The first job I ever had was at a fabric store. For the most part, I cut fabric, put it away, and organized the messes customers left behind. I didn't know it at the time, but I also learned one of the most important lessons in garment making: drape. At the time, I didn't give a damn about drape. I made a skirt once out of bright orange faux suede upholstery -- the real thick stuff, of the car seat variety -- and trimmed the bottom with some ribbon. Well, I still have the ribbon. The skirt? Long gone.
Despite such disasters, I would walk amidst the bolts and bolts of fabric, pulling at their corners, letting the fabric fall over my open palm, examining their patterns, fibers, and yes, drapes. I was inspired by fabric, knowing immediately how to breath life into a flat rectangle and what it's ultimate destiny should be. Sometimes, the fabric itself was beyond inspiration, and I bought it simply because of the way it sounded when I shook it out, or because I liked the way it was cool against my skin. I write this with one particular fabric in mind. At first there is nothing special about it. Apparently, many people had this opinion, as I bought it off one of the discount tables at the store. It's a matte black. A light black really, the matte-ness brings in subtle gray overtones that make it somewhat forgettable. Sort of like the girl at the party you spent 3 hours talking to, but whose name you can't remember. But for years I've spread this fabric out, draped it over my arms and shoulders, twirled, pondered what to make of it. I've rejected pattern after pattern, in fear that the resulting garment won't be "just right."
Sewing requires a certain level of commitment. Once you've made that cut, you're essentially left with wiggle room. Knit fabrics are different however. Knit garments can be ripped out and made into something else. The few times I've done it myself, I've thought of Monet, painting over paintings, just because it was a canvas.
I don't really understand knit fabrics the same way I do woven ones. Sewing is a matter of reduction. It's immediately known what your constraints are. But with knitting, you're creating the fabric, building it row by row, applying shaping and discovering drape as you go. All this made infinitely more difficult by choice of stitch pattern, needle size, yarn weight, fiber content, etc. etc. And while I'm sure some people can run the strands of a hank through their fingers and know how it will knit up, I am not one of those people. Even knitting a swatch won't reveal all the secrets of the fabric -- or maybe I haven't quite learned how to tell.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
Paul Rand on a post-it
"Don't try to be original, just try to be good."
-- Paul Rand
I remember the first time I heard this, I rejected it. How could this be?! I thought this went against everything associated with creativity.
But I couldn't get it out of my head.
I scribbled it on a post-it and stuck in on the wall above my desk. (In pencil no less, just to suggest the non-permanence of it.) I have lots of little quotes and sayings stuck and taped to the wall - humorous, nostalgic, inspirational, whatever.
But the Paul Rand post-it hangs directly in front of me. I look at it everyday. Me vs. Paul Rand on a post-it.
When I first heard this quote, I was still nascent in my design career. I didn't really understand what creativity meant -- it just was. It existed somehow, worked somehow, and couldn't be controlled somehow. (I also think this is true of many companies jumping on the innovation bandwagon -- they want it, but aren't quite sure how to wrangle it. As Caroline and I interview innovation centers across the country, this especially resonates with those still in their fledgling states, who seem to struggle with their footing and defining their project capabilities.)
At some point, I figured out that creativity is nothing more than bringing unrelated ideas together. Epiphany! And creativity doesn't just happen - creativity is work. Hard work. Now I'm starting to think that creativity can be measured. Not it necessarily should be measured, but I think it could be measured. Maybe I'll work on a framework for that. Hmm...
If originality is a byproduct of creativity, then one is left with no choice but to be good. This isn't a function of the chicken-and-egg syndrome. In order to be creative, and therefore original, one must first be good. Being good is understanding constraints -- design without constraints, after all, is art. Being good is being thoughtful and deliberate.
Certainly there are many creative and original works in the world, but if the execution is poor, then what difference does it make? What isn't good doesn't get noticed. Paul Rand is right. Thanks for the advice.
I remember the first time I heard this, I rejected it. How could this be?! I thought this went against everything associated with creativity.
But I couldn't get it out of my head.
