we couldnt get out

While Wollongong is busy getting covered in knit,
and I am mucking around with Frankie
and Annette from the council,

Meet Elly, the worlds oldest guerrilla knitter - she is
87 years old and loves the idea
of dressing poles and trees for fun.

She reminds me of my mother,
and Elly knits in the continental
way too, so she really cranks it out.

Further afield than Wollongong, there is lots
more happening in the world of knit.

You have to admire someone who would knit
several miles of hot pink yarn i cord to resemble a fence,
then make a fence, complete with barbed wire.

Lacey Jane Roberts did that.


Not only did she make an exact pink knitted replica
of industrial fencing, she installed it in the middle of a back street
in San Francisco halting traffic for hours.

Later on she put it in a gallery where
everyone could enjoy it wothout getting run over.

We couldn’t get in. We couldn’t get out.
Installed in Clarion Alley, San Francisco, California.

Hand-woven wire, crank-knit yarn, steel poles,
assorted hardware. 10’ x20’. 2006-2007

She has this Chinese proverb on her site:

"an invisible red thread connects
those who are destined to meet regardless
of time, place or circumstance.
The thread may stretch or tangle,
but it will never break."

Another red thread connects Lindsay Obermeyer to her daughter.
See how they are joined?
No hand holes.

She explores issues of motherhood in a series of jumpers.

eternal umbilicus..

She long arms of a mother feeling stretched.

This one is entitled "knocked out"

Mother issues anyone??

Labled as a political knitter,Adrienne Sloane knits
with fine gauge wire and her focus
has been on the war in Iraq.

Here, the red and white stripes are
knitted bodies, sewn end to end.

The cost of human life..

When she travelled to Sydney to teach,
I snapped up the opportunity.
She helped me unravel the secrets of
my 1953 knitting machine,

we had cocktails at the Opera house
and checked out the knitted convenience..

I have to thank Adrienne for sending me her
images to post here. She is published in many
contemporary knit books, so you may have seen her.

Wooly in Wollongong

Is this how I am to finally lose my mind?
A never ending spiral of knit?
Guerrilla knitter's hell?

Actually it's more like the other place,
because today I am in Wollongong installing a commission
knit over this sculpture for the start of the Viva La Gong festival.

Anyone in Australia would know his work instantly. Bert Flugelman
has public works in every major city.

His works mark city spaces and defines them as public.
Growing up in Adelaide, the Mall's Balls
was where you met people. As in,
"Meet you by the Malls Balls at 2pm."

The city of Wollongong is a factory town,
and is rich in migrants and diverse cultures.
This year they are celebrating their migrants
who travelled the world to arrive there and work.

There is eight metres of knit to be sewn on,
with lots of pins to mark the color changes.

A bag of wooly vipers..

Two willing extra hands and a bottle of
Sauvignon Blanc as incentive.

There will be tags for dogs and trees,

and unsuspecting sugar bowls

and stickers to remind people of important things.

It's good to be reminded,

and a compliment never goes astray..

Viva La Gong's a stitch in time is on all week
and I will be staying here
savouring salt air and stories to share with you.

Street Art Where we Live

Kings Cross is a port town in a port town.

It's grunginess, it's hookers, junkies,
yuppies and cafes draw all kinds.
Maybe every city has a Kings Cross.

Yet how to transform a rather grungy
yet fascinating part of Sydney into a fun fest?
Give all the trees and poles some breasts.

The I Heart Kings Cross project was a part
of a larger council funded "Art and About".

Michelle Mc Cosker and some very talented guys hosted
an outdoor knit in every week
for two months to get this stuff up.

They have really stretched the boundaries
to explore what guerrilla knit can do.

My fave was the police station knit.
Perfect blue and white cop squares.

Having great respect for the kerfuffel that
goes into getting knit in trees, I bow to what
these guys have accomplished.

(Think crane/scissor lift,
working at heights
certificate/
safety dude to stand there
when ever the scissor lift is in motion/
arborist to ensure
no trees get harmed...I'm serious!)

