Recently in Life Category

Thanks so much for the nice comments on Maxine! She's off to the test-knitters, so hopefully I'll receive some solid feedback and get the pattern to you in a timely fashion. Ethel, by the way is about this close to release. The test-knitters on that project were amazing, and I want to give a special shout-out to Maria. She was so generous with her time and energy, even taking out the graph paper herself when necessary to see where a problem was hiding, and winningly enthusiastic from start to finish. Maria, you rock. And the rest of the test-knitters: you rock, too.

So, on to business. I apologize in advance for the long, photo-less post today, but I'm really curious about your opinions on something. So here goes.

I've known about things like National Novel Writing Month and its many takeoffs for some time, and, while they're definitely not for me, they seem like a fun thing for people who have a hard time motivating themselves actually to sit down and write (and who thrive in an atmosphere of community and adrenalin). Spend a month frantically writing a novel, and decide at the end of the month whether what you've produced is worth refining, or whether it was a fun exercise that constituted its own reward. But lately I've been noticing some things that seem at once sillier and more culturally worrisome. Well, maybe by "culturally worrisome" I really mean "personally annoying." I'm having a hard time telling the difference right now, which is where you come in.

First up is Write or Die, which describes itself as "a web application that encourages writing by punishing the tendency to avoid writing. Start typing in the box. As long as you keep typing, you're fine, but once you stop typing, you have a grace period of a certain number of seconds and then there are consequences." Said "consequences" range from a little flashing box that reminds you to keep writing, to "kamikaze mode," in which your prose actually begins un-writing itself when the grace period elapses.

I know that Write or Die is mostly a joke, and if it's a useful tool for some people, who am I to complain? I also agree with the basic assumption that doing a lot of something - just practicing, without worrying about perfection as you practice - is a great way to improve. But I guess I'm seeing so much focus on the initial stage of creative production - the vomiting-it-out stage, so to speak - that the latter stages of editing, refining, ripping-out-and-re-knitting, are being neglected. One hardly ever hears, for example, about communities of people getting together for editing parties.

I actually think the knitting community is ahead of the game in this regard, because the luminaries of our field tend to stress the importance both of swatching beforehand, and ripping back when we've made a mistake that's going to bug us, or when a project just isn't living up to our expectations. There is also a lot of talk about putting things away for a while; I can't count the number of times in a Ravelry forum where a knitter has just discovered a heartbreaking mistake in a piece of knitting, and his compatriots advise taking a break, putting it away and letting it marinate for a while, giving the frustration and disappointment time to dissipate. This strikes me as incredibly wise, despite my own tendency to just rip out immediately and fix the problem (but I've had a lot of practice at detachment). Write or Die, on the other hand, doesn't give the writer time to stop and breathe, to re-read what she's written and make a change here or there, to recapture the flow of the narrative or just take stock of her direction. It's adrenalin/punishment-based, and while that's fine for a crazy weekend-long productivity-party, or even a month of novel-writing, it strikes me as a totally unsustainable way to live one's life in the long term.

In the same vein, Boing Boing today linked to Bre Pettis and Kio Stark's Cult of Done Manifesto, which goes thusly:

1. There are three states of being. Not knowing, action and completion.
2. Accept that everything is a draft. It helps to get it done.
3. There is no editing stage.
4. Pretending you know what you're doing is almost the same as knowing what you are doing, so just accept that you know what you're doing even if you don't and do it.
5. Banish procrastination. If you wait more than a week to get an idea done, abandon it.
6. The point of being done is not to finish but to get other things done.
7. Once you're done you can throw it away.
8. Laugh at perfection. It's boring and keeps you from being done.
9. People without dirty hands are wrong. Doing something makes you right.
10. Failure counts as done. So do mistakes.
11. Destruction is a variant of done.
12. If you have an idea and publish it on the internet, that counts as a ghost of done.
13. Done is the engine of more.

