. I though afterwards that perhaps the very earth gave off this lemon light. You can almost see it glowing from the stone walls, the tiles, the pottery. Yes, my friends, Spain does come in yellow.
Posted by Jane on 05/17 at 07:20 PM
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From the entry 'Wild, Mysterious Australia'.
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| By Christine Jones on 2008 12 28 |