I stuck closer to home for 2042 -
the Newtown Street Art Festival.
There was a huge map of our area
that anyone could add to.

So I added.
Appropriating dumped electrical gear
and a pair of sneakers from the street,
feeling like a gangster with 3 cans of
pink spray paint, I headed home.

and Here's a secret:
When is graffiti not graffiti? When it's council sanctioned street art.

Yep.
When it is illegal to be found in possession
of a spray can on the street,
one must create their work in the backyard,
to surface later.

Don't get me started on how possession
of a spray can of paint proves "intent to graffiti".
That is a rant for another day.

The entire neighborhood was a coloring in page.
The gorgeous one helped a kid color in trees.

The knitted cup cakes
on their knitted plate
glued to their pink not knitted table.
They sat like the Lorelei on the Danube.

Tempting all.

Felt Porn

Felt porn, you know you want some.
Smell pure soap flakes locked in wool, paint with colors
so soft, felt is calling calling.

I fell in love with
Ollies Woolies not only because of the simple designs, but the
shots capture it's texture so well.

Some artists are using hand felted methods,
others, like Lynsey Walters mix and match
with dyed and die cut felt.
Her style is bright and cheery.

Meiri Ishida was the inspiration for my neckpieces.
she is a Japanese artist, with a fabulous sense of color too.

Vacide Erda Zimic lives in Lima,
and uses recycled and re claimed scrap fabrics
like felt, cotton, alpaca and carpet.
She uses mixed methods such as sewing, rolling, sticking and cutting.

Lily Yung uses die cut industrial felt
to make her productions.

Inspired by Jennifer Moss, I could felt
my self some new ovaries to wear around the neck.

Or some new alveoli when the lungs give out.

Or..or...

but wait! there's more! When a style queen who gets 357
comments on her blog bothers to email you suggesting
something you may love,
well, you do it, dont' you?

Thanks Crissy, I have a new crush: Dutch felter
Paula Leen. She is at once organic and industrial,
pushing the boundaries of what felt will do.

A vase?
I love it.

can't talk,
busy felting.

Heaven Felt in Grafton

Sometime
in the years of abundance
before the depression this house sang in sunshine.

It's wooden walls and floors were warm and dry,
and light filled every corner.

How many lives did it have before
Blooming into Bloom's Cottage?

Maud was on the verandah to greet me
with her heavy yellow
labrador body.
She showed me
the place where the heavy orange
and almond cake is.

There was hand made bircher muesli
every morning.

My felt teacher coaxed
merino tops, slivers of cashmere
and silk from the behinds of a thousand
worms to give
forth their
buried secrets.


Whispering softly of the evils of air bubbles;
and how they drown in too much water
to float dead
on top of the work like a
two day corpse
in a river, refusing to sink.

Then after such gentleness,

A sound beating never goes astray.


On the verandah at Blooms, I ate cake.

The Knitted Convenience on U tube

Once in a lifetime a film comes along that
will touch your heart, make you laugh till tea comes out of your nose,
make you cry till you get a dehydration headache,
and make you wish that you could live you life again
and do it all so differently
that world peace will ensue and all famine is wiped out.

This is not one of these films.

G'waaan,
watch it.

Name the song,

sing along with it.

I know you have 75 other blogs to leave a drive thru comment on, but humor me.

Guest blogger

Mum is fussing in her new studio,
She says she has nothing to say,
but I have plenty.

Let's see, what is Buster up to.
Wonder if I can order cupcakes on line?

Yesterday on the Big Sniff,
she made me wait for ages
outside this noisy place.


So what? A bookshop.
Nothing to eat here.
She got excited and showed me the glass.
There is a book behind there
and a photo from this book.


My nose print looked good on the glass.


I was appreciative.
A dog in a silly hat that isnt me.

I hid under a cafe chair.
When she stitches I get so bored.

I made Mum trail behind my gaily held tail
after that
and function in her capacity as
holder of the poo bag.

It must be the weekend because the pack
went to the dog park.

I got a puppachino.

I have to drink fast because
everyone else wants some.
The sprinkles are liver.