There are certain items on this list with which I strongly agree, even if I dislike their phrasing. "Laugh at perfection," for example, I find a very useful thing to keep in mind in any creative process. "Accept that everything is a draft" and "Failure counts as done. So do mistakes" both point to a process-based approach that I definitely appreciate. But "There is no editing stage"? "Once you're done you can throw it away"? And, most especially, "If you wait more than a week to get an idea done, abandon it"? To me, this list paints a picture of a frantic race to get something - anything - finished, without pausing to conceptualize, plan, or savor the process. Slapping something together because you want to get as much "done" as possible, viewing the germination process as nothing other than procrastination - it smacks of the desire for instant gratification. It's probably obvious by this point in my entry that this vision is not attractive to me. In its attempt to motivate people into accomplishing something, it veers wildly to an extreme, and fails to consider elements like careful craftsmanship, reflection, or pride in doing a job well, rather than simply doing it to have it done.

Perfectionistic procrastination versus slapdash, shoddy construction: it's truly a hard line to walk. And I suspect that to a certain extent, this is all a matter of semantics. Some people find the initial motivation and raw-material-production to be the most difficult part of the artistic process, so they want to stress the idea of just sitting down and getting something done. Other people find themselves drowning in piles of raw product, so they tend to stress the importance of the editing and refining process, separating the wheat from the chaff. But both groups, I think, should attempt to acknowledge the reasons for stressing what they do. Otherwise, the readers of lists like the above get a radically skewed picture of the process.

Sure, it's counter-productive to obsess on the same story/garment/project forever, removing and replacing a single semicolon all afternoon, or erasing and re-drawing a neckline until you wear a hole through your sketch paper. There's a point at which one should just dive in and give something a try. But I don't see why that means that we need to discount the other parts of the creative process. There is a time for spewing forth unedited product, and there is a time for going through that product in search of gems (or, if you prefer, a time for just casting on, and a time for finessing those decreases to transition seamlessly into the twisted-stitch motif). I would even argue that there is also a time for dreaming about projects of the future, and accumulating ideas to put in the mental warehouse for later. Seriously, if I had abandoned every project idea that didn't materialize within a WEEK? There would be very slim pickin's on this site. What am I saying? There would be no site.

Here's the thing: I got good at knitting through lots of practice, through LOTS of ripping out and re-knitting, making mistakes and fixing them, experimenting and tweaking. But I do all that knitting because it's something I love. Because at the end of the day, I really enjoy sitting down with needles and yarn, and figuring out a design problem or watching a stitch pattern emerge. I love working with fiber; I love the various properties of different yarns. I genuinely enjoy seeking out and learning new techniques. And even if I can't honestly claim to enjoy ripping out an entire sweater front after it's already seamed or cutting off a felted waistband and grafting a new one in its place, it's immensely satisfying to end up with a garment that lives up to my initial vision. I don't always feel like doing the sizing on a pattern's set-in sleeves, or tracking down a math error in my spreadsheet. But when I think about the wider context of the project, I never have too much trouble motivating myself, and when I do those things I'm working out of love, not out of fear or adrenalin-panic. Moreover, doing this stuff is part and parcel of my daily routine. I'm just USED to working on art. I've done it every day, so I do it every day.

I know that my experience is not universal nor my process for everyone, and I don't mean to sound smug or self-congratulatory. I don't intend to claim that everyone should work like I work. But I have to wonder why so many people seem drawn to these extreme motivational methods and outlooks. Have we as a culture lost the ability to think contextually, and do the less exciting things for the sake of the more exciting? Can we not institute a daily routine of writing or art-creation without going to extremes? Is there some reason we no longer want to set reasonable, sustainable goals, but are drawn instead to adrenalin-pumping mad dashes to meet a seemingly impossible quota? And why is this lack of motivation so prevalent? Are we in love with the idea of art creation instead of the reality, enamored of "being a writer" rather than the texture of words and phrases? Is there nothing we love well enough to do it well, for its own sake? Or am I just wildly overreacting to what are essentially two jokes on the internet?

I welcome your thoughts on any of these pressing questions. The next entry will return to your regularly scheduled Family Trunk programming.

I had a scary day yesterday. I went to meet my parents and godparents at the hospital because my dad, who is strong as an armored bear and who I always think of as able to plow through anything, had a fit of dizziness and chest pain that ended with two nights in the hospital, an angiogram and a huge stent put in a major artery. I don't know whether these things are harder or easier if you know about them in advance, but this definitely took me by surprise like a bucket of anvils being dropped off a bridge. The (very) good news is that the blockage is gone, his heart is in fantastic general health, and there was no damage to the muscle. He was discharged this morning and sounded like his usual, hearty self when I talked to him earlier. The whole experience reminded me forcibly how much I love and value my family, and how much I count on them.

