Category Archives: Colour

The continuing story of a sweater…

Way, way back in the early days of this blog (it’s nearly five), I wrote a post about a much-beloved sweater. Days are getting gradually colder – and so is my neck – and  thoughts turn to big, cuddly, and above all warm, knitwear. Actually, I don’t think mine ever really turn away. I like big sweaters. What am I saying? I love big sweaters.

The sweater in question has long since joined the big woolly cloud in the sky – or rather been transformed into the stuffing for a draught excluder. It developed holes. Some holes can be mended, and this one had already been reknitted from the wrists up,

sweater repair

but other repairs are impossible. One friend suggested patches, but withdrew the suggestion after I pointed out that if I added tassels to the patches I’d be able to pass as a somewhat unusual form of exotic dancer. One in a big sweater. With patches as well as tassels. Myself, I couldn’t see the sweater working with towering platform soles, big hair and a g-string, but I guess there are all sorts of – um, points of view – out there.

That perfect sweater had been knitted in wool from – sob – the defunct Hunters mill in Brora, bought in 1998 but not knitted up until 2005. It was incredibly warm (there’d been a lot of lanolin in the wool when I washed it out in the croft kitchen, which caused a bit of an, er, argument, and I think some of it remained, though given the state of the sink I cannot think how). It was a great substitute for a coat. The colours in the tweedy yarn allowed me to accessorise it with almost anything, though generally that meant walking boots – when it didn’t mean wellies.

I knew I wanted to replace it, so my first attempt was in wool from New Lanark, bought at Wonderwool Wales. Lovely colour – red – but made me look like a corpse. I guess the red had too much blue in it, really. And I wasn’t that impressed by the wool either; it tended to go a bit thick and thin and I actually felted it slightly to correct that. So it’s been sold.

Still needed a replacement.

Life moved on, and I found myself standing in Jamieson’s Lerwick shop on my trip to Shetland four years ago. Wool was calling to me, delicious wool, green wool. Bought it, knitted it up into a replacement for the Sweater.

green

And it’s lovely. But it’s not for me. Not quite sure why, mind: it’s warm, the colour suits me, it reminds me of Shetland. But it may be the design; there’s just something about it that doesn’t really suit me any more, and I’ve not changed that much. Or maybe it’s the combination of colour and design, or maybe it’s just the fact that it means I’d be wearing a whole garment in – shhhh – colour.

Still needed a replacement.

I turned to some more Jamieson’s wool, this time bought at Jamieson’s Mill in Sandness from a giant cardboard box with ‘£2 a ball’ written on it (well, you just HAVE to). Chunky, though, and in black. Well, in Mirrie Dancers:

Mirrie Dancers

But I was radical – I chose another design. By now I was messing with designs instead of following patterns obediently, and I messed with Erika Knight’s Felted Sweater, adjusting the sleeves so they had at least some shaping, and reworking it so I could use my wool at the best tension.

I love it. I live in it, and it’s just come out again – it’s like seeing an old friend. Again, it’s so warm, it’s so wonderful, and I wear it constantly. But this time I’m doing some scenario planning (sorry; I’m writing a business book at the moment). Or maybe – shudder – that should be succession planning?

In yet another move charting my changing history with wool, I’ve seen the sheep. I’ve chosen the fleece. I’ve washed the fleece:

gotland

and it’s ready to spin (Gotland x Black Welsh Mountain – great colour, great lustre, quite a short staple, for all you spinners out there). I’m not quite ready to spin it, mind – I’ve got the the end of a Manx Loaghtan and a Teeswater (spinning up beautifully) to get through. But I think my big sweater will do another couple of winters. Fingers crossed!

I find the whole thing fascinating – how one garment can chart seventeen years. From skeins drying outside a croft in Sutherland, to my very first visit to Wonderwool Wales, to Shetland, to a farm in North Wales with Gotland sheep running around the place being pointed at by a couple of spinners – ‘Can I have that one? And that one? How about that one? When are you shearing?’. And it charts skills too: from following a pattern (and having to borrow my first ever circular needle from a neighbour so I could pick up the neck bands) to adapting patterns and then spinning the wool. And I’d not realised, either, that all the wool was British, or – to come over all Nicola Sturgeon – largely Scottish. Oh, I know that the New Lanark red was probably from the Falklands, but at lest it was New Lanark.