I scribbled it on a post-it and stuck in on the wall above my desk. (In pencil no less, just to suggest the non-permanence of it.) I have lots of little quotes and sayings stuck and taped to the wall - humorous, nostalgic, inspirational, whatever.
But the Paul Rand post-it hangs directly in front of me. I look at it everyday. Me vs. Paul Rand on a post-it.
When I first heard this quote, I was still nascent in my design career. I didn't really understand what creativity meant -- it just was. It existed somehow, worked somehow, and couldn't be controlled somehow. (I also think this is true of many companies jumping on the innovation bandwagon -- they want it, but aren't quite sure how to wrangle it. As Caroline and I interview innovation centers across the country, this especially resonates with those still in their fledgling states, who seem to struggle with their footing and defining their project capabilities.)
At some point, I figured out that creativity is nothing more than bringing unrelated ideas together. Epiphany! And creativity doesn't just happen - creativity is work. Hard work. Now I'm starting to think that creativity can be measured. Not it necessarily should be measured, but I think it could be measured. Maybe I'll work on a framework for that. Hmm...
If originality is a byproduct of creativity, then one is left with no choice but to be good. This isn't a function of the chicken-and-egg syndrome. In order to be creative, and therefore original, one must first be good. Being good is understanding constraints -- design without constraints, after all, is art. Being good is being thoughtful and deliberate.
Certainly there are many creative and original works in the world, but if the execution is poor, then what difference does it make? What isn't good doesn't get noticed. Paul Rand is right. Thanks for the advice.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Dye Lots
Here's a truth about knitting from stash -- you never know what you're gonna get.
So I have this gorgeous, singly ply, peach colored Sylvan Spirit wool/tencel blend in my stash. 360 yards to be exact.
I initially bought it to make socks -- until I remembered, I don't like knitting socks.
I've made 2 pair socks so far, the first pair cuff down, the second toe up. I do greatly prefer knitting toe up to cuff down (you get to do the same thing for the heel as the toe, aesthetically they just look nicer, yardage control, etc) but for some reason, socks to me just seem...well...under appreciated. There is just so much effort, so many stitches and needles, all for something you hide in a shoe and wear once before having to wash it. (Plus I'm seriously craving warm sunny days and flip-flops.) Although I might come around when this fierce winter loosens its grip and I no longer want to have a big fluffy sweater in my lap. Also, I recently found 9" circs from Hiya Hiya, and though I have yet to try them, that may just make things go a little faster. Someday. Maybe. Eventually.
But inbetween now and then are shrugs. The perfect project for 360 yards of peachy yarn.
The pattern: Hew.
A simple little shrug with interesting stitch detail on the sleeves and collar and it would be my first top down raglan. Calls for 300 yards in my size. What's not to love?
Ran out of yarn about 2/3 of the way through. Well. Apparently all 300 yards are not created equal. Considered briefly about buying an extra hank on the company's website, but thought, no...what if I get a different dye lot??? Rrrrrrip.
Since I loved the pattern so much anyways, and since I received an email from my LYS about a sale (sale!!) and since I needed a needle anyways, off to the LYS it was for me. 5, no 6 (just in case) skeins (at 50% off, thankyouverymuch) and a week and a half later, this is the result.
Not bad. I don't much favor variegated yarns, but this one came out nicely, with the subtle hues of ocean ripple blue, and even a slight sheen if caught at the right angle.
Amidst all the ripping and rewinding of the peach stuff, there was also mad Ravelry pattern searching and swatching. Oooh..what if I hold two strands together! Imagine the possibilities! Swatched up with some Rowan Kid Classic in Feather, the stuff is heaven. Pure heaven. The Sylvan Spirit itself knit up kind of stiff, but combining it with Kid Classic completely dissolves all stiffness and produces a kind of soft fluffiness that conjures images of bouncing amidst cumulus clouds floating in a perfectly blue sky.
How apt, then, that the name of pattern is Cloud Bolero.
