outdoor knitting

In celebration of knitting outside for one year, for moving around the sun for another 12 months outside knitting, I wonder if I am filling time, or am I connecting to self? Why spend all these hours knitting and walking and sitting outside when there could be something better to do with my life. I saw a post yesterday, where Julia Roberts learned to knit on set and looked at a length of knitting as ‘lonely time’ It made me wonder.

Because I feel, completely calm and peaceful in my outdoor surroundings from the time of knitting temples of Kyoto one year ago this week, to knitting at my favourite place beside ancient abandoned millstones at Stanage Edge, or beside the work of Lee Ufan in the Summer Garden exhibition in the Rijksmuseum, to the simplicity of an early evening walk from my home in the city, through the allotments, beside the stream to wait for the King Fisher and knit – watching the sky change colour. Just sitting quietly and knitting. Am I filling time?

Could I be doing something better with my life other than working with my hands, creating art, out in nature, connecting to self, waiting for that one pure moment of natural beauty whilst knitting?  I have realised that all of these times have given me peace. I am not sure what could come close to that total peaceful time? maybe in the arms or a partner but failing that – I rely on myself to find the peace.

Happy Wintering. Peaceful moments in this time of world uncertainty.

If you would like to join me in my online colour work knitting workshop, then please go here , I have a few places left in January. And if you would like to join me for a 1:1 workshop, then please get in touch – I could take you out knitting in the wilds of the local area.

https://www.ravelry.com/designers/tracey-doxey

experimenting with exposure

It is a calm Saturday, overcast with a little breeze.  I googled the sun and is listed to be out above the city of Sheffield later this afternoon.  I have wanted to try something for some time, thinking of home. My cyanotypes have mostly utilised pressed flowers and photographic negatives from when I lived in the hutongs of China, all of which rely on the sun to develop the image. I have mostly worked in the studio but have a small amount of papers that I coated last night, and they are under my nose.

Surprisingly, at 8am, a break in the clouds allowed the sun to break through and cast a brief shard of light across the floor of my tiny flat in Sheffield.  Alfie watches on as I place the two objects from home, made of etched glass or crystal, into the shard of light.  The crystal glass was Susan Halcrow’s. I tear a pre prepared paper in half to experiment with what I have – a brief moment of sunshine, two objects, my floor and a little hope.  Here goes.

The sun gives me about 3 minutes, not long enough to develop a clear image. I don’t move, the sun reappears, Alfie lies down and I hope at the wonder of what might emerge – in total I have only about five minutes of sunshine which matches my impatience.

While I wait, I’m thinking of the shadow moving across the paper, even a small amount will blur the image, if the image will take at all and then I am thinking of the movement of time – the Japanese concept of Ma, ( the space and pause between all things) that I am interested in and I watch as the sun hides again, the paper is cast into a shadow and a faint image is exposed upon the paper. I take my chance.

This is one of my processes. Experimentation – either with wool, colour, photography or cyanotype – to take a chance in the moment, with what I have to hand.

And here is the first result.

I love how the bottom of the jug is deepened in colour, I love how the etched glass stretches in pattern and a faint movement of impression.

Tomorrow, the sun is booked for some hours, I will try again. Hopefully, with a time of exposure to show movement. While, Alfie sleeps on.