Jane Brocket's Blog, page 67

nostalgia-tinted lens

 

My general rule of thumb is: don't mess with photos. Once they are taken, I don't do anything to my photos apart from some cropping where necessary. And although these photos may look as though I've done all sorts of things to them, in fact I'm sticking to my rule and haven't messed with them: this is the way they were taken.

 

I've been playing with the amazing Hipstamatic app on an iPhone. (I know, even I can't believe I just typed that.) These are the very first results, taken on an appropriately golden, autumnal Saturday afternoon.

 
 

The settings I've picked almost at random (there are masses of possible combinations of lenses and film types)  create a look which isn't far removed from the terrible amateur family photos of the 1970s, a look that's now quite nostalgically appealing in a faded, bleached-out sort of way.

 

I like the way they distort perspective (my Mum could never quite get our full heads into photos and we were always squashed in at the side of a photo - and I certainly didn't mean to include the bald head in the football picture above), make clutter and debris look interesting in a Corinne-Day way (like the messy remains of many a Christmas dinner that somehow dominated any photos of us smiling and wearing torn paper hats), and create a slight wobble and shakiness (a seemingly built-in feature of the cheap Boots cameras we owned.)

 

The settings I've used seem to reflect the time of year perfectly. They pick out the sunbeams and bright colours that are fading fast with the light. So now I need to find a setting that makes life looks like the summer holiday in Bulgaria when we wore towelling bikinis and massive flares, and the sea was permanently slanted; I'm sure it can be done without any messing.

 

 

 

go on, admit it

Time to make some admissions. Just for the fun of it.

I admit:

 

[London WC1]

:: I have a huge, unexplained enthusiasm for 1930s architecture. I have taken to photographing good examples when I see them.

 

[London WC1]

I know as I am doing so that many (most?) people think they are not worth even this effort. But I am fascinated by the design and ideas behind them. I even cajoled Simon into visiting the iconic Modernist High and Over when the estate agents had an 'open house', a rare chance to see inside. We thought me might have to pretend that we had £2.4 million to spare, but the agents weren't daft; they asked everyone who came whether they were there as potential buyers, or just looking. I'd say most admitted the latter. (And I admit I look regularly on the Modern House website for a retirement house.)

 

[High and Over by Amyas Connell]

:: Habu paper yarn gives me paper cuts. I knitted the back of a cardigan but gave up when the yarn kept getting stuck on the plasters covering the cuts on my fingers. Don't tell me I am the only one who has this problem.

:: I have just re-read all the emails I received after The Gentle Art of Domesticity was published. It's three years this month since it appeared, and I admit that I'm still very proud of it. Thanks again to everyone who has written emails, left comments and told me in person that they like it. Many of you also made me laugh at the same time, which is always a good thing.

:: I was right. Yesterday in The Guardian an architect said he was a frustrated movie-maker

:: I have just cast on FIVE times for a shawl and still haven't got it right. I seem to be incapable of counting 182 stitches of a fine silk yarn on a thin needle. I almost need a sculptor-turned-professional-caster-onner to help (see above).

:: I'd love to show you photos of the children here. But putting stuff on the internet is not quite the same as taking a few dog-eared photos out of your purse to show to a friend in a cafe. A shame, as I like doing a (short and sweet) proud mother routine.

 

[Elsa Lanchester as the Bride of Frankenstein]

:: I'm developing a soft spot for Mark Gatiss. He's the first person ever to make me want to watch Bride of Frankenstein. I admit I am very easily frightened by horror and gore. (I used to get clammy palms just from hearing the 'Casualty' theme tune.)

 

[Nanny McPhee Returns colour scheme 1]

:: Simon and I watched Nanny McPhee Returns on our own. I'd been told by several correspondents that I should watch it but put off doing so because I couldn't coerce a child into watching it with me to make me appear less 'sad'.

 

[Nanny McPhee Returns colour scheme 2. See what I mean?]

In the end I borrowed the DVD anyway, and was fascinated by the beautiful sets and Fair Isle knitting, and the very clever, unusual colour scheme of shades of blue and yellow that suffused the whole thing. Someone must have had a wonderful time sorting out the props and clothes. And I admit it, we actually quite enjoyed the film, too.

:: I am not looking forward to this time next year. Tom and Alice have both sent off their university applications and soon we shall have just one child at home. It happened so quickly. It's seems like no time since they were learning to walk a few weeks apart and I was worrying about bumps, and now they have passed their driving tests a few weeks apart and I am worrying about bumps again.