Mum and Don are so missing out not having those.

It is an art, to be able to growl
and drink at the same time.

Don made a lame attempt
to make me jealous with Dolce in his lap.
I could sit there anytime,
I just don't want to.

I shared the sprinkles
with Dolce to prove it.

Then came the real reason of the day:
WTF Mum!
You think you can fool
me with puppachinos
then take me
to that awful place?
It stinks in there.

You know I get scared then
I have to wear that thing.
I look like Hannibal Lecter.

I cant bite anyone, and suffer
all sorts of other indignities.
Lucky she didn't take my temperature
like last time.
I kept backing into the wall in case.

OK, only three injections and a
nice pat down all over.
You better get me anything I want
from the buffet.

Tack it on to the $436 bill you just got.

It's been a big day already and the
afternoon walk is hours away.

Open Studio Tour

Come in,
Come in!
Welcome...

Oh! Flowers for me?
Yes come in, it's open studio day here,
and while these go in a vase,
Have a seat and relax.

The tea is still hot..
you don't mind pushing that pile of wool
out the way while we eat?

Dont you love these soft colors for summer?

Here comes hound, he loves cupcakes too.
No he's not snarling, he's smiling...

Just letting you know so it won't be a shock
but he may decide to lick
crumbs off your fingers...

Yes he has got extra large teeth..
it's the dingo, you know..
More tea??

It feels so special in here,
a chance to put out all the treasures
locked away for so long,
a chance to breathe and stretch..

The light is so soft too, isn't' it?
I can look out and see the world,
then bury my nose in the flowers.

What am I working on?
Oh these neck pieces for an upcoming event.
They are called, "Fibredornments"

Another cupcake?
Oh -
I see yours went missing.

You still have all your fingers, dear?

Good..

Sorry you have to rush off now,

Do come back again, won't you?

Nannageddon

eminent Crafts PhD candidate and boffinEmily, being interviewed on air with me on ABC radio

Those variously living this blog life will recognise
the occasional age whinge here.

While I go kicking and screaming into mid life,
a torn inner thigh muscle at yoga is simply not the
reminder of mortality I need.
A purple bruise has blossomed from groin
to half way down my moon tanned thigh.

Enough to make Horvuud,
the blonde Norwegian chiropractor swear
aloud in Norwegian.

Had the injury been sustained in adult frolicking
from the chandeliers with the gorgeous one, maybe,
but a yoga class creaking into the first down dog of
the day is less than remarkable.

As Horvuud agreed.


The fact that this covers the entire blogpost
is not as disturbing as this next fact:

By next year, 2010,
gen Y'ers will outnumber us
baby boomers in all
our shades of chambray.

over 500 nannas gathered at ABC radio for the worlds knitting record. Not an i phone in sight.

It's going to be death by twitter.

Can one blog their own suicide?
Be killed by my space comments?

Perhaps I can tweet the exit of the last dessicated
ovum as it's cast from withered follicle
on facebook to 1000 imaginary friends.

The fact is social networking is here to stay and we had
better get used to it.

Savvy advertisers know
the power of word of mouth.
Who hasn't been swayed into that book on
Amazon after reading customer reviews?

Who hasn't checked out that cool blog
mentioned in someone else's blog?

I have.

Word of mouth works,
and electronic word of mouth
is faster, spreads like a virus and
has the compelling authenticity
of the written word.

The irony is not lost.
I am whining about social networking on
a social networking platform.
It isn't lost so much as speeding faster
than I can keep up with.

As contradicting as this appears;
as I struggle to get my iphone synched with entourage;
as I post pics from the iphone to flickr
and try
to have a life full enough
to actually blog about;

In the last 24 hours, I have had to correct
an on line mis attribution to the knitted dunny,
and received a potential job
offer though twitter.

And before we all forget how 2 spell,
u can C why I HATE twitter.
Check this out 2 B sure:

But we are getting revenge.

It's Nannageddon!

It's craft, Jim, but not as we know it.
Nanna craft will take over the world,
one crocheted coathanger at a time.