On that note, I do have a felted jacket front to show you:

It's laid on the back, and you can see that for the most part the plaid is staying pretty well matched through the felting process, which is something that concerned me when I decided to hand-felt each piece. I haven't finished the buttonhole edge yet; it occurred to me mid-way through the felting that I ought to have done the crochet edging BEFORE felting the whole shebang, but at that point I was already committed. In fact, I was almost over-committed; I forgot to protect the buttonhole openings, and nearly felted them together. Luckily, some last-minute reinforcing with a closed pair of scissors brought them back to usability. After all that work on the transition between waistband and body, I'm pleased with this line:

And of course, since the finished jacket will be a gift for my dad, and my parents own a large black-and-tan dog, I had to use my smaller model as a "dog swatch," to see if the plaid coordinates well with the canine color scheme.

Pretty dashing, no? I look forward to seeing my dad in this jacket for many seasons to come.

I ask you. Who could resist this little face?

This is Mr. Bingley! (Some of you BBC/Austen fans might argue that this is Mr. Bingley, but we beg to differ.) David and I just adopted him from the amazing and worthwhile Pixie Project. We are so excited to have a new addition to our family, and he has been a delight thus far. We are still getting to know each other, of course. Mr. Bingley is not at all convinced of our decision that he will not be sleeping on the big bed, and we are just beginning to get acquainted with his manners and his habits.

"I have habits?"

He's getting less freaked out all the time at moving to a new place, and is showing a friskier side than he did at first (he napped for most of yesterday). Nonetheless, as soon as there is a lap in which to sit, he crawls right in and burrows into slumber. He also burrows in blankets, robes, and bedding, and would do the same to a decent-sized piece of knitting if given half the chance. He tried in his dainty way to make off with a ball of Jo Sharp DK, grabbing it delicately by one strand and carrying it toward his nest before I intercepted him.

Wish us luck! We are incredibly excited.

You know those niggling little tasks which would improve your life immensely once done, and which aren't even that hard, but to which you somehow still never manage to get around? Well, this weekend David and I totally DID those things. It felt awesome.

During the most laid-back part of the weekend we had my parents and uncle over, and my dad tried on his jacket pieces. They fit perfectly, which is a big relief to me. I try to keep up a healthy attitude about ripping back, but I have started that left front about fifteen times now, and I'm glad I don't have to do it again. What was even nicer was that he seemed really excited about the finished garment, and I think it's going to look dashing on him. Seeing it on, it's hard for the jacket to remind me of anyone other than my own dad, but he told me the other day that he thought I'd nailed my grandfather. Needless to say, that's a very nice thing to hear. In further Warren Johnson news, after only one false start so far, I got a decent little beginning on the left sleeve:

One of the many tasks whose ass I kicked this weekend: most of the remaining design work on this jacket. If my plans for the sleeve work out, I can pretty much sit back and enjoy knitting. (Until it's time to figure out the sizing, of course, but I'm not thinking about that yet.)

Other checklist items we kicked to the curb? I'm happy you asked! David and I:

• Made a thank-you call that's been languishing for weeks;
• Picked up a pair of tickets for a show we want to see (Dr. John and the Neville Brothers!);
• Cleaned the bejeezus out of our house;
• Dropped a bag of stuff at Goodwill that had been taking up floor space for months;
• Did a big grocery run, including lots of fresh fruits and veggies;
• Returned a movie on time (significant for us);
• Five months late, hung up our birdfeeder;
• Did a photo shoot of the recent Secret Knitting. Obviously I can't show those to you yet, but they came out looking beautiful!
• Purchased and washed fabric to make a duvet cover for our bed, after a year of leaving it open to the elements;
• Tweaked the archives of this blog, so that they should all match the front page instead of defaulting to the Movable Type template (check this out for us; let us know if you find a glitch);
• And lastly, a full year after buying and moving into our house, FINALLY put up shelving in the utility and bathroom closets!