End of confession.

 

patterns

 

It is suitably apposite that I'm writing something about patterns for a publication while following a pattern. And I can't tell you how good it has been to use one for a change. It's two years since I simply chose to make something I liked the look of in a book. What a blessed relief it has been to have it all mapped out for me: the design, the instructions, the shapes, the colours, the end point. The only slight problem was that it was a Japanese pattern written in Japanese, but I felt that this was a minor challenge after starting from scratch as I have been doing.

 

The minute I saw the crochet blanket made out of hexagons in this book (ISBN 978-4-07-262220-9, also here), I knew I wanted to make it at some point. I'm a real sucker for old-fashioned looking crochet with its shapes, lines, and wonderful colour combinations. In fact, it was the colours that struck me most as they are fresh, modern and interesting, and bring together shades I probably would not have thought of myself. This, in essence, is the joy of patterns: all the hard work and thinking and planning has been done for you, and you are free to enjoy the making, to watch the whole coming together in parts, to let your mind wander down any path it likes while your hands are guided by someone else's instructions.

 

The most satisfying aspect of it was forcing myself to decipher the basic motif pattern. I've only ever been to a single, one-day crochet workshop so am not exactly well-versed in crochet techniques and pattern-reading. But instead of giving up at the first hurdle - my initial efforts to follow the diagrams that all Japanese patterns use instead of written instructions were absolute mangled disasters - I persevered until I made a hexagon correctly. I used the Harmony Guides Volumes 6 and 7 plus a couple of other Japanese crochet books to show me what each little squiggle and line means in diagrammatic patterns, and it was one of the major triumphs of my year when the diagram became a crocheted hexagon.

I have spent the last couple of months making a few hexagons an evening when I have felt like it; crochet appeals to my inner slob and I love the way I can lounge comfortably when crocheting in a way I can't when knitting, plus a hexagon or two hardly puts me under pressure whereas with knitting I often feel compelled to complete a set amount at a time.

 

I couldn't use the exact yarn in the pattern partly as I have no idea what it is (it's all in Japanese) so I used Biggan Design (on a 4mm hook) which is wonderful to knit and crochet with, and comes in 64 colours, so offered everything I needed. As to colours, I simply looked carefully at the photos in the book and used what I thought was included. The only changes I made were to the final layout of the hexagons and to the placement of the colours as I decided to follow my own instincts rather than work out the chart given.

 

So here we have it. The result of two months' very relaxed crocheting. There's a lot to be said for happy pattern-following. 

pretentious, moi?

 

Every week The Guardian does a Q&A interview with someone famous for having some marvellous talent and career (definitely no 'celebrities', though). They are always brilliant at opera/photography/acting/directing/writing/creating conceptual installations. My favourite question of all is 'what would you be if you weren't on the stage/behind the camera/writing poetry/improving national standards of art installations?' Funnily enough, they never answer 'working in a fish and chip shop', 'sweeping the streets', 'a lifeguard' or 'hotel receptionist'. Instead, they invariably reply that they'd be one of the other interesting types featured in the column. So an actor would be a writer, a photographer would be an architect, a film-maker would be a opera singer, a poet would make poetic art installations. And so on.

 

But I have no such illusions. If I weren't doing what I do, I'd be a 'vegetable liner-upper'.

Which of course is just a less pretentious way of saying I'd be making conceptual art installations with home-grown quince and chillis on a sunny, autumn day.

  

 

knitting and stitching

First things first. The catering arrangements have not improved. At all. Nor has the getting to and from Alexandra Palace via the North Circular got any better. But once you have accepted that the highlight of a visit to the Knitting and Stitching Show is unlikely to be cake, tea in a decent cup or a pleasant journey, you are free to concentrate on the knitting and stitching stands. There are all the usual suspects such as Habu, Mulberry Silks, and Rowan which are always worth visiting, but this year's non-cake-and-tea highlights were:

Mrs Moon. The stand recreates the warm, welcoming style of the shop run by two lovely sisters in St Margaret's who have recently luanched their on-line business. Even if you don't live nearby, it's good to visit a stand like this so you know more about the people behind a website.

