A Bluestocking Knits

The Blue Gallery, Scandinavian Room

Because there seem to be so many blues in Scandiavian art, I thought I'd devote a "room" in my imaginary museum to Scandinavian blues --

Carl Larsson, "Suzanne and Another" (1901), private collection.  This really speaks to me for some reason, perhaps the blue of Suzanne's dress and her long braid, and her standing on a chair to decorate her new bedroom, the fact that she's probably getting paint on her dress but she's concentrating so much that she doesn't notice.  Apparently the frieze is still there in the Larsson home in Sundborn.  ("Another" refers to the worker on the ladder outside, Carl Oscar Persson, a Sundborn local and the Larssons' house-painter, who appears in a number of Larsson's paintings.)

Peder Severin Krøyer, "Summer Afternoon on the South Beach of Skagen" (1893), Skagen Museum, Denmark.  This painting is so iconic that it is almost too much so, and becomes perhaps more than a bit of a stereotype and like much of Larsson's work quite sentimental.  But it is lovely, so filled with light and blue, that I can't help admiring it.

Christen Købke, "The Landscape Painter Frederik Sødring" (1832), Den Hirschsprungske Samling, Copenhagen.  I adore this fellow, adore everything about this portrait, from the rather weedy little ivy plant and the pink and white striped cushion cover, the jumble of stuff on the table and wall, to his casual pose and the twinkle in his eye.

Peder Severin Krøyer, "Ettermiddagssol og Havblik (Late-Afternoon Sun and Calm Sea)" (1899), Johannes Larsen Museum, Kerteminde, Denmark.  I can hardly get enough of Krøyer's beach scenes, the light shining on the waves in this one, and the even more intense blues than usual.

Peder Severin Krøyer, "Stenbjerg med Marie Malende (Stenbjerg with Marie Painting)" (1889).  It's easy to see why Skagen captivated so many artists, with its marvellous light and the spare beauty of the sand and the waves.  I can hardly wait to go there myself.

The Blue Gallery

John Constable, "Cloud Study" (1822), Cortauld Institute of Art Galleries, London.  My first introduction to Constable was, I confess, through a Monty Python sketch in which one of the key phrases was -- I think in one of Graham Chapman's pepperpot voices -- "Oh, look, it's the man from 'The Haywain'!"  Python notwithstanding, I've grown quite fond of Constable, and this cloud study is perfectly lovely.

 

Canaletto, "The Grand Canal, Venice, from Santa Maria della Carità to the Bacino di San Marco" (1730-33), The Royal Collection, Windsor.  I think that I get almost as much fun from just saying the title of this painting as I do imagining myself in it.

Carl Larsson, "In Sundborn Church" (1905).  This is rather unexpected from the stereotypical Larsson watercolors of jolly young children outdoors -- subdued, moody, with the architecture taking the focus and the people half-hidden and obscured, with the tight, almost claustrophobic perspective and the infinitely beautiful blues.  I like the rather finished look of Karin in the sunlight and the less-polished brushwork of the townspeople in the shadows inside.

Maurice Quentin de la Tour, "Self-Portrait" (1764), Norton Simon Museum, Pasadena, California.  Another of my favorites at the Norton Simon (apparently another version is in Amiens), this self-portrait is remarkable not only for the brilliance of its colors and detail and its charm, but also for the fact that it is quite small, just 18 x 15 in. (45 x 38 cm).  He looks very French, does he not?  I find it very poignant, too, that on first appearance, even second, this portrait delights with the casual turn of his head and the pleasant smile, and yet his eyes are rather sad.  One hesitates to read too much from an artist's life into his works, but de la Tour suffered from mental illness in the second half of his long life, and it seems to me that he senses it already.

Botticelli, "Madonna and Child with Adoring Angel" (ca. 1468), Norton Simon Museum, Pasadena, California.  A gem among gems at the Norton Simon.  The rather shimmery lines in this image are actually golden in the original, which has a luminous, ethereal beauty surrounding its impeccable draftsmanship.

The Green Gallery, Continued

Francis Towne, "Ariccia" (1781), British Museum, London.  I'm afraid that this scan looks more than a little grey, but it was the only one I could find of this lovely little watercolor -- the trees are actually a beautiful Italian dusky-green, against a pale creamy-blue sky.  Ariccia (sometimes spelled "Arricia" -- Towne wrote "Larice" at the bottom) is an ancient town near Rome, redesigned in the mid-1600s by Bernini, whose dome of the church of Santa Maria dell'Annunciazione appears in the background here.

Edgar Degas, "A Carriage at the Races" (1869), Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.  So elegant, so Degas!  I love the smoothness of the grass, the sheen of the horses, the combination of imbalance -- the mass of the horses at the right against the near-emptiness at the left -- and balance -- the driver, the dog, the mother, the second lady, all focussed on the baby under the pale yellow parasol at the center.