  

This last one is really huge. We've been limping along with insufficient shelving the entire time we've been living here, making piles of things on the floor, scrunching things into tight corners. Having so much usable space is inexpressibly delightful. And see my fabric stash up at the right-hand side of the middle shelf? Having a separate space for fabric means that my yarn-stash-cum-projects-in-progress area has a little breathing room. Especially since another task I tackled this weekend was a reorganization of that little cabinet:

Those plastic bins are in-progress or ready-to-start sewing projects, with pattern, fabric and notions all collected in one place. Yarn is upstairs on the left, in-progress knitting (Warren Johnson) is downstairs on the left, and next to that I've got sewing patterns. Pretty neat and tidy! This whole reorganization project has left me re-committed to keeping a tight reign on indiscriminate acquisition of stuff, so hopefully my little crafting nook will stay tidy for some time to come.

And now, for a little self-satisfied movie-side knitting, perhaps with a glass of wine.

by Emily

What a dismal weekend! Everyone complains about how much it rains in Portland, but usually that just means intermittent drizzle for eight months, not tropical storms that cause continuous pounding rain for days on end. David and I are very lucky to live in the city, on an upper floor, rather than in the flooded regions toward the coast. Nonetheless, it's been wet. We did, though, manage to find a way to up the coziness factor in our house:

Our first joint Christmas tree! Even though I am totally areligious and do not identify as a Christian, the Christmas holiday has come to feel very important to me for my own set of family- and tradition-related reasons. My parents and I have a set ritual that stretches from Christmas Eve through the next day, and performing it is just about the most comforting activity I can possibly do. To me it's a signifier of belonging and family, and having our own tree at our new place, with all the attendant delicious smells, pretty lights and familiar baubles, is a good and special feeling. Especially when that coziness is contrasted with the experience of venturing out into the rainy, wind-swept night to pick out a tree, tying it to the car in the rain, and getting coated in sap while sawing off the bottom and attaching the stand. I knew there was a reason we chose Sunday night to get festive!

Because my mother spent her first Christmas alone feeling homesick and depressed at her sad little tree covered in newly storebought ornaments, she resolved that any child of hers would be provided with a stash of personal ornaments imbued with history and family feeling. Which is what happened. She's been giving me an ornament every year since, and a number of other family members have been chipping in as well. Since I haven't had room for a tree since I moved out of my own parents' house, this is the first year I've gotten to visit with all of these well-loved little friends, revisiting all the memories of years gone by. There are the cute little animal-themed ones that were given to me as a baby:

and the ones that I made myself a few years later:

And there is this one, with whose dual perspective I totally fell in love (not to mention the Strawberry Shortcake characters). Inside the wallpapered cottage, the girl and her duck are cozy and warm...

While outside in the show, Strawberry and her cat beckon to be let in:

I loved the effect of the snow painted on the inside of the globe, as if it were falling between me and the characters who stood outside in the elements. The inside scene looks so snug and friendly by comparison, and I never doubted that the girl inside was just about to let in her visiting friends, happy to offer them some cocoa and a radiator to dry their wet boots.

There are the ones that relate to hobbies or interests I developed throughout childhood, like my years of piano lessons:

or my early high-school preoccupation with New Orleans (the Mardi Gras mask is still one of my favorite ornaments):

My love for all things old-fashioned was indulged with charming glass pendants and several old-school Santas:

and my love of books was also represented, most notably by this old rascal:

Cat in the Hat ornaments are something of a family classic, actually; my mother got two of these back in the 70's, kept one and gave the other to her mother. Much later on, my grandmother gave me hers. When my mother's version broke a few years ago, David scored serious family points by making her a copy of mine. Dr. Seuss is a must-have, for sure. And I love the idea of such a precious possession being created from a blown egg and a toilet paper tube. And speaking of ornaments inspired by books, this fine fellow always reminds me of The Velveteen Rabbit:

Most of my ornaments are pretty secular, which is great by me. There are no manger scenes, although there are a number of angels, including this fine lady:

My aunt Sharon made versions of her for all the branches of the family back when I was five or six. More toilet-paper-tube goodness! I like how mom-ish she looks; the opposite of ethereal. Another, more recent angelic addition (which I forgot to photograph) is a super-cool collaged and beaded lady with a fan, a coy expression, and a quote from Jean Cocteau printed her: "I feel I have an angel inside me who I am constantly shocking." That's right: I have an ornament with a quote from an avant-garde French filmmaker. I also have an ornament that's an ice cream cone.