Alas, perfection is hard to come by in the knitting world, and this is no exception. I only have one skein of Kid Classic. 153 yards. The pattern calls for 200 yards. The one skein I have is left over from a sweater I made 2 and 1/2 years ago. I called 4 shops and only one carries Kid Classic. Oh, and they have one skein left of the colorway I need. I get there, and much to my bitter expectation, the dye lot, is of course, different.
So I have this gorgeous, singly ply, peach colored Sylvan Spirit wool/tencel blend in my stash. 360 yards to be exact.
I initially bought it to make socks -- until I remembered, I don't like knitting socks.
I've made 2 pair socks so far, the first pair cuff down, the second toe up. I do greatly prefer knitting toe up to cuff down (you get to do the same thing for the heel as the toe, aesthetically they just look nicer, yardage control, etc) but for some reason, socks to me just seem...well...under appreciated. There is just so much effort, so many stitches and needles, all for something you hide in a shoe and wear once before having to wash it. (Plus I'm seriously craving warm sunny days and flip-flops.) Although I might come around when this fierce winter loosens its grip and I no longer want to have a big fluffy sweater in my lap. Also, I recently found 9" circs from Hiya Hiya, and though I have yet to try them, that may just make things go a little faster. Someday. Maybe. Eventually.
But inbetween now and then are shrugs. The perfect project for 360 yards of peachy yarn.
The pattern: Hew.
A simple little shrug with interesting stitch detail on the sleeves and collar and it would be my first top down raglan. Calls for 300 yards in my size. What's not to love?
Ran out of yarn about 2/3 of the way through. Well. Apparently all 300 yards are not created equal. Considered briefly about buying an extra hank on the company's website, but thought, no...what if I get a different dye lot??? Rrrrrrip.
Since I loved the pattern so much anyways, and since I received an email from my LYS about a sale (sale!!) and since I needed a needle anyways, off to the LYS it was for me. 5, no 6 (just in case) skeins (at 50% off, thankyouverymuch) and a week and a half later, this is the result.
Not bad. I don't much favor variegated yarns, but this one came out nicely, with the subtle hues of ocean ripple blue, and even a slight sheen if caught at the right angle.
Amidst all the ripping and rewinding of the peach stuff, there was also mad Ravelry pattern searching and swatching. Oooh..what if I hold two strands together! Imagine the possibilities! Swatched up with some Rowan Kid Classic in Feather, the stuff is heaven. Pure heaven. The Sylvan Spirit itself knit up kind of stiff, but combining it with Kid Classic completely dissolves all stiffness and produces a kind of soft fluffiness that conjures images of bouncing amidst cumulus clouds floating in a perfectly blue sky.
How apt, then, that the name of pattern is Cloud Bolero.
Alas, perfection is hard to come by in the knitting world, and this is no exception. I only have one skein of Kid Classic. 153 yards. The pattern calls for 200 yards. The one skein I have is left over from a sweater I made 2 and 1/2 years ago. I called 4 shops and only one carries Kid Classic. Oh, and they have one skein left of the colorway I need. I get there, and much to my bitter expectation, the dye lot, is of course, different.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Arriving
I did it. I finally did it. I'm now officially part of the blogosphere. And I'm a little nervous about it, but not quite sure why. Maybe I liken blogging to jumping into a pool - and I don't know the temperature of the water - but everyone else is splashing around, having a grand 'ol time. Or something. Deep breath.
In any case, I've wanted to blog for some time now, but somehow never found the impetus. Or maybe I just found too many excuses. Either way, being a fairly indecisive person, first it was, well, what to write about? Should I write only about one thing and nothing else? Can I hold myself to this commitment? What to name it? Then, earlier this evening, I arrived on "little idyll." In other words, just a place to put all the little things that make me happy.
In any case, I've wanted to blog for some time now, but somehow never found the impetus. Or maybe I just found too many excuses. Either way, being a fairly indecisive person, first it was, well, what to write about? Should I write only about one thing and nothing else? Can I hold myself to this commitment? What to name it? Then, earlier this evening, I arrived on "little idyll." In other words, just a place to put all the little things that make me happy.
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