Quarter Of A Century On

  Where were you twenty five years ago?  I was getting married, October is quite the busy month celebration wise I was married eight days after my twenty-third birthday.

That’s me in the big ivory frock, surrounded by family and friends.

These days I am a quiet, contemplative person and prefer a modest celebration with my nearest and dearest to that of a raucous party.

As the day itself fell midweek, Big Daddy and I decided to mark the occasion with a walk along the spectacular Northumbrian coast.

A beautiful and unspoiled stretch of beach.

This breathtaking coastline also has the weather to match. The bracing winds in your hair and salty spray on your lips always leaves a lasting impression. 

 

Delicious autumn, my very soul is wedded to it...  George Eliot.

My latest bear, he has probably made himself quite at home in his new surroundings, no doubt.

Till next time. 

Forty-Eight And Counting

I celebrated my birthday last week.  I am twenty-one again, multiplied by two and add six as my son who’s a stickler for accuracy kindly pointed out.

I was the grateful recipient of many kind and thoughtful gifts.

I, like my hero Kaffe Fasset, have a passion for the cabbage.  In one of my favourite books, ‘Glorious Interiors’ by the colour king himself; he pays homage to this humble leafy vegetable using various mediums such as needlepoint and rag rugs  not to mention a vast china collection, which he devotes to an entire dining room elevating it’s modest profile to the realms of art.

 I on-the-other-hand, content myself with this glorious bouquet of roses and unassuming cabbages, the latter do rather steal the show I think.

My fibre cache was further expanded with the addition of some silk dupion and satin in wonderful deep lake and teal shades.  I would like to note that although I adore all colours I do have a particular soft spot for green, which is obvious to everyone but me.  It’s rather mystifying, although I don’t wear it I like looking at it; maybe it’s because it works as a perfect foil for all other colours.

I was also treated to several balls of Rowan Kid Classic yarn in natural tones, the perfect combination of lamb’s wool, kid mohair and polyamide for softness, luxury, warmth and durability.  The only problem I have is deciding what to do with them.

To the unsung champions of the needlewoman’s tool box; I cannot emphasize enough the importance of working with quality equipment and sharp tools; as this can be reflected in the overall result your work.  Therefore, I was delighted with this package replenishing my ever dwindling supplies of notions.  I am completely fascinated with little packets of this and that, I could and do spend hours in haberdashery departments the length and breadth of the land.

Instead of the usual chores I frivolously decided to spend my day on idle pleasures and added some distinguishing features to these little guys.

It may be hard to tell in this photo but I was trying to create a suitable face for a possible Father Christmas doll.  As it stands the hair and beard are obvious issues that need adjusting to fit the stereotype.

The challenge with this little man was achieving equal sideburns, which was incredibly difficult.  I shall have to give some serious thought to a replicable and a secure method for attaching facial hair that is equal to the wigs I make; which  I am sure is going to cause a few bad heads.

 I had a great day spent doing what I love with the people I love and consuming a great deal of chocolate cake, which incidentally my son made, no mean feat when you consider I don’t do dairy.

Finally, I would like to wish anyone else who is celebrating this week a 'Happy Birthday'.  

We Flocked To Yarndale

I have clearly entered my second adolescence, there is nothing like the excitement and anticipation of a festival; however my taste seems to be less rock-n- roll and more knit-n-purl these days.

Yarndale; we came, we saw and we spent, rather too much in my case.

Yarndale is a significant event, now in its second year that attracts a collective of entrepreneurial and creative individuals to celebrate and promote all that is good about the wool and yarn trade.

The day commenced with the yarn walk from Skipton town centre through the park, which proved to be a novel and an amusing warm up for the headline act.  I suspect the bicycle sculptures were in no small part due to the regions associations of this year’s Tour De France.

There was a genuine sense of community spirit.

The sculptures were generously donated by local schools.

