During the course of the project thus far over 200 knitters have started to knit their moods. They come from all around the world. The largest groups come from the UK and America. As the person who set this work in progress and kept breathing new life into it I have had a life expanding experience. The work has led to me meeting new people in real life and online. It has elicited new conversations and new thoughts. People have been generous in the sharing of their stories and experiences. As the community site closes I wanted to take the opportunity to write the stories of some who joined us. The words are my own, based on what the knitters shared on line or in person. I feel I know some of the contributors well, others retain their mysteries. I've chosen these stories as they express something which was part of a wider experience or just because they interested me. The names have been changed but you may recognise yourself in the stories.
Behind The Silence
Silence as Ruth and Paul sat side by side in their car. Not silence of an angry uptight argument nor the comfortable silence of years together. This was a new kind of silence. The windows were beginning to spot with rain. Life was seen through the blur of steaming windscreen and the unfamiliar blur of recent news. There were no tears, not yet. As Ruth looked around the car park she realised that the cars were littered with people. Unable to stay inside where news was raw and the sympathy of professional eyes made you worried. Yet unable to begin the drive to homes, just the same but totally changed. Cancer.
In her job Ruth worked with the most vulnerable. In her online posts she tried to respond wisely and lovingly to others and share with honesty. "If I was involved in a project that I felt
strongly about" she typed "then I reflected that in the knitting. When I got home I felt
happy and exuberant." She looked back over her posts. She had told an unseen, unknown crowd of other knitters of her exciting days looking at art and travels with her growing strand of knitted moods. She typed about knitting away from her usual chair in whatever place she found herself. She had mused on the effect of changing light on her mood and how planting in the sunshine calmed her. She read and wrote and wrote and read. About how others got benefits from knitting and how one reflected on and anticipated future moods when selecting a stash to take away. She was happy and fulfilled, and perhaps most important to her, she felt vital. Until, crack, cancer.
The terror trickled down from a thought in her brain and ran down like chilled water. It spilled into every part of her body. Making her catch her breath in panic. Making her loose her footing with preoccupation. The wait in hospital was hard to bare. Paul had driven her to the hospital in the car, yet she couldn't imagine that her everyday life was just a car ride away. When people visited it was as if they were part of another world. She picked up her knitting. A click of the needles, the yarn flowing through her fingers, the repetition, the growing number of stitches and the faint smell of home embedded in the fibres. It kept her grounded, calmer. The fearful thoughts which had seemed stuck flowed away with the knitting. Rough and smooth. Invisible tensions were translated into visible ones. The twisted colour grew as she knitted through each emotion. The waiting ended and she is taken the surgery.
There had been a silence online. Recovering enough to write again to try and articulate in unfit language. "It has been a long time since I posted. " she wrote "However,
I have stuck with the project even if there have been a number of pauses." She summerised her intense raw emotions in a single sentance and spoke of knitting helping her through. She looked down at the tangled knit which coiled across her knee and away onto the floor. Like an umblical cord it connected her to the reality of the past few months.She ran the strand through her fingers, noting the long stretches of rough, narly, brown knitting which came as she tried to understand the complexities of bad times.She ran the strand through her fingers, noting the long stretches of rough, narly, brown knitting which came as she tried to understand the complexities of bad times. She ran the strand through her fingers, noting the long stretches of rough, narly, brown knitting which had come as she tried to understand the complexities of the bad times. There were good days, good moods too. Amoungst the dark and dingy colours were bright ones. Moods from the day the surgery results came back as all clear and there was hope and reassurance. If somebody had asked her how the last 3 months had been she might have recalled only the big bad times but in her hand was a record of times when laughter had still bubbled up, calmness had been gained and a wonderful gratitude had rose. She took a photo of the coiled strand and posted it to the site. The photo on the computer screen shone brights and muted tones, darks and lights. She saw the moods as they played off against each other, not isolated things but part of the bigger picture.
Same car. Same couple. Same carpark. 6 months on and the strand wasn't colied in a bag between Ruth's feet but was criss crossed across the windscreen of the car. " I'll call it Anti Blast Tape". She told Paul "you know what glaziers do to stop the glass smashing or if you are an assassin like Jason Bourne breaking into a car." Placed to keep them safe in case the news was bad. Paul understood the need to mark the occassion, to do something symbolic, to use the work to soften any shocks. They had walked into the consultants office and after a rather brief appointment returned to the car. All clear. Anti blast tape put away.
To be continued
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