Knitted Rucksack!

29 Thursday Jan 2009

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Finally lined this. I spent all of the winter holidays knitting this from a pattern in Stitch ‘n’ Bitch, although I skipped the intarsia as I wasn’t sure what design I wanted to use, and didn’t take any wool other than the red with me anyway. I plan to embroider a design on it eventually, but to all intents and purposes it is one completed rucksack!

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See the way the white makes the zip look like a mouth? So far I have 2 votes to add eyes and turn this into an odd little rucksack creature… I’m not entirely sure,  it might be a little creepy.

Turns out I’m not very good at following patterns particularly well. I miscounted some of the measurements and ended up having to do some  grafting on the gussett and some creative sewing in one corner to get all the pieces to work together. I also sewed the body together before knitting the straps… which are supposed to be sewn into the seams. Oops. Turned out alright though, I grafted them on instead so now they grow out of the back 🙂

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And here it is with my current, slightly more adventurous, project peeking out. A stripey hoodie. Pattern also from Stitch ‘n’ Bitch, wool is a silky brand called Debbie, and my choice of colours are red, orange and purple. They looked so yummy together! Despite being in the sale, they still cost a whole pile of money, (Thank you, Dad and S. Birthday/xmas present has already given me hours of joy!) but its so nice to work with, and I’m hoping the cost will encourage me to actually finish it sooner rather than later. I’m using bamboo knitting needles, which are so much more pleasant than metal or plastic, I think I’ll have to amas a collection of them… The black and psychedelic patterned box in there is a pencil-box in which I keep all my little knitting things, like tape-measure, stitch counters, tapestry needle, etc. It makes me smile when I look at it because the patterns so funky!

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The hoodie so far… wish me luck!
This is the back piece, the purple stripe will be about 4 inches wide, with another inch wide orange stripe and then more red… with, hopefully, a red hood and pocket and purple sleeves (probably with an orange stripe or two as I’m not sure I bought quite enough purple :P)

Space and Colour

24 Saturday Jan 2009

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The preceding three posts, Dreamer, Starstruck and Touchdown, were the result of a wintertime jaunt into the big city. Nottingham to be precise. I went hunting art galleries, and after several hours it seemed I had failed.

A chance turning proved me wrong and I found myself in the Castle Galleries.

Here I followed my usual pattern and, immediately on entering the door I turned Left and followed the wall around, down the stairs and back again, soaking up the beautiful art pieces on display (all for sale at far beyond my current means!)

As I gazed on the muted colours and play of light in these paintings I found myself returning to an old thought… my tendency towards saturated colours lets me down. Couldn’t I do so much better? Couldn’t I uncover so much more depth in my art, if I conquered my urge to use bright strong colours and mute them, make them subtle, make them soft?

I felt disheartened, somewhere deep in my heart I knew that while I may indeed find muted, muddy colours useful one day, and I certainly would love to have a more striking sense of chiaroscuro in my works, I adore bright colours! Love them. Would hate to part from them.

You can imagine, then, how turning the corner then and coming face to face with Peter Smith‘s “Pick Me” was a delight!

The colours! The pure happy, joyful, colours!

I left the gallery with a sense that I was on the right path for me. What a relief that was.

I also, in the same visit, found myself admiring the use of white space in one artist’s work, how it told the story, and how it was perfectly fine to have a single figure with no specific background, something I do but an never sure I’m right to. I remembered my 15 year olds forays into drawing angels as emotions, and begun to mull over what would happen if I brought these things togather again. White space to tell a story, colour to make my heart sing, and my angels, as not just human and yet intricately, intimately connected to humanity. And so these three pictures were born.

Its always reassuring to see artworks that reflect something of what you do in your own works, especially when you’ve been doubting yourself. It reminds me of that thing I know I know, but sometimes forget… art is what you make it, there is no wrong way, only your way.

The Dreamer

24 Saturday Jan 2009

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dreamerI am a dreamer. A dreamer I have always been. But what I have learnt, despite those that tell me I should stop and live in the ‘real world’, what I’ve learnt is that if I dream hard enough if I carry those dreams with me as I walk in the world, my dreams, they become real. My dreams become the real world. And the real world is that much more beautiful for it.

And so it begins…

22 Thursday Jan 2009

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I might, if I let myself, wonder why I’ve decided to start another blog.

So, before I ask too hard and decide to delete it and save myself the time, let me list the reasons, for myself, and for my guests.

I’ve been reading several crafty blogs recently, and I’ve really enjoyed seeing peoples creations, but more than that, the thought processes and inspirations that they discover, so I am allowing myself some space to muse on my own thoughts and inspirations.

In a similar vein, I kinda want to offer something back to those people who I have found inspirational, and to share with others in a similar position to me.