If I wanted to come over all anthropological, I could talk about signifiers and objects carrying meaning, but let’s not go there. It’s bad enough that I talked about succession planning…

 

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The Woolwinding Eyelet Shawl is born…

Actually, it’s something of a toddler now, as it was ‘born’ in 2012, but I’ve only just got round to putting the pattern on Ravelry. I know, I know, I’ve been saying for ages ‘I must put this on Ravelry’, and doling out photocopies and printouts all over the place, but I have finally done it.

It’s up (or will be very shortly, as soon as approved – yup, it’s here). And it’s a free download if you’re on Rav. All you need are one skein of sock wool, or something similar, and 3.75 needles. Or needle, rather: it needs a circular after the start.

And it’s called the Woolwinding Eyelet Shawl.

woolwinding shawl 1

Sorry it’s not called something more exciting, imaginative or creative, but it’s what it is. It’s an eyelet shawl and it comes from Woolwinding. I did think about finding another name for it, but my mind went completely blank and – apart from silly suggestions, including almost anything you could think of in Welsh including ‘ffwlbart’ (polecat – gee, thanks) – I couldn’t come up with anything reasonable.

That’s not to say that it hasn’t been called names, mind. This year in Shetland two of us were knitting it and, boy, did it get called names. Basically you need to concentrate at the very start for the pattern set up, not chat / order tea and cakes in the Peerie Cafe / get distracted by what your neighbour is knitting / watch an exciting DVD.

woolwinding 2

But once you’re off, you’re off. You knit on until you either run out of yarn or lose the will to live (something common to almost all shawls, I have found). Then you block it – and there are instructions on the pattern, which is written so that novices to lace / shawl knitting can follow it, as well as more experienced knitters. I tend to block it so that the two end points of the triangle curve upwards, as I find that makes it more wearable – and the lace pattern is designed to allow for this.

And then  you wear it. Or rather Doris wears it:

woolwinding 3

and, more sensibly from the back,

woolwinding 4

These two are in Noro Kureyon Sock, and the top one is a skein of hand-dyed loveliness from Mam a Mi; I’ve often knitted it in Araucania’s Ranco Sock (the last image is another hand-dyed yarn).

I’m getting quite used to seeing it around now, as it’s been available through Knit One in Dolgellau for some time. A couple of weeks ago I sat behind one at the garden club, and another won the knitting section in the village show last year. Copies have been used by members of the the Guild of Weavers, Spinners and Dyers I go to, and this next one is by one of them. It uses all the bits and pieces from the Guild’s dyeing picnic:

Mary's woolwinding

The cast off has been a little unfamiliar to some people, but It’s worth persisting as it’s very elastic and also gives a lovely finish, especially with a variegated yarn:

Woolwinding 5

It’s really simple, honest: right side facing and with a slightly larger size needle, knit two together. Slip the resulting stitch from the right needle back onto the left needle and repeat.

Anyway, there you go: tah dah, the Woolwinding Eyelet Shawl. And if you’re not on Ravelry, then do join – it’s fantastic. What a resource. Even if you don’t use the forums, and many people don’t, it’s so useful for pattern ideas, yarn information, storing a record of your stash or your patterns – and of course finding lots and lots and lots of patterns. Like this one…

The Fair Isle, finalised.

(I originally entitled this post ‘the final Fair Isle’, and then I realised that made it sound as though I was never, ever going to knit another; who knows, that may well be the case, but let’s not make any rash assumptions.)

So, having been through all my Shetland shots and all the wool I bought in Jamieson’s wonderfully refurbished shop in Lerwick,

Colour matching

that’s this lot, I have made some decisions. At last… I know, I know, that doesn’t look much like wool but bear with me.

