Oy, My Intarsia Is Killing Me
May 13, 2005
I hate to interrupt the reduce/recycle/reuse festival of denim going on up there, but I have breaking news. (This will be brief. This is the scene out my window this minute: five guys waiting until ten o’clock to begin replacing a utility pole that serves exactly one house–mine–and which I told the guy they couldn’t start until ten o’clock because I had a rilly important thing I needed to finish on the computer. Your utility dollars at work.)
Anyhoo, I’m afraid I’m in for a bout of intarsia. I can feel it coming on just the way my bursitis tells me when the barometric pressure is dropping.
I’m starting to do weird things: I pull out the Box of Alice Starmore Scottish Campion I adopted from a nice lady in Baltimore last year. Somehow, graph paper shows up. I think about bobbins.
I know how this is going to end: I’m going to pile it all in the Mom Bomb, drive down Hillsboro and end up at Angel Hair Yarn Co., wishing and hoping some famous intarsia expert will just show up and tell me what to do with all this stuff.
Hey wait–some famous intarsia expert IS showing up. Get a load of this: Sasha Kagan is coming to Nashville. Can you believe it?
She WILL tell me what to do with all this stuff. She WILL be full of ideas. If anybody can get me to try intarsia, it has to be Sasha Kagan.
If anybody has colorwork questions they’ve always wanted to ask Sasha Kagan, lemme know, and I’ll ask the Queen of Intarsia for you.
Who Knit the Book of Love?
As a little warm-up for the workshop, and in celebration of Fifteen Years of Wedded Bliss, and because eventually making books and knitting would somehow collide in my life, I made
an anniversary book for Hubbo. What does it say? That’s for me to know and Hubbo to find out . . .
Carry on. Continue discussion of recycled denim, rules for the Iowa State Fair (Iowans only? OutRAGEous!), and the like.
PS (After the new utility pole has been installed–and it’s a beauty.) OK, since you asked, here’s a peek inside of the Book of Love, which was concocted in a fever and will be much cooler when anniversary no. 20 rolls around:
Inside there’s note paper trimmed on the scary rotary paper cutter. The binding is embroidery floss sewn through the paper in the ancient tradition of the monks of St. Denis (OK not really). If I did it again I’d extend the stitching to the top and bottom of the paper. I winged it on attaching the paper to the cover. I’ve got book fever now.