Paul Cézanne, "Mont Sainte-Victoire Seen from Bellevue" (ca. 1882-85), Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

Hans Holbein the Younger, "Christina of Denmark, Duchess of Milan" (1538), National Portrait Gallery, London.  A fabulous effort by one of my favorite portraitists.  The yellow floor and the green wall (with its mysterious shadow on one side), the wonderful flow and texture of her gown, her level, strong-willed yet rather seductive gaze -- brilliant.  I love the story that when the suggestion was made that the young widow marry Henry VIII -- who was then casting about for his fourth wife -- she replied that if she had two heads, she might, but as it was she had only one.  Holbein has certainly given the impression of a girl who can hold her own on the Renaissance political stage!

"Bronze Statuette of Bastet" (26th Dynasty, 664 BC-525 BC) Senusret Collection, California Institute of World Archaeology, Santa Barbara.  One of my most beloved possessions is a reproduction of a similar Egyptian cat from the British Museum.  This is an equally lovely one, although slightly different, mostly about the ears, which are pricked forward in the British Museum's cat.  The serenity of this little cat appeals to me greatly, and the way that the artist has captured the essence of cat-ness.

Thoughts on the Mittens for Next Winter

Elizabeth discusses a variety of mittens in this chapter of the Knitter's Almanac -- thumbs at the side (thus at first interchangeable for right or left hands), thumbs that fold naturally against the palm, Norwegian-patterns on front and back, and the ones that I knitted this week, mitered ones that shape themselves into a point at the top.

I used two balls of Cleckheaton Machinewash 8 Ply Crepe, in a bright teal green with colored flecks, which I fondly imagine would be lovely against snow, although I don't know if living here in Southern California will give me much chance to find out!  The miters, alternating an increase and a decrease, shape the mitten very prettily.  At the spot where you want the mitten to curve around the ends of your fingers, you simply eliminate the increases at the sides and continue with the decreases, which pulls the sides of the mitten into a point at the top -- which discovery cheers Elizabeth enormously!

I added one more decrease round at the tip, because it was easier to graft that way, and it made the grafting all of a piece with the line of mitering up the front and back -- thus,

Elizabeth also digresses a little onto the subject of color, with which mittens are an ideal means of experimentation.  Do people see the same colors differently, and does this account for the different preferences for the same colors that people have, she wonders.  And associations with certain colors can matter enormously -- "For years," she says, "I loathed purple because it was the color of a droopy and voluminous hand-me-down coat I had to wear"!  Mittens, since they take so little wool, can be a way to try different colors, or combinations, of course, with little emotional or financial investment!

You snip a stitch where you want the thumb to go, and unravel a bit (I was amazed at how easy this was, after cutting the Aran last January -- I was quite blasé, and snipped without a second thought),

then pick up 15 or so stitches and work the thumb in the round.

I put the thumbs a bit low, I realized afterwards, and would recommend that you judge by the spot where your thumb connects to your palm, not at the bottom of your thumb joint (this part is a little vague in the book).  That spot will be at the outside edge of the mitten, keeping in mind that the miter will cause the unravelled row to run downwards at a 45° angle towards the center of the mitten.  (You will need to mark the spot at the edge, and then follow that row down to the middle of the miter, because you need to snip in the middle and then use the unravelled ends to reinforce the edges of the hole, as in the photos above.)

I added a bit of length to the thumb to compensate for the smaller gauge of the Cleckheaton, but that was all.

I found that the easiest way of sewing in the ends was in fact to wear the mitten, which gave the odd but amusing sensation of sewing on my own hand!

These are not perfectly anatomically correct mittens, and this is something of a detraction, for it means that the thumb when worn pulls the miter away from its line --

but on the whole, I think that the sheer ease of this pattern is much in its favor.

"Stash them away as they are finished, and when the time comes, next winter, you can deal them out with a liberal hand"!

The Green Gallery

Vanessa Bell, "Self-Portrait" (ca. 1959), Charleston Trust, England. A spare and unstinting self-portrait by a fascinating woman.

John William Waterhouse, "Miranda (The Tempest)" (1916), private collection, London.  I have a soft spot for scenes from Shakespeare, of course, and so this fits in here very well.  "A brave vessel, / Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her, / Dashed all to pieces.  Oh, the cry did knock / Against my very heart!"  (The Tempest, I.ii.6-9)

Tom Roberts, "Quiet Stream, Heidelberg" (ca. 1885), private collection.  Roberts' landscapes are my favorite of his works, filled as they are with that wonderful Australian light and a deep love of the countryside.

Carl Larsson, "Suzanne in the Woods".  This piece is unlike Larsson's usual rather idyllic watercolors, but I love the greenness of the grass and trees.

Anna Ancher, "Tulips in a Green Vase" (1919).

Greens from the Stash

Thoughts on Hedera

Here are the Hedera socks, from the Spring '06 Knitty, in all of their lacy spring glory.

I used Rowan 4-Ply Soft in Leafy, a silvery-sage which is possibly the most beautiful green in the world.  The name is curious -- it is soft and not-soft, fairly squishy in the ball and yet dense and solid while knitting, very like cotton.  (If I hadn't known, I would have in fact thought it was cotton.)  There was quite a substantial amount left over, a doughnut's worth from each skein.

