All roads lead to…

each other and yet we all have our very own. Are you on your path, are you sticking with it.

Looking at the art of knitting, I thought there was just English and Continental techniques. I had an inkling that Shetland had its own style. Then discovered there was Portuguese, Spanish.

Knitting began as the coptic style – one needle threading through loops. Origins may be from Africa and the Middle East. In Europe, Germany apparently heralded the Continental way, which is very similar to Russian.

South America adopted European habits apparently.

In reality, no one can say exactly where two needle knitting began! But as a knitter you tend to be either a picker or thrower of the yarn, sometimes combined. It’s good to know both. Continental is speedy for  knit stitch, great for different colours on one project. English suits purl and decreasing at end of rows. Continental gives an even, neat appearance on knit. English does purl the right way up.

I’m Continental with a Russian slant. I adopt English for certain aspects of patterns. But recently have found Russian patterns, in Cyrillic! That would be like knitting in a secret code. It’s all magical though, isn’t it.

I have spent some time in recent hours researching a fairy tale. This too appears to have different techniques, origins perhaps, and adaptations on the way over hundreds of years.

Whatever stories we choose, or perhaps they pick us, the road they take us on bring us to each other. We all have our own folk or fairy tale, our own favourite. I have mine and it’s been in my subconscious for years leading me to story-making. I have only now realised how influential it is on my main character.

Mexican three bean soup, malted pecan loaf, textiles, for the weekend. Have a good November. It doesn’t matter if you take an alternate route, it makes a story more interesting. Keep writing!

redriding

 

Blow Me Away!

Art reflects life they say. Only today I realised that the poster I have of Egon Schiele’s Four Trees (1917) is very much like the trees outside my front window. All in a different state of losing their foliage. Three are sycamore and I call these the sisters, one is a beech (their cousin).

The dominant sycamore is still green, she refuses to turn. She may be younger, I’m not sure. I also noticed for the first time that Mother is commanding the horizon, looking on at her children.

I used to play under these trees, planted on a patch of green which once belonged to a wealthy person. The large house is now under the NHS as a mental health care unit for day visitors. I can’t remember what size the trees were over forty years ago! I do notice though that children still play there, foxes meet and mate, crows and owls communicate.

But no one from the building sits outside, ever.

Beneath the trees is the Tiger’s Tomb. Maybe the grown ups are feart!

egon schiele four trees 1917

Confessions of a lost appetite

So many things are coming to a head and amongst all the action I seem to have lost my appetite. I have decided to focus on a limited selection of fruits, breads, white fish and eggs for now and will be reading some Ottolenghi for inspiration. His Middle Eastern palate  combines sweet with savoury – it all looks delicious, and he has a new recipe book out.

It’s disappointing when you spend time making soup, pita, salads, only to find that everything smells and tastes like cardboard – like Aldi does when you walk in! It’s all the cereal boxes under the lights and lack of air conditioning. Mr Fluff however is delighted that there are healthy blueberry muffins in the house. Who ever heard of a cat eating blueberries (apparently it’s okay for them to). They are well-hidden in a sealed box after cooling.

It’s also been hard going in to work at a place where the needs of others are huge and their self absorbed attitude and behaviour is draining on a daily basis. I no longer have the capacity or patience for underpinning and supporting flailing arts organisations or boards of staid oldies who won’t do the right things to help themselves. Going round in circles and not  taking  a risk isn’t my style.

So, as they say, be the change you want to see. Constant evolving is where it’s at, there is no sitting still. In many ways I feel quite robust at the moment, not defeated, but adapting. Dry sunny autumn days call for walks where I spot all the apple and pear trees dropping their fruits and it seems no one heeds what is all around them.

Maybe it’s time for this nation to change its attitude to the meaning of life. It doesn’t exist on a supermarket shelf, a screen, or in a vat of alcohol, it’s out there.

Travel is imminent – looking forward to a change of scene.

heartstitchedbuddah