Nannageddon is the title of an exhibition in New Zealand

there is guerilla knitting like this

Nanageddon showcases artists who are hailing the revival
of stitching and knitting, subverting the idea of "Nana-craft"
and reclaiming the art of craft in truly revealing ways.

In this exhibition,
what might sound like the work of a harmless old lady,
turns out to be the act of some edgy,
post-modern radical thinker.

Nanageddon is a re-take on traditional craft methods
as we know them
with artists who are using craft
as their medium.

And I bet they are twittering all the way.

Some die hard Amish baby boomers
may nay say the social networking movement,
however these stats will make you see things differently.

Oh, and only us baby boomer will get the Star Trek
reference to both the title of the twitter animation
AND the craft quote.
Do you remember it?
It was in black and white..
The rest of you young 'uns
will have to Wiki it.

Tthis book turned out to be useless for me.
Got sucked in by the great cover shot.

I'd offer one of the stack of
less than thrilling amazon purchases
made though word of mouth
recommendations as a prize for guessing,
but I'll palm them off
later for the 250th
blog post like
the chronic blogger that I am.

Filling the well

bench in Newtown park where the dogs run free

Here is the beauty of blogs;
You are never alone and always loved.
The universe works through distant fingers on keyboards
to remind us of core truths.

Journal page from years ago

Stillness and silence is as nourishing
as the air we breathe,
and in that space between
the breath
all possibilities lie.

Part of filling the well included a return to
regular yoga practice.
My body hums with ache. Muscles
chant themselves back into balance.
I feel taller.

Today the teacher talked about the
concept of non harm- ahimsa.
The concept of doing no harm to
all including yourself.

some treasures from my stash that I love to look at, caress, but never actually knit with.

That means some deep listening to the inside voice
to hear what it has to say. Then be brave enough
to do something about it.

I am being brave.
Sometimes defining what is harmful to the self and loved ones
can go against the very fabric of the web that has been woven.
Or knitted, in this case.

I have a studio at last.
A room in my house to create solely for me and a place
to put the mountain of yarn, ribbon, paper
and treasures.

I think the Gorgeous one is grateful. Now we visit each
other's studio spaces and he
is also on a roll of new creativity.

Dog statue in Newtown Square

I have been up to some tricks as you can see.
This involved a ladder and some very fast stitching.

The full moon approaches and there is mischief floating
on the breeze and jasmine scented wickedness.

And if that is not enough, there is a doga class to catch up on.

For real.
Baxter says, "In your dreams, Mum."

blogger's block

It's true.
After two large scale knit events falling fairly close
to one another, I have
blogger's block.

It goes like this:

Sit down at the computer.
Stare at the little green circle that goes round and round
waiting for the start up page with dull eyes.

Click on blog.
Stare at that without scrolling.
Open email program.
See blog friend's comments unread.
Stare at unread comments with dull eyes without opening any.
Drink more coffee.
Switch to the something else online that simply HAS to be attended to.
Turn off computer.
Repeat.

Have you had this experience?

The Knitted Convenience was a blast, and my performance loving
extrovert friends made the day memorable
in many more ways than knit.

I was reminded of the power of community, of family of choice
and what can be achieved with a little help. The event touched my heart
and soul in deeper ways that only surfaced after.

my family of choice

Deeper understanding of how art and life are indeed one; how one informs
and magnifies the other, and the power of
creation in all it's aspects.

I am feeling very grateful to the powers that be.

random journal page from 2004

To my Mum, who turns 81 tomorrow,
and still has the heart to reach out to her estranged daughter
with a ball of yarn as a peace offering.

She knitted so much. When I went to see her for the first
time in 28 years, we didn't have to speak.
We knitted.

See how she holds the yarn in her left hand?
She taught me to knit the European way, and it's sooo fast.
As soon as I saw her again my fingers remembered
how to do it.
Her hands are a blur here.

She was knitting this column, and the tops to all the rest.

Now its cocoon time. To return to my first love -
journalling in order to refill the well.