 

I like the way that the twisted rib continues down from the top ribbing, and then down along the side of the instep.  I liked it so much that I kept twisting that single line down the side of the instep, even though it wasn't specified in the pattern.  (I can see why Cookie didn't do it, as it pretty much disappears against the stockinette of the foot, although strangely it is more obvious on the left side of the foot than on the right.)  The original toe felt narrow for my squared-off foot, so I pulled it out and modified the one from Ann Budd's book -- I stopped the foot about 2 1/2 inches short, instead of the 1 1/2 specified in the pattern, and made the decreases every other round, instead of every round, until nearer to the end.  Due to the lace pattern at the top of the foot, I lined up the top edge of the decrease with the edge of the lace section, and so the decrease line is not centered at the sides of the toe, but I'm looking at this as a design element, since it does in fact continue that line that comes down the leg and the instep.

The socks are indeed on the narrow side, even in the larger size.  They felt alarmingly tight when I tried them on for size at the start of the heel flap, but the lace relaxed considerably after a few fittings, and even more after blocking.  The narrowness could possibly be modified by not taking the gusset quite so far along, but as this is only my second pair of socks, I don't want to commit myself on that just yet!

I've also started using the Improved SSK.  I've always thought that my SSKs, while an improvement on the PSSO method, to be a little too puffy, and this Improved one seems to work very nicely.

There were some corrections in the pattern, and so if you printed an early version be sure to get the revised one before knitting.  The errors were minor enough to be easily fixable as I went along, but the corrected version will help to avoid a bit of head-scratching.

As a new sock-knitter, I find the numbered-needles method to be very awkward, especially as it uses only four needles (three to hold the stitches and one to work with), instead of five.  I used five down to the heel, then after picking up the gusset stitches I used markers instead of separate needles.

And this is a farewell to Project Spectrum's April yellows, with our pale cowslip sunroom walls, and hello to May's green!

The Orange and Yellow Gallery, Continued

Carl Larsson, "Anna Arnbom" (1909).  This is so unlike a traditional "portrait," and yet it works wonderfully.

Vermeer, "The Kitchen Maid" (ca. 1658), Rijksmuseum.  I could look at Vermeers for hours....

Vanessa Bell, "Poppies and Hollyhocks" (ca. 1940).  Bell was drawn to still lifes -- I suppose it was due to both the deep stillness of her character and the turmoil of her life.  Each of these aspects seem to come out in this particular painting, the quiet vividness of the flowers and the textile behind them, both still and full of motion.

Williamson, Daniel Alexander, "Coniston Old Man from Warton Crag" (ca. 1863), Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool.  Williamson was apparently on the fringes of the Pre-Raphaelite circle -- I had not heard of him or seen this painting before, but I like the warmth of the yellow flowers and the red in the middle distance against the blue of the "Old Man".

 

John Singer Sargent, "Coventry Patmore" (1894), National Portrait Gallery, London.  I don't seem to have a particularly high opinion of Coventry Patmore, probably due to Virginia Woolf's (and other feminist writers') remonstrations against Patmore's very Victorian poem, "The Angel in the House" with its repressive picture of the ideal wife --

"Man must be pleased; but him to please
Is woman's pleasure; down the gulf
Of his condoled necessities
She casts her best, she flings herself...."

and this doesn't help -- but I love this portrait.  It's a wonderful depiction of a face, the aging eyes and jowls, the moustache that manages to appear both splendid and wispy at the same time, the light that glints off of his hair, his forehead, and that one steely eye, with the supremely confident hand on hip.  I cannot doubt that this is an incredibly true-to-life portrait, that Sargent has captured Patmore brilliantly.

Yellow Stockings, Cross-Gartered

In honor of Shakespeare's birthday today, here is perhaps the most famous yellow in the plays, from "Twelfth Night" --

Malvolio has just been suckered into a joke on him by Sir Toby Belch and his friends, who play into Malvolio's delusions of grandeur by writing a letter supposedly from Malvolio's employer, Olivia, saying that she is secretly in love with Malvolio, and wants him to wear yellow stockings "cross-gartered," to be rude to the servants, and to generally be even more pompous than he already is: "I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point-devise [i.e., down to the smallest detail] the very man. I do not now fool myself to let imagination jade me [i.e., make a fool of me]; for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg being cross-garter'd; and in this she manifests herself to my love, and with a kind of injunction drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my stars I am happy. I will be strange, stout [i.e., unfriendly and lordly], in yellow stockings, and cross-garter'd, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised!"  (II.v.136-145)  Even if you've never seen the play, you can probably guess how well this goes over with Olivia!

The photo is from Sussex County (New Jersey) Community College.

Knitting Yellow

This is Laura's knitting -- she chose the color herself.  She still goes in spurts of interest, leaving it alone for months and then doing a whole row at once, but still, this is not bad for a barely-six-year-old, I think!  She is learning right-handed, too, because that's the way I knit, and I was impressed at how easily she managed it "the wrong way around" (although of course I didn't phrase it that way to her!).