At the venue we were greeted with the soft sounds of a traditional brass band playing on our arrival, which for me is synonymous of the region; this was both unexpected as it was charming.

The array of festooned, crochet bunting was an exciting explosion of colour that set the tone for the entire day. 

As well as the obvious retail opportunities the festival offered a range of participatory workshops and classes. However, if like me you didn’t take advantage of this some stall holders found the time to demonstrate their craft and passion, as well as providing a running commentary; I definitely learnt a thing or two about how the Romans spun fibres into something useable.

During the course of the day I overheard several comments intimating that the show lacked diversity.  Although there were yarn producers and stockists as far as the eye could see, I’m not sure if it was to the detriment of any artisan alternative.  In fact I found that the scale of specialism’s exhibited ranged from pasture to product and everything in-between.

The alpaca was also a well represented category, some would possibly argue to saturation point, but who doesn’t like alpaca?  There was a minimal presence of rare breed’s yarn, which I would have liked to see more of.  However, a yarn that was new to me was a camel fibre mixed with mulberry silk and cashmere which gives an exquisite rosy champagne colour with a fabulous lustre and gorgeous soft handle.  I do have regrets now not having bought any at the time.  

  

Although I can appreciate the vibrancy and clarity of pure colour I personally prefer a muted palette and was delighted to find a beautiful range of gentle and subtle tones achievable exclusively through the use of plant dyes; I just wish I could remember which exhibitor it was. 

I am a soft touch for the old and interesting therefore; it should be no surprise to learn that one of my favourite stalls stocked an extensive range of previously loved knitting memorabilia and other curiosities of a bygone age and all at very little cost.  That was the beauty of this festival, there was something to suit everyone’s pocket ranging from original artworks at £800 to yarn tasters at 20p per micro skein, indeed mementos of a grand day out for one and all.

I returned home with a modest addition to my stockpile of doll maker’s notions. I am trying to avoid buying things and squirreling them away, just to rediscover them at a later date when I’ve completely forgotten the reasoning that initially informed my choice.

 My discerning purchases consists of three micro skeins of 2ply alpaca yarn in ivory, fawn and grey all with a lustre suggestive of silk; I plan to make miniature bears with it.  My three remaining treasures are a selection of fibres that I plan to use for wig experimentation; they are natural shades of Wenselydale Topps and a hank of flax.

 As a doll maker I’m always looking for alternative natural fibres for hair and beards. I like to inspect the fibres personally for lustre and suitability, which is not always achievable from the high street; in fact I’ve never managed it yet.

My time at Yarndale was an exploration of colour and texture; meeting and sharing with like-minded people, by the end I felt quite fatigued and a little overwhelmed.  It has left me with a collection of memories, emotions and awakened possibilities, all in all a great day out.  As for the lack of diversity, I am not sure I can agree with that.  I may have felt initially besieged but a little perseverance revealed the subtle treasures that lay quietly among the profusion of brightly coloured yarn.  Anyway, wasn’t it the express purpose of Yarndale to showcase yarn in all of its glory?  I personally derive a great deal of pleasure from a simple arrangement of wool, oddments or otherwise.  However, all good things must come to an end and as Yarndale closes its doors on another year’s successful event I say kudos to those who made it possible.

‘I’ll be back.’ Arnold Schwarzenegger, 1984.

Till next time.

Behind The Scenes

It is important to feel comfortable in your environment.  I believe sensitivity to your surroundings can affect both your creativity and productivity.

For such a very long time I ached for a special room, a designated area to sew, knit, crochet and display.  I was always envious of others who had achieved this.  I have wasted countless hours migrating from room to room trying to find a peaceful niche to work. 

Recently I have taken refuge in the garage, a singular place of solitude in a busy household, splendid in terms of potential however; the reality is a barren and rather uninspiring room with no natural light.  Not a great start I grant you, but it is my space and it is quiet.