I have an LJ for random, ‘this-is-whats-happening’ posts, Devaintart for artworks and somewhere on blogspot for just short stories, but nowhere for my more crafty things. As I’d like to put all my creativity in one place somewhat, I thought I’d better find a place to do it.

Finally, this is an act of magic. By gifting myself with this space, and opening up to share with anyone who wants to share with me, I hope to let my creativity really flower.

So, yeah, this is for anything creative I do or think, and for anything inspirational I find that I’d like to share. If anyone wanders through and would like to share, please do.

Hope I can give something back to those that have inspired me, and that this can be a place where I can increase, by just a little, the amount of beauty and delight in the world.

The Dance

28 Sunday Dec 2008

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The beat. Struck. Deep.
Rhythm. Pulsed. Through.
Bodies. Dripped. Danced.

The sweat poured from her skin and she did not notice. It made her movements smoother, easier, removing all friction from between her and the world.

She danced.

Lights flashed every colour imagined since neon, a riot of manic patterns coating the room with jilted visions of seconds snapshotted from the ravers’ lives.

The beat struck deep in her bones.

Her arms moved of their own accord, feet dragged willingly on puppet strings of song. She did not dance, the beat danced her.

She was the dance.

No thoughts. No mind. No feeling but pure bliss.

Only the dance.

Her eyes, half open, watching the floor. The floor, moving beneath her, known only by the touch of her feet.

She was the dance.

Then, into her sight, came another pair of shoes.

Feet faced feet, dancing together.

Matched perfectly, dancing in the dance.

The music raised their faces at the same moment and they met, recognising in each other themselves.

They danced together.

Time began, mirrored in each other’s eyes.

They danced in until the lights came up, the sun rose beyond the walls.

The danced out together, fingers entwined, along the beach where the waves began to pound.

They danced together, no longer alone in their world, alone in the dance.

They danced together and a new world was born between them. A world of wonder.

They danced together.

And the world danced too.

Gypsy Dreaming

14 Sunday Dec 2008

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I watch the rich red curtains fall gently behind my next visitor. A soft-spoken lady with a face like a mouse, sharp and shifty-eyed, she steps forward hesitantly.

I wait, drawing the sense of the mystical around me, important, this is, for both her and for me, we wouldn’t want to ruin the performance, would we?

She takes a sharp breath to begin stammering whichever variation on “what do I do now?” they all seem to ask, and I interrupt, my voice soft but clear.

“Take a seat.”

The sound rings out in the tent, but does not echo. I gaze at her as she jumps slightly and then does as I have suggested.

I pause, waiting for the right moment.

A moment that comes slightly later than it would in a normal conversation.

A moment that becomes heavy with importance.

A moment that brings itself forth from the thick, red-tinged incense smoke.

“You have come with a question.” The moment states. I am not asking, but she nods in reply.

“Then we shall begin.”

The question is spoken hesitantly into the gloom and the cards turn inevitably over. They speak of people and places, of limitations she has placed upon herself, dreams she has given up. The story is old, very few come to me with a story that is vastly different, for those that follow their dreams need not ask me what they are.

Her face clouds with uncertainty, how can I know with such clarity things she barely understands about herself? It is easy, but I do not tell her this. The cards, they speak to me, they have spoken to me so long I can barely remember a time when I struggled to understand them. They open my mind to the web of dreams and destinies that entwine us all, and show me, through a raft of images, where to look for this particular story, this particular fate.

She leaves, her dream revealed, a door recognised, a key received. I do not expect her to truly walk through it, although that is not unknown. Often it is enough for people to know that their dreams are still there.

After she is gone I gently blow the candles out with a kiss, return my friends to their cotton cloth – a gift from a friend and more valuable than any silk recommended by a well-meaning author – and I wrap my shawl around my shoulders to leave.

I slip out the back of my tent and walk home smiling, the cool night air coming in on the tail of the day and gracing my lungs with fresh clarity.

As I walk I remember my dreams and sing to the slowly revealed stars, rehearsing for the gig coming that night.

Devils and Gods

01 Thursday May 2008

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You find yourself wrapped in shadows, unable to move.

Transfixed, you are, by a beauty, slowly melting out of the distant darkness. The shadows clothe her, her hair sweeps the floor and is blood red, revealing and concealing her movements in turn.

You can see a glow in her belly, as though she is made of glass and has fire burning deep within. She stalks towards you, slow, inexhorable, hypnotic.

The fire rises through her chest and pours down, down her arms into her hands. The glow brightens and the flames lick out through her palms, forming a shape, becoming hard. Soon she grasps a double headed axe, and still she comes closer. Each sensuous step brings her closer.

She is close enough now that you feel the heat radiate from her skin and she stops, her nose an inch from yours.

“I cannot slay your demons,” she whispers with a sad smile, “But I can slay my own.”

She leans back, you still cannot move, and the axe begins to swing.