Loop. The same goes for Loop which, I hear from Juju who works there part-time, is going from strength to strength. Judging by the fabulous new yarns on the stand, they are getting lots of things right. I bought a couple of skeins of Old Maiden Aunt yarn to make Juju's Crow Waltz Shawl. (After my recent visit to Edinburgh, I couldn't resist buying one in 'Dreich'.)  

Janie Crow. Jane Crowfoot taught me to crochet so I am forever indebted to her. But, more than this,  she is shockingly multi-talented: teacher, author, knitter, finishing specialist and now business woman. Janie Crow is her new venture, it all looks fantastic, and I can tell you that the circular cushions are particularly beautifully designed.  

American Quilt Store. Strange as it may seem for someone who goes weak at the knees when faced with huge, colourful, modern  quilting fabrics by the likes of Philip Jacobs and Kaffe Fassett, I also have quite a thing for very tiny, limited palette, traditional fabrics. One of my many ideas of heaven is to be let loose in the Windham Fabrics warehouse because I have been frustrated in my attempts to find anywhere that stocks more than a smattering of their huge collection of reproduction and historical fabrics. But today I came across the American Quilt Store which has far more than a smattering and sells to the UK without the problems of extra Post Office duties etc. But I still wouldn't mind a look in the warehouse.

 

Yesterday I made a sticky date cake (from Delia's Book of Cakes) and today I realise that I must have been subconsciously planning for today. Because a visit to London is never a proper day out without cake, even if you have to wait until you get home to eat it.

everyday charm

If you ever get the chance to do a workshop or course with Julie Arkell, take it. Quickly. When I saw that she was going to be at West Dean, there was already a waiting list and I was told I was no. 2 in line. Amazingly enough, there were then two cancellations, and I got a place. When they rang to let me know, I asked again about the waiting list and it had grown to twenty six. (Julie is running an 'overflow' weekend in November.)

Julie is one of the most creative people I have ever met. She doesn't just make things, she lives a wonderfully creative life, too, and looks at the world in a unique way. She has an amazing way of taking very ordinary materials like cardboard, darning wool, buttons and felt, and turning them into 'objects of curiosity'. Honestly, I have never seen anyone else produce beautiful things in such a short time and with so little fuss, while talking and demonstrating at the same time.

We stitched little fabric charm bracelets (Phoebe claimed the one I made as soon as I got home), tiny Suffolk puffs to make into fabric jewellery, and Julie's 'World War II brooches', inspired by her recent visit to the Imperial War Museum (above). It was a real treat, and although it's not every day you get to do a Julie Arkell workshop, it is all about everyday charm.

Julie's only book, called simply Julie Arkell, has been reprinted again. It's very beautiful and very inspirational. Not easy to find, and your best bet is the Ruthin Craft Centre bookshop.

penguin purls of wisdom

 

[photo from Purls of Wisdom]

When I was trying desperately to avoid sinking under the weight of Charles Dickens for my PhD studies, I used to go to the British Library ostensibly to research some recondite theme in his novels, and somehow end up ordering and reading piles of books about children's literature or knitting. It was at this point I realised a change of tack was required. I put down Dickens, took up my needles, started the blog, and the rest you know.

One of the books I discovered in the BL was The Penguin Knitting Book (1957) by James Norbury who, it turns out, was quite a personality whose writing and TV shows were once very well-known. He published lots of books, but my favourite is the Penguin title, partly for the classic, small paperback format with a wonderful, period cover - a format which no-one would consider nowadays for a knitting book - and partly for the quality and tone of his writing. (He does speak very nicely to his lady readers.)

So I was delighted to be contacted a while ago by Jenny Lord, author of Purls of Wisdom, the first Penguin knitting book since James Norbury's classic, who asked me to make a contribution which I did, on what could be my alternative PhD subject: simple socks. The book is published this week and it is excellent. Jenny acknowledges Norbury's work, but creates a Penguin book for today's readers. She strikes just the right tone: fresh, friendly and relaxed, technically useful, with plenty of patterns and inspiration. It's not an easy thing to pull off, but Jenny has done it. 

Penguin have three copies of Purls of Wisdom to give away to yarnstorm readers. Email your name and address to publicity@uk.penguingroup.com with Purls of Wisdom/Jane Brocket in the subject line (NOT to me, I don't have the books) and Penguin will do the rest.

[I am also pleased to see that the leap from Dickens to Norbury isn't as far as you'd imagine. Take a look at Knitty's list of the Top 10 men in knitting, and you'll find both my heroes in there. ]