Hey there, dear reader! There’s no art here, none, nada! 😉 Instead, inspired by Hege, I’m here to write about knitting, music, and to a lesser extent my reading habits. There’s so much more than merely knitting to share with you and I hope that you’ll afford me the indulgence.
On the knitting front: a top-down Faroese shawl with shoulder shaping. The design is based on one I did a few years ago, the 17th of May shawl. That pentagon shape gave me the undeniable feeling of drowning in lace, and I mean that in a bad way. So the last few years have witnessed my attempts at a half-hexagon and a half-pi, and any assumption about my dissatisfaction with those shapes would be quite correct. Hopefully this iteration will be the last. It’s simple enough to have accompanied me so far through seasons 4 and 5 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (over the course of which Odd-Even has become a grudging fan). Now onto seasons 6 and 7 — I’ve only got about 430 nupps left to go on the edging.
As for books, I haven’t excised fiction from my life entirely, but with the exception of my definite weakness for historical romances, my consumption of it consists almost exclusively of re-reading favourite novels from my adolescence and, of late, French comics acquired on Amazon — and what a goose chase it has been through their sites in the UK, USA, and Canada to find Le Château des Etoiles. The technical French put paid to my ambitions to translate it into Norwegian, but an English edition will be published in September. In the meantime, even if you don’t read French I’d recommend a long luxuriation in Alex Alice’s art.
And now, drum roll please, because I recently discovered The Clash. Right, you might say, so how does someone with my politics, music tastes, and access to the Internet spend 20 years knowing their name (vaguely, and often confused with The Who and The Cure and The Damned) but not their music? I’ve got no answer and no excuses, but they’ve been a soothing influence for the past 10 days. Such a description is perhaps paradoxical given that every run-through of the playlist necessitates Palestrina motets and masses to clear my head, but given the state of the truth these days, I feel no particular need to defend my contention that The Clash are both cacophonous and calming.
May the knitting gods be ever in your favour, and keep you from the frog pond.