We fill our well in many ways. Sitting in a darkened cinema
at midday with the feature playing almost solely for me,
wandering the streets of the inner west spotting new street art,
and a trip to the warm , wet lands of the Korean Bathhouse
where my skin grew white and gills
formed where my ears should have been.

In the long warm baths and steam I became an axolotl.
Then painted some more.

our·ish
tr.v. nour·ished, nour·ish·ing, nour·ish·es1. provide with food or other substances necessary for life and growth; feed.

..... Click the lWe
I am replenishing creative resources
and re-stocking my pond.

The Knitted Convenience

By eleven am the "Von Trough Family" were arriving.

Kath E. Tarr gave out Yellow ID tags, though it wasn't hard to spot us.
Purl Harder helped with her cousin, Uri Nall.

Al Pakka was plumber in charge of all things underground.

Phil Mc Cracken and Captain Von Trough were in charge of security

and making sure no one fell in hole.

I spent a quiet moment by the toilet, taking stock of the day to come
while the rest scratched their collective chins
and hummed a few bars of Do Re Mi.

There were last minute wardrobe checks.

Pia Von Trough insisted on yellow booties.

Clarrice oversaw the events and completed her bit for the convenience.

Then Captain Von Trough shouted, "All hands on deck!"
And the stitching began in earnest.
Kathe E Tarr was in charge of a column,

It was a swarm of activity with Phil, Captain and Jess busy
making sure everyone was safe.

Purl was a gem.

Jess even stitched a bit, but her skills really lie elsewhere.

While security was on a beer break, naughty Ms Incontinata
straddled the walls to get at a particularly
high piece and got stuck.

Before long the top looked naked, so
David leapt up in his swarthy, manly way.
There definitely was something
for everyone to look at.

The centre structure stitching was a bit like knit twister.
Three lined the scaffold while others leant
over railing handing over scissors, threading
needles, cheering, filming and eating.

Geraldine arrived all the way from Brisbane with this
masterpiece in her hand; tiny knitted condoms
in pockets - just the thing for a toilet.

We stitched and stitched, it was getting cold.

By 4pm we were losing light, our hands were cold
and it was a sprint to the end. The Oxford Hotel shouted us a round
and switched on the deck heaters, luring us west.
Somewhere a beer was calling my name.

To the strains of "Climb Every Mountain" the Von Trough Family
adorned the convenience with it's final jewel; a giant yellow plug
sent from Ms. Disordered. One of the first blog friends
that arrived to read my rantings and who sends me
the best stuff.

It was done.

This stunt would never have been pulled off without
my mates. The Von Troughs bailed me out when it was clear
the word was not getting out in time
to the rest of the world.
My Mum will be 81 next week has a very special place here.
She knitted each of the column tops
and many other bits besides.

I am going for a beer before I get mushy
and will leave you with some flickr moments.

Stitch'n'Glitz

I probably did resemble a new bag lady arriving in
Taylor Square yesterday. A local ambled up
to inspect the bulging luggage. I could see one hand,
but the other was shoved deep inside the front of his tracksuit pants.
We had a nice chat and I was fairly glad
he wasn't offering to shake hands.

My friend Clarrice arrived with Leigh from the Newtown
Neighborhood centre, and we played
about with pink knitted "Hallowigs".

More and more arrived, balls of yellow wool were tossed from table
to table as people stopped to do a row or a bit
or even get carried away and
refuse to give it back, like this lad.

The management thought it was hilarious
and shouted us all a round.

Now the distance between the pub and the Knitted Convenience
is only about 15 meters. In this narrow nature corridor
a young woman appeared. Long blonde hair, stylish leather
coat and jeans tucked into stylish leather boots.

Could I give her $100 she said, she lost
her wallet and needed to get home.

I'll admit it has been a while since an all-nighter on the strip
was had, but when did it become $100?
Didn't they just used to ask for ten? Unfazed
by my open mouth, she walked on.

The novice knitters whose main
aim was the bitching and the beer made their mark.

The caps of each column had been stitched together after
exacting mathematical effort. At the first anxious fitting Jess became
emotional as it slid on like a glove.

