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For me, colour and texture rule and most of the inspiration feeding my imagination comes from the natural world. I see knitting as art, as viable as any other, and no matter what the tool or preferred palette, in human hands, magic happens. Jane Email: jane@janethornley.com
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Recent Blog Entries
Saturday, October 24, 2009TALES FROM THE YARNAVORES AMAL GOES YARN SHOPPING IN BENIDORN, SPAIN Dear friends, it is my opinion that amid this current trend of gourmet lovers and foodies, in the midst of terms of refrerences to 'locavores' and slow food movements, we should also recognize the existace of something called 'yarnovores'. What is a 'yarnovore', you ask? Simple: one who seeks out yarn stores in every town yet only truly patronizes those that cater to their unique tastes. I am not, for instance, what you would call a traditional knitter. I don't tend to buy much from shops specializing in sock yarns or heaps of raw wool, no matter how lovely. I seek specialties (no, no, not NOVELTIES. Banish that word from your vocabulary. Too many nasty connotations), in other words, interesting and intriguing yarns that can be taught to play well with others in a symphony of mixed fibers. So my yarn dietary needs are hand-dyeds, indie-dyed yarns, silk, cashmere and anything so gorgeous your heart stops with one glance. If a store doesn't carry these, I'll pass it right by. Yes, even in a foreign town. Fact is, I travel a lot and sample the stores wherever I go. On this trip, I've sought out yarn from Venice to Spain and many ports in between. I've found yarn hiding out amoung the lingeries and tucked away in tiny shops well-hidden from view. And I'm a shop snob, a characteristic of yarnavores. In one store in Barcelona (the only one I found open), I walked in and out again after a matter of seconds beause all the stock was tucked away behind the counter. You were to point out the pattern that interests you from the catalogue, order the necessary 15 skeins and be done. No intereaction with the merchandise, please. Uh-uh. This yarnivore will only grace shops that let me fondle and squeeze. One doesn't marry without dating first, right? I do a tactile courtship with my yarns as part of my mating ritual. If the store won't let me, I'm moving on. Today, Amal and I visited a lovely but tiny little shop in Bellidorn, Spain, close to her home in Calpe. There I became acquainted with mostly Katia (Spainish) yarn, bought a few balls and left happy. Amal, whose yarnavore tendencies make me look miserly, trotted out the door with huge bags full. It's been a very good day. I do want to say one thing, though: we in North America are soooo lucky. Our diverse tastes are accounted for in shops specializing to our every need. Visiting European yarn shops is just not such a treat, believe me. We have it all in our own back yards.  The Jane in Spain |
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