This is a section from a knitted blanket of mine and Dala’s. Of the many we have, this one is by far the most fragile, both in terms of loose knitting as well as the strength of the fibers its made out of. Sometimes our dog’s nails get caught in it, tearing bits of it. This section is by far, the most damaged. It’s a hole. So I figured I’d see what I could do to put it back together. After all, I can’t make it much worse, can I?
I figured I’d go and weave up and down first, like this, to kind of build a netting to cross weave against. It seemed easier to try to close the hole short ways before tackling it long ways.
I didn’t use any darning tools. I didn’t use a embroidery hoop or a sewing frame. I thought to myself, starting out, how hard can it be? It’s a wide knit, I can see and count the threads easily, why get fancy? Quickly though, this project became a living example of why we should guard against our own hubris. With each stitch, I couldn’t help but wonder more and more, am I making things better, or worse? It’s obvious I bit off more than I could chew and while I’ve learned from life that there is beauty in chaos, there’s such a thing as too much chaos.
Visually speaking, this hole is no longer a hole, but the mess is more of a mess. I’m unhappy with the final result in the sense that it’s not what I intended. This result is bad because the spot was bad and because I didn’t do right by the blanket. But the stitching holds. More over, despite the disaster, the whole thing was meditative and now that it’s ruined, yet better, I feel like I can do whatever I want to it.
I’m gonna do the whole blanket now, but better. Different threads. Different colors. Hearts. Stars. Squares. Start in the corners. Sometimes move to the center. Wherever things take me. By the time things are said and done, this blanket will be a practice of creating through destroying and destroying through creating.
I ruined the blanket, but I made my day. I’ll ruin the blanket some more, and maybe, make my winter.