After a while, the wool seemed to disappear.
We discussed event management, assessed risks
and surveyed job titles.

There would be lavatory assistants watching out for safety
of us and our treasures. There will be lavatory
eye candy - their job is to be glamorous all day.

Most important are the column custodians - four of them.
In charge of not only a column, but a Column assistant,
who they get to boss about.

Put your non yellow soaked brain to use..
There are heaps of great knit names
lurking in your head...aren't there?

A matter of convenience

In case you thought I was having a rest,

think again.
Come to a toilet with me.

Not any toilet, but a heritage listed public convenience
over 100 years old.
Built at the turn of the century, when
women's toilets were unheard of.
Dont ask me where we were supposed to go,
covered in dark silks, whale bone and lace.

It is in a sad state, and one of the last of four
public urinals in Sydney. Beautiful architecture,
but sadly past it's prime.
Once in a handy location at a busy tram junction
in Oxford St, Darlinghurst, it now props up the homeless,
the helpless and the hapless.

It's getting a make over.
In knit.
Yellow knit.
Why yellow?

Think about it.

The knitted convenience has been
my dirty little secret since February. I have been loitering
around dingy outhouses with tape measure
in hand since then, and plotting
with the Powerhouse Museum
for their Design 09 festival that opens in two weeks.

When a guerrilla knittter wishes to move into larger
operations, when her eyes are fixed on a prize wider than a pole,
she has to conspire with the powers that be.
She has to see who holds the power and get some of it.

She has to develop diplomatic finesse and manipulate consent.
She has to bribe with knit bling and short skirts.

I was prepared with a brain load of snappy soundbites
and reassuring downplay. They loved the idea, the cheekiness,
the subversiveness, the fact it was a toilet in yellow did not phase them.
These are my kind of people.

It had never been done before.

artist impression to save chins


No one knew what forms to fill in, and city planners
scratched their chins.
Not only it is a heritage site, it lies inconveniently
on the wrong side of a council boundary merge,
and that means more forms, and more chins.

So while the anti graffitti knit debate rages on over at Ravelry,
I am getting on with business. The first knitted building in
Australia, and it wont be cute, pretty or mainstream.

Go check it out:

cosy

Living with a guerilla knitter is not easy.

They try your patience by
making you do silly things.

Things you wouldn't be caught dead doing,
then publish it on the world wide web.

But how else can a
very famous tea cosy be shown off?
You give a subversive knitter a tea cosy -
and expect her to put it on a pot?
I don't think so.

The holes in the cosy are perfect for ears.
And for when you don't want to
be recognised committing a knit-up.

Yes these tea cosies are very famous.
Can you spot the ones my ever humoring
pack are wearing?

They are the originals from the book.
The prototypes.
And Ms. Baa sent them over.

I must have walked by Loani's Teapot 250
times at the National Gallery.
It was nice to stop for a
a warm wintery
week knitting Wild Tea Cosies.

Loani pushed us all to design then knit our own
wild tea cosy.
We discussed what a bunch of tea cosies would be..

a flock?
a clot?
no..

A cuddle,
a cuddle of cosies.

Loani shows us she has balls.

She was a ton of fun, and
was the Ms Higgins to my Eliza.

Things I can do now:

• Cast on with double yarn to create a nice stretchy edge
• Weave in the loose bits so they don't dangle messily
• Knit in the round with two, yes, two circular needles
• Decrease in a way that make it look even and pretty ( instead of feral and growly)
• Knit a circle that could one day become a beanie. But I made teeth:

Lots and lots of teeth.

With a nod to Casey and the trashbag rehab guys
in Fitzroy, who love a good bit of genitalia,
my cosy is called
Vagina Dentata.

Snap snap.

It failed to scare blog buddy, Ms Bubblefish,
her teapot was a self portrait.

Ms Bubblefish was up for some guerilla sport,
however the very proper girls boarding school
headmistress was not amused.
She asked us to remove it.

I got revenge.

Yep damn right, I am missing.
Latin.... I ask you.