The theory is that eventually
So, in addition to taking on a project using nubby, variegated, untreated aka "mega natural" yarn that contains my bugbear, silk - the scarf also appears to be asymmetrical (vaguely visible in the pic above, much more visible in the pic of my partially-finished version). Why don't we just get me a spinning wheel and call it a day?
OMG, it's like I took my every fibre-fear and put it together in one project. This is the spider's nest of knitting and I'm apparently in flooding therapy.
Allow me to articulate my concerns:
- The yarn (which is knit from two skeins, simultaneously, in a double strand) appears to have different textures as it blends into different colours (see the uniformly grey part with the halo).
- Though I tried to start the skeins on the same shade (and chose similarly coloured balls, as directed, with similar colouring), somehow - you can see - it hasn't worked out. I've got charcoal blending with camel and it shows no sign of abating.
- Also, how freakin' long is it going to take to get to the pretty blue colour I was certain would make a meaningful appearance?? I want this to look like a clear sky strung with clouds. Right now it looks a bit, um, fungal.
- I'm working on a size 10US needle. Yeah, each strand of yarn appears to be approximately fingering weight but, according to what I've read, each strand knits up like DK-weight and so 2 strands, one assumes, would rightly knit on a larger needle - though 10US is a gateway to the ridiculously large sizes. Mind you, it's uncomfortable knitting above an 8US. Everything gets clunky. And this thing is so whimsical. How can I knit on indelicate needles??
- The outcome of knitting rather thin yarn on rather thick needles is that the yarn takes on an open-knit look. I LOATHE open-knit. I mean, lace-work will pass, on occasion, but I cannot stand it when you can see through stockinette. So I am working mindfully to keep it together. It appears that the only needle size I don't own (below a 10US) is a 9US. Which is unfortunate. And I'm not about to start fussing with this. Unknitting this yarn, in its double strand, would be an exercise in futility, I imagine. So it's onward and upward, with as much tension as I can bring to the stitches without compromising what I hope will be some beautiful drape.
- My Ravelry projects page looks like a study in cerise and blue. In truth, there are many shades going on in my knitting - if linked to the same general level of saturation - but they don't really seem different from one another in the photos. Blame your computer screen. That's what I do. So, to rectify this, I decided to mush all the greys, beiges and blues into one skein :-) Yeah, I know, this isn't entirely the most earth-shattering departure from my norm, but I don't want to be so far from it that I can't get with the finished item. I wear the things I like.
- All of these great first-wave knitters are on about natural yarn and working with it to produce beautifully textured results. I don't know how much I like texture, but how will I ever know if I don't try?
- I have a knack for understanding how something will drape or fall. I can tell how it's going to be, simply by touching the fabric or yarn. Often, I can also tell by looking at a photo of a finished object (not the surest technique, but if it works for bra-shopping sight unseen, it generally works for everything else). I can't explain it but, if there's one natural talent I have when it comes to knitting and sewing, it's this: I commune with the fibre or textile in question and it tells me what to do. I realize this sounds ridiculous but it's actually exquisite to experience. This yarn (along with the Amitola look book), totally spoke to me. And I go with my gut. Of course, if this thing is a wretched failure, I'll have to revisit my perspective on my skill set, but till then, I'm gonna keep on.
Wow, ok, I think my only natural talent is faking it. I just fake fake fake like I can do something until some how I've become so good at faking that I really can do it. Oh and I have an unusual and frenetic talent for destruction. As good as I can be at making (with much trying and effort), I am loads better at (just simply and naturally) destroying.
ReplyDeleteNow what I would do - and I am not recommending this because it relates to my talents and not necessarily what I think is best for you - is that I would frog the thing with as much vigor and glee as a five year old unwrapping presents on xmas morning. That would bring me intense joy. But I have a feeling that you will persevere and it will be beautiful in an organic, possibly fungal, way.
Faking it (in this context :)) is good! I see it as another way of saying you're tenacious.
DeleteI have another pic of the scarf as it's taking shape and it's not as bad as I feared it would be. Maybe it's even fungally pleasant?
I'm with Clio, I don't see much of redeeming value at the moment (and it may be the fault of my computer screen.)
ReplyDeleteMy natural talent is not knowing when to let it go. Sometimes that results in a wearable project, and sometimes it doesn't.
Lois K
Hey Lois: Excellent natural talent. Kind of like faking it - you're determined to see it through. And the scarf is actually turning out to be less hideous than I was imagining it would be. I mean, I'm not totally sold yet but I'll post a more updated pic soon...
DeleteI am going to be the odd one out here...I think it is beautiful. Kind of like tree bark in a natural/minimalise/japanese type aesthetic.
ReplyDelete(Though maybe I have been living in a concrete jungle too long and am pining for the 'natural world' a bit much?)
Either way - I'd wear it!!!
It really is tree bark beautiful! Excellently phrased :-)
DeleteI'm with Linda...I think this is gorgeous. Redolent of autumnal forests and filtered light. Loving it. I'd wear it too.
ReplyDeleteOK, it's done now and I really do think it's going to be excellent. Blocking at the moment but I'll post another shot soon.
DeleteLooking at your knitting I would venture to comment that the cast-on looks too tight. I would cut off the cast-on row and redo it (joining the yarn neatly, of course)as a loose cast-off (do you guys call this binding off??). If this appeals, try it- otherwise frog & forget!
ReplyDeleteI think it's actually just the nature of the pattern. If you read on - see December's post called Earth and Sky - it actually all worked out in the end. But I did think the cast on was too tight at first (even though I was careful to keep it even).
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