It’s been fiddly. For one thing, I  could have chose to approximate the colours in the original pattern (Orkney, by Rowan), but I didn’t because I didn’t particularly like them, and I wanted to echo Shetland colours anyway.

I sorted my colours into earthy, leafy, land-based tones:

earthy, woody tones

and the sometimes astonishing colours of the coast:

coastal colours

and, finally, the monochromes:

monochromes

And I have managed to use all the colours I bought (happily the pattern uses 13 different ones, though I was prepared to rework that), and I’m pleased with what I’ve got. And I could have chosen a more trad pattern, one which used the same colour repeat on arms and body. But I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to play with tradition instead.

So the first step was to work out from the original pattern charts which colours were placed together in Rowan’s colour way (no image here, but boring lists do not an interesting photo make). Then I began sketching to see how my colours worked with each other – and that’s the chart at the start of the post. Then I got the actual wool out to check that they worked in reality in much the same way as they had on paper, and they did.

My work on listing all the colours had thrown up one break with tradition that I wasn’t happy with, however. It’s an accepted convention that there are only two colours to a row in Fair Isle knitting, and I think that’s ‘accepted’ for a reason: more colours mean much more bulk. There was one band of pattern which used three, and which also carried the colours across a large number of stitches (another complication I felt I could live with out – yes, I’d be weaving them in, but that would just add even more bulk to something already bulkier than the rest). So I decided to find an alternative pattern.

The pencil sketch on the left-hand page is the original, the others are possibilities:

notebook 2

I went into my stitch library – various old books on Fair Isles – and found several compatible and comparable patterns which also ran across 9 rows and 16 stitches. The middle one on the right-hand page above was quite like the one I was replacing, and because it runs over the same number of rows and stitches, it will be quite straightforward to substitute. I won’t need to mess with the shaping provided I start it in the same position.

Then came the really fun bit – working out the colours for the new panel:

colours

That’s them, done. Due to the rather funky variation in colour between sleeves and body I had to do this twice, but I am happy with what I’ve finally got. The sleeve pattern, in the original, is brighter and so will mine be; plus, I love the Jamieson’s colour ‘ruby’, and my new pattern will give it extra prominence on the body. And I won’t have that extra bulk just where I don’t need it – I forgot to add that this thicker panel would have come right across the boobage.

Now I can knit my tension square – and I’m going to do it using the new pattern. Just to see if I’ve got it right…

(You’re probably thinking that I’ve lost my mind, and wondering why I can’t just knit a pattern as given. I don’t know, but I’m not good at doing that; it’s part of the reason why I knit. And I know that this will be truly original – there’ll never be another. Possibly because no-one else would be so daft. Which reminds me, one of my fellow attendees at a Fibre and Fabric Fair this weekend just posted a comment – that adding ‘and shit’ to a phrase like ‘I do crochet’ makes it sound so much more, er, street. So I do Fair Isle and shit, right?)

Shetland inspirations: a flash of another colour

I can be quite boring when it comes to colour choices – as I’ve often said, once a Goth, always a Goth. Bring me everything in black, and I’m quite happy. I’ll add colour flashes, and quite often can be seen in (shhh) a coloured cardigan but, basically and for myself, I like black and white.

When I was thinking about doing a Fair Isle after a billion years of no stranded knitting, I first of all thought monochrome. I was supported in this by the latest exhibition at the Bonhoga Gallery in Weisdale, Fraser Taylor’s Shadowed Valley, a response to the Clearances there.

Bonhoga

Two things stood out, though. First, when you turned and looked at the panels from the other direction they were all in bright colours; and second, how much emphasis there is with the monochrome on the brown of the wooden floor. Hmm.

