sand.

In what may be the worst photograph ever posted here, I bring you sand:

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This particular sand is part of a parking lot near my house. While walking home recently, I came across this vacant lot covered in intertwining lines of tire tracks and foot prints, making it look almost like a painting or a piece of fabric instead of a lonely strip of sand.

This is why I prefer to walk instead of ride a walk, why my eyes are always darting from side to side as I’m driving down the road, because quiet beauty is so often overlooked.

The pattern created at random in the parking lot twists and curls in myriad patterns and weights, making ridges of sand that reminded me of low tide at the seaside.

Lately it seems as if I’m going on all these different divergent paths like the sand depicted above, creating cacophony instead of a forward moving front. But, when I stop and take a moment to really look closely, I see that instead of looking at the big picture and taking it for what it is (waves upon waves of sand), I was paying too much attention to the individuals tracks and trails.

Stepping back, its uniformity and oneness is again revealed.

And all these paths I’m taking (craft, art, sociology, theory, thinking, making, doing, photographing, writing) converge into an act of progression and embracement of DIY and individualism. I keep moving forward because I am not alone in thinking this way.

I recently came back to a post I wrote over two years on why craft is punk rock. And I still believe that correlation rings true.

And for a recent article on craftivism, please see here.

connecting you, yarn and the urban.

Thanks to my new friends over at Massive Knit, I was recently informed of an upcoming event in NYC, as well as a new blog dedicated to the memory of the inspiring Jane Jacobs. Not only will this event help connect individuals, but it will also unite people with the park and their urban spaces.


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This is a brilliant idea, as it works with knitting at different levels- because more than just a method of creating, knitting (and crafting) is a way of connecting more than yarn, it grounds us to a moment, to others, to places. And I realize that I could be saying the same things about quilting, embroidery, needlepoint, crochet, or any of the other myriad crafts that allow the process to be as satisfying as the product.

It is this dual joy that allows the handmade to not only thrive, but to nourish as well.


In case you’re wondering what happened to the comments, evil spambots were having their evil ways and screwing things up, so they are currently disabled. If you have any comments or anything else to say, you can find my contact information here.

life with a tortoise…

“In 1839 it was considered elegant to take a tortoise out walking. This gives us an idea of the tempo of the flânerie in the arcades.” -Walter Benjamin, The Arcades Project

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I’ve picked up The Arcades Project again, and have been reminded of how much I adore Benjamin’s views on the importance of the flaneur.

Walking around town never fails to incur a wealth of inspiration and tiny joys. I wonder if walking around town with me must, at times, seem like walking around with a tortoise, as I walk with wide eyes and frequently stop to further investigate my surroundings, taking my time as I wander down the path.

on remembering…

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Lately, all my thoughts have come back to this photograph. Not just at the actual image, but also the way the top seems to fade into nothing. I’ve been trying to dry a delicate felt rug that I made in the bathtub for days now. It’s made of fleece and due to some thinner spots, I don’t want to hang it up before I can mend it with a felting needle. The beginning of southern humidity is doing little to expedite the drying process.

Sunday night I gathered the fleece on the rug before me, stacked in fuzzy piles of various color and breed. Once I was done assembling the fiber, I took the lot to the bathtub to begin the felting process. As the hot water hit the fleece, the room smelled like sheep and flooded my mind with memories of the farm in Sussex, rural North Carolina flocks and even the land deep in Georgia my grandfather owned when I was a child.

The ridiculous juxtaposition of natural fiber and mod cons was laugh-inducing as I sang along to The Reindeer Section while stomping to mesh the fiber just like that old “I Love Lucy” episode with the grapes.

Already somewhat mawkish at this point, I thought of why I was making this particular piece- in order to find ways to recycle fiber that has become almost surplus in some areas of the United Kingdom due to a steadying decline in market price. I remembered an afternoon spent hiking in the North Carolina mountains where we came over a rise to find the entire landscape before us clearcut. One of those moments where you just feel a stomach-dropping sadness for what could have been.

Seeing the photo above gives me that exact same feeling I had that day in the mountains. Where you feel like you stumbled on the scene too late, unable to do anything truly useful. Despite my recent article getting nice remarks from friends and colleagues across the world, I’m still getting sad news from England regarding farmer’s incomes.

And as I do things like look at photos and stomp wool in the bathtub, I can’t help being struck by the fear that maybe it is too late for the English wool industry. But simultaneously being enlivened by the idea that perhaps in time, we will start to reclaim our cultural legacies instead of eschewing them for more, more and more.

an ever-widening circle.

Yes, that’s a self-portrait with a giant eyeball. In a mirror that is labeled “Look at Yourself.” I found it amusing because one of my main interests is ethnographic research and it just seemed all too perfect.

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Because I believe that in order to see outside you need to first look inside. And that you should use what you’ve learned to better understand the world around you.

I wonder about the ways in which people find me, a somewhat self-selecting group individuals who I have embarked on many amazing conversations with, sometimes collaborated with and always learned from.

While it’s easy to see why we connect with other people, sometimes it’s incredible to look back at the list of those who have contacted you. How suddenly without the academy you become a part of a circle without even realizing it.

When I started talking about craft theory and the cultural importance of handmade, I never could have imagined the wealth of knowledge and inspiration that I would come to know.

While I may be working on the slowest craft documentary project ever (see here), that doesn’t mean that I can’t introduce (as a group, one that is growing) the brightest minds I know of concerning contemporary craft theory:

Kate Bingaman
Maria Buszek
Otto von Bush
Tsia Carson
Diane Gilleland
Julia Kehew
Garth Johnson
Cat Mazza
Kirsty Robinson
Amy Spencer
Dennis Stevens
Stephanie Syjuco

Of course this list leaves out my favorite crafters, artists and friends whose work emboldens me daily…as well as I’m sure a few names that have currently escaped me! But as I look at my inbox and notice a growing list of people who are writing about the theory and sociological perspectives of craft, I can’t help but feel joy. And the acute anticipation of those who share similar views that I have yet to meet.