Extending the family history, I also have quite a few of my grandmother's old ornaments, some of which date from before I was born. I particularly like this demure miss:

This little guy (drummer boy? I'm not sure what he's supposed to be) was part of an epic session of ornament making by my mom and I, in which we poured beeswax into molds, added hangers and let it harden. It was the first time I ever remember realizing that too much of a good thing could get to be a bad thing: the smell of the beeswax started out so scrumptious, and it took me a long time to accept that it was getting overwhelming. I was pretty nauseous by the time I finally figured out that I should go get some fresh air. Now, though, they smell great again.

Like so many of us, I feel conflicted about the intense materialism of the Christmas season in the United States, and the way people here tend to assume that anyone they meet is a Christian. Indeed, I have a rocky relationship with religion in general. But I have to say, decorating the tree was a very loving walk down Memory Lane.

by Emily

Well, the rainy chill has blown into Portland, and yet again I have a cold. The other night, David and I cheered ourselves up by getting around - finally - to hanging up some of our pieces of art around the house. It's been one of those things that languishes after a move, postponed indefinitely until the energy is right, and on Tuesday night the time came at last. It was really homey and inspiring, seeing our familiar, lovely art pieces hung up again. I hadn't realized how much settledness and home-feeling comes from having found that perfect place for a piece of art to hang. I also realized, roaming happily around our be-arted domicile, that seeing these pieces gives me such a sense of connection because they were created by friends and local people. I also realized that our small store of art objects is surprisingly lady-heavy - a surprising breath of fresh air that makes me feel good to be alive.

(Believe it or not, these pictures were all taken during daylight hours. Forgive the lack of actual daylight.)

I love this addition to our little phonograph-nook. I fell in love with this print by the ever-charming Ms. Hason as soon as I saw it. It's so evocative, with the sweeping lines and little pair of propped-up shoes, and all the different textures of blue. Adding it to the nook makes me feel like I'm spending time in a defined and beautiful, warm and cocoon-like place every time I go through the motions of putting on a record. Which is fitting, because the artist also DJ's! We are thinking of you, Shayla, while we dust off the Sidney Bichet and Yo La Tengo records and dance slowly and rainily around the house.

I'm afraid you can't see these very well, but they're lush, green images by David's aunt Marcy. It's especially delicious at this time of year to have a reminder that Spring will come again and small green shoots twine their way around the rusty ironwork of years gone by. Now we have just such a reminder greeting us every morning when we wake up, and keeping us company at night when we are cozying down in bed. I also love how both photos have elements that sort of "point" to the doorway, whether it be the arrow-shaped shadow on the leaf in the right picture, or the direction in which the young growth in the left picture is yearning. Thank you, Marcy!

These were my house-warming present to David and I when we bought our place. They are by Sam (aka S. Tudyk) from the extremely local and awesome Egg Press, and I LOVE her work. This photo, like the rest in this post, does not come close to capturing how cool these two pieces are (better images can be found here and here); they involve amazing play of shape and texture, with the kind of nostalgic, vintage touches that I can't resist. The sewn lines and old typefaces, the collaged textures and subtle layering of color - it's all right up my alley. Having this duo greet me when I walk in my front door makes me feel like the sepia-toned, Deco nostalgia-baby that I like to imagine I am...but with a modern kitchen! Truly, how could things get any better?

by Emily

by Emily

by Emily

I am certainly not the first to make the observation (coughProustcough), but it's amazing how potently smells and tastes can effect my mood and evoke feelings and memories. On the heels of my recent re-discovery of guava juice, I just had my inaugural glass of 2007 eggnog. I might have expected my first full swig to evoke some holiday feeling, but nothing so drastic was necessary. I poured the glass, closed the nog carton, and then, as I was putting the carton back in the fridge, thinking of other things, I absentmindedly licked an infinitesimal drop of nog off my thumb...and was immediately besieged by seasonal messages from my brain and body. "Douglas fir!" said my brain. "Spices and baubles!" "Decorative corn!" "Popcorn on strings!" "Scissoring through shiny giftwrap!" "White lace on red tablecloths!" "Cornucopias!" And so on. It quite amazed me how immediate and overpowering the reaction came on. And now I feel I've officially passed that threshold into the "'Tis the Season" region of the year - which is actually pretty lovely, I think. I love it when these transitions are marked by such a simple yet recognizable ritual.

by Emily