Well, I am making a certain progress in my drive to become a tortured knitter (the second video). The smoking and drinking are not going very well – cigarette smoke makes the fiber smell, and I drop too many stitches when I knit drunk (who knew?).
After six or so hours of that, you can’t say I haven’t suffered for my art.
However, I have neglected my home and family shamelessly, as you can see by the state of my office. That blur in the upper left corner is the face of my Sniglet, who tried to insert himself into the picture. Yes he should have better manners, but how could he, poor thing, without a mother to teach them to him?
Misunderstood in my own time? Totally, just like Van Gogh. Remember how I interrupted my various projects to make a scarf for the Sniglet, at his request and using yarn he chose himself? Yeah that one. He refuses to wear it. I am making a sweater for Ignatz, and he’s being very polite about it – I know he is pleased, in his understated way, that I am making something for him – but he’ll never wear it. He just doesn’t wear sweaters. DrBob wears only fine-gauge cashmere machine-knit storebought absolutely plain with no embellishment whatsoever do you hear me I mean it sweaters, in charcoal, beige, or black. So there’s no one to wear what I make. I did make sweaters for a few of my baby nieces and nephews, but they didn’t really work out, because my improvisational style tends to produce oh, a normal-sized body with spaghetti-sized sleeves, or a super-warm sweater that fits the baby perfectly at whatever age he is when it’s July.
And, even though I started knitting in 1994, when Stitch ‘N Bitch wasn’t even a gleam in Debbie Stoller’s eye, now everybody’s doing it, so I can’t even be unique or unusual. Bah.
I’m not even that good at it. Of course, Van Gogh had a different approach to painting than was quite the thing at the time, it was only later that people realized he’d been on to something good. So, if fudging ever become an art form, I’m in, but if that does happen, it’ll be long after I’m dead.
Just like Van Gogh. But I won’t cut off my ear. Because, ew?
Song du jour of the day: Starry Night, by Don McLean.