I am hoping that some additional furniture and storage will gradually transform the soulless wasteland into what I think is an exciting and stimulating workspace.  However, the lighting issue may be a little trickier.  I shall resist the temptation to illuminate recklessly; I don’t want to be burdened with a sterile environment bleached by strip lights.  I strive for balance and beauty.

Reclaimed fence off-cuts left by the previous occupants, ideal for shelving.  These planks were previously used to support a burgeoning wheelbarrow over waterlogged lawns during the creation of the garden several years ago.  A note of caution, old wooden boards can prove a splendid environment for infestations; however careful examination confirmed that this was not the case, they were and remain fungus and beastie free.

They were dried out thoroughly and following an afternoon of Jake’s hard work and several grades of sandpaper later we have clean and perfectly smoothed wooden shelving.  Well maybe a little rough around the edges, like me really. 

A process that is time consuming yet gratifying as it revealed a surprisingly beautiful patina concealed beneath the layers of grime and detritus.

A personal opinion maybe, but I think that years of abuse and exposure to the elements have added a sense of depth and history to the finish.

The reclaimed wood has delivered rewards that go beyond the mere functional solution of shelving; they serve as a reminder of the enduring beauty and nature of wood despite any ill treatment.

The shelving has been installed in its new situation providing a much needed decorative touch and display area. 

 It will also serve as a set for photo opportunities of completed projects of a doll and teddy nature.

My reclaimed furniture and shelving were originally a little battered and aesthetically inadequate but with a bit of sanding, waxing and buffing is now fit for purpose and I think looks rather splendid. 

The project started without a budget, theme or any design aspirations and we concluded with an eclectic blend of furniture, storage and display areas that provide me with an environment that is both stimulating and an inspiration for future endeavours.

Sanctuary achieved and sanity restored.

The Poppy Gathering

It is August and harvest time is upon us here in Northumberland. As the farmers prepare to bring in their crops we, in the Raganory garden, are gathering our summer spoils.

Poppy heads are my favourite dried flower and grow prolifically in my back garden, although I do have to confess an inherent fondness for teasel as well.  I never tire of gazing, photographing and using the poppy heads wherever I can.

The delicately coloured, paper frailty of the summer display belies their resilient nature, which leads to the permanent architectural, woody sculptures that adorn many an autumnal wreath and garland; truly a poppy paradox.     

There is no doubt that this humble plant, considered a weed by some, has historic significance and a reputation that stretches back to ancient civilizations.  The Romans regarded the poppy as sacred, while the Egyptians used it to flavour baked goods and in more modern times it remains our symbol of remembrance.

The childhood nostalgia of picking a glorious field poppy from a sea of golden grain instantly transports me to the halcyon days of yesteryear, where summers were warm and troubles were few.  This sentiment is captured beautifully in Laurie Lee’s, Cider with Rosie, it’s an evocative memoir that conveys a special affection and like the poppy, has a permanent place in my heart.

Our poppy harvest was facilitated by some uncharacteristically fine weather this summer and therefore, the poppy stems attained their sundried phase rather quicker than expected.  I like to leave the stems out for as long as possible, which reduce the chances of mildew forming and makes for a more robust end result.

With the preliminary stages of harvesting accomplished I begin to diligently deseed, clean and the remove any debris, once completed the stems will be placed in the conservatory for the final stages of drying prior to use.  I feel truly fortunate this year as the majority of the stems are measuring 120cm in length.

Poppy pods have quite a range of ornamental uses, I am sure we are all familiar with floral wreaths, garlands and table decorations, I have even seen them used as form of natural bunting.   Personally, I use them as decorative finish on my gifts instead of purchased bows, ever concerned with my green credentials.  I incorporate them into my photographs for added interest and use them for interior decoration for a sense of relaxed country elegance.

and soft lighting.

Aesthetically, nostalgically, symbolically or culinary, whatever the reason you can’t fail to love the poppy.

 Till next time.