What to knit when your brain is sludge

Home! I am home. Hello, home. I missed you so. It was wonderful to spend so much time surrounded by family and old friends, and to walk around my old stomping grounds (and boy, did I walk. Everywhere. Vancouver is great for that.) Still, there’s no substitute for being in your own space and sleeping in your own bed, and I missed himself and Chicken-Leg Al the Wonder Cat.

Mawata Colossus: the Peephole block

Being part 3 of a series of tutorials for the Mawata Colossus project. The first part explains how to knit with mawata or silk hankies, and the second gives a recipe for the Picture Window block. Because mawata don’t come in a standard yarn weight and you may have your own preferences for the gauge and size of your blocks, these posts describe how I make the blocks and give guidelines on making your own. They’re more sort of recipes, rather than proper tested, tech edited patterns.

Colour Play 3: the zombie socks

The observant among you may have noticed a brand new knitting project at the bottom of my last post. “What’s that?” you may have wondered, “A new project? Does that mean she’s finished some of that giant, nagging heap of WIPs?” No. No, it does not, smarty trousers. What it means is that I have this compulsion to use every trip over half an hour long as an excuse to start something new.

Colour play 2: The Great Shetland Experiment

Being stage 2 of ongoing experiments in becoming the boss of colour in spinning. The Cormo spinning progresses apace, but as I mentioned last time, it’s going to take a while, and I have the attention span of a hummingbird on speed. Enter some English Shetland wool from Into the Whirled: one multicoloured braid

Hand me that sheep, Igor

If you spin, you’ve seen them: those braids of fibre, hand painted in glorious blobs of colour, with names like Night Carnival, Autumn Leaves, Mille Fiori. Those braids scare the pants off of me. Now, I love colour. I’m a knitter; I design in colourwork; of course I love colour. But for some reason, faced with those riotous braids, I’m stymied. What the hell would I do with them? What if, despite the dyer’s careful application of their art, I spin them up into something ugly? Something that offends the eye and sends children screaming to their mothers? Those colourful…