Then I went back to looking at the landscape. I knew in my heart that I wanted to reflect that more than I wanted to wear black and white, at least this time. But I didn’t want to be too traditional – I did a lot of traditional Fair Isles once upon a time, and I’m all out – though any FI needs a spark, a zing. I went through my photographs, and then I started deliberately looking at neutrals (I don’t want to frighten too many horses) and sharp contrasts. And there are many, many, many. Here are a few.

window, Burra Isle

A window on Burra Isle. My goodness, it was searingly cold that day.

sea pinks

Sea pinks and lichen and greenery against rock.

lichen

More lichen, on a quern stone at Jarlshof (and the shadow of a fence, natch).

boat hullThe colours of boat hulls, a lifebuoy and a door on a grey day in Lerwick.

another boatAnother boat, on a considerably brighter day in Eshaness.

Red, I wonder? Wow…

beach stuff

Or orange, or blue or turquoise. Rust?

And then I came back to monochrome. But I haven’t really; I’m still wedded to the muted landscape with highlights, though – which ones? But I couldn’t resist adding this shot, which just seems to sum up Shetland. Seabirds, cliffs, sea and a foureen. At least I think the boat is a foureen: I’m sure someone will correct me if it’s a yoal.

St Ninian's Isle

It was taken one evening, at St Ninian’s Isle, turning away from the famous sand tombolo that appears in anything about Shetland. Low sun, so I had to turn in the other direction, and I’m glad I did because I’d have missed this otherwise. Maybe I am tending towards monochrome (though there’s a hintette of turquoise in that hull). May need to do two…

 

 

Shetland highlights, 2 – the sea

Sorry about the delay. Root canal part 2 followed by hefty antibiotics and an asthma flare-up left me feeling a bit crappy. That’s what you get for travelling. Should have stayed at home. Hm. I don’t think so.

This is why: Mousa OK, the view from my house is pretty good and I can see the sea, but not like this, not this sea. The island is Mousa, famous for its Iron Age broch, which can just be seen at the extreme(ish) right. It’s that thing that looks like a cooling tower. The only intact broch, it’s also famous for the Manx Shearwaters who use it as a roost.

(I’m not going to drone on about brochs; the Wikipedia entry is quite good and I can – and do – go on and on and on about what their function might have been. I’ve been broch hunting since I was about 12, a pastime which led to several family rows, lots of falling in interesting bogs, and an early encounter with someone who much later became a very good friend.)

Ahem.

Back to inspiration, particularly colour inspiration. I knew I wanted to knit a Fair Isle, something which I haven’t done for ages and ages and ages. But I’ve done lots of traditional ones and, quite frankly, I think I’m trad-Fair-Isled out, even still. So I wanted to do something a bit different. I decided to let the landscape work on me. And after about a day in Shetland, I began to feel the need to knit something in blues: Shetland 2a Can’t think why, really. That, by the way, is Dore Holm. Well, the island with the arch is; the foreground is part of Eshaness. That’s as far north as we got on this trip; Yell and Unst will have to wait for next time. But we did do a fair bit of exploring.

And as I did more and more, I became more and more convinced that a fundamentally blue Fair Isle would just have to be knitted. Shetland 2b Though perhaps green would have to put in an appearance (the lump is Dore Holm again, from a bit further round at Stenness).

But we had stopped for cake at the wonderful Braewick Cafe, and when I looked at my shots later I began to think about adding silvery greys… Shetland 2c So beautiful, and the pointy things at the right are the Drongs. Oh yes they are. They are spectacular granite stacks – the ‘main Drong’ is 60m high – and they have been climbed. This just confirms my opinion, formed with the help of not a few acquaintances, that almost all climbers are mad (says the woman living in Snowdonia). Heavy weather can cause problems (really?) and they’re surrounded by submerged rocks. Obviously you need to hire a boat as – and I’m quoting here – ‘there’s nothing to tie your kayak to’. Plus the rock is described as ‘quite friable’. They are rated as severe to hard/very severe. Oh, come now, surely not.

Maybe I need a bit more colour, because now I’m feeling slightly ill at the thought of climbing the Drongs. I just know it wouldn’t be so much climbing as hanging off with one fingernail while trying to take scary pictures. Eek. Ok, colour. Colour and knitting possibilities. Maybe I need some licheny yellows in my Fair Isle? Shetland 2d And maybe a hint of lobster pot.

Fairly recently somebody said to me that she couldn’t see the point in travelling. I didn’t quite know how to respond, and I’m afraid I just goggled at her instead of leaping to a passionate defence of broadening your whole outlook on the world and counterattacking narrowness and provinciality. I suppose that’s what happens if you never leave your village and have a lot of first-cousin marriage over many generations (six fingers are also a possibility). Maybe my family – seafarers for generations – are unusual. Doubt it. Really, really doubt it. People have always got up and moved about, going right back to the very few (it could have been as few as seven individuals, some researchers have speculated) who left Africa in the deepest prehistory, and to whom we owe our existence. We’re just fidgety. You’ve got to see what’s over the horizon… er, unless it’s the Drongs and a kayaking lunatic hung about with ropes. If it is, run away. There’s another horizon in the opposite direction, that’s what I say….

This was bound to happen…

I’m not really here. Well, I am, but I’m trying to write a quick post on my iPad which is driving me a bit mad. I’m also ensconced in a cosy but Scandi-smart cottage in Hoswick, about 12 miles south of Lerwick.

So – Shetland is, as usual, fab. The wool is amazing, I want to buy every single thing in the revamped Jamieson of Shetland’s shop in Lerwick and take it somewhere quiet… where I can knit the first serious (if somewhat unconventional) Fair Isle that I have had on the needles for ages and ages. More later, but for the moment here are my colour choices:

Jamiesons DK for fair isle

They were chosen to reflect – allegedly – the colours of the Shetland coast. Startling highlights of blue and bright green, mossy greens, peaty colours, the almost black and monochrome of the rocks in places and – natch – blues.

And it’s a DK. A fine DK, but a DK nonetheless. I hope this implies a certain realism about my hands, but actually it’s just because the pattern I’m going with – Orkney, from Rowan – is also knitted in a fine DK. Fingers crossed! Er, not tooooo tightly…

Loving the details

I’ve just started a new Pinterest account on which I can indulge my passion for fibre and flowers (as opposed to my business one, which is slightly diverted from the path of righteousness by wool). It’s not worth looking at yet, but as soon as it’s built up a bit I’ll make sure I share it.

I started a board called ‘knitting – details’ as it struck me how often I fail to look really closely at what I produce. Once it’s finished, that is – I scrutinise it quite finely as I work, of course. And I wanted to celebrate the sheer joy of it, instead of seeking out any dropped stitches and minor errors (the major ones soon make themselves known), so I’ve been enjoying myself with some close-ups.

First, Colinette. Point Five, I think – found in a charity shop, knitted into a jumper and then rapidly frogged when I realised I looked like the Michelin Man in it. It’s now a throw.

Colinette throw

Muted, but shot through with colour.

Not so muted:

Fair Isle

The sleeve and body of a Fair Isle cardigan, knitted in Rowan’s Cotton Glace. Love the sleeve detail, and I just take it for granted. To the extent that it sometimes comes with dried bread dough as an extra.

And now for some garter stitch:

hitchhiker

It’s a Hitchhiker, and it was knitted as a present. I’m not quite sure how I managed to give it away, I loved the colour changes so much.

Now for more mutedness (is that a word?):

mutedness

The reverse side of the cardigan I’m wearing as I type this. Maybe I should have made it up the other way round…

Finally, It’s a chilly morning. Pull up your computer, laptop, tablet or phone and warm your hands on this:

Warm

It’s Noro, of course, knitted with some Kidsilk Haze for not-entrely-superfluous extra luxury and yumminess. Actually, it’s too wide for a realistic scarf and too short for a stole and it needs reknitting, but I haven’t the heart.

So take a close look at your knitting and enjoy! (It helps if you’re supposed to be working and are looking for something more interesting to do, by the way, while the  builders next door appear to be digging to Australia so enthusiastically that it’s difficult to concentrate on anything.)

Incidentally – I’m always surprised by the number of Woolwinding images on Pinterest: thanks for sharing!