Mid-century

It's bright and crisp where I am today so, naturally, my thoughts turn to knitting. I made a couple unrelated knit items this summer: a pair of plain everyday socks for myself, which I've already worn a couple of times, and a stuffed octopus for my nephew on his second birthday.

The octopus (or ott-pus, as he says) was great fun. My sister-in-law discovered Joan Rowe's Omniscient Octopus pattern, which is an impressive feat of knitterly engineering. It was engaging to knit and full of great true-to-like details, like a siphon and dozens and dozens of suckers. I used a self-striping sock yarn and enjoyed the overall variegated effect from leg to leg, which are knit separately and fed onto one circular needle, meaning that there is pretty minimal seaming to be done at the end. The head is knit up directly from the top of the legs.

 

I opted to leave out the chenille stems in the legs to ensure maximum cuddliness for my nephew. When he opened up the gift, he immediately said, "Ott-pus!" I call that a complete success.

After finishing the ottpus, I knew it was time to get back into my century project, so I started to take a look at my 1950s patterns. This is where my personal collection expands exponentially. I have dozens and dozens of '50s booklets from all sorts of sources: my grandmothers and great aunts, yard sales, antique shops, friends...the works. I knew I would have to narrow down my selection somewhat, so I decided to focus on a sub-collection: my newly-acquired Vogue Knitting mags.

These are wonderful publications, chock full of classic patterns that also easily evoke midcentury fashion trends. The sheath dresses, fitted suits, dressy tops, and travel wear, often photographed on location in fabulous places around the world, are all so sleek and elegant.

I paged through my mini-collection a couple of times, finding myself drawn to the dress patterns over and over. I worked up my personal knitting courage and decided to commit to a dress for my 1950s project. After all, I had learned that Consuelo, the woman to whom these books originally belonged was a fearless knitter and had herself knit dresses along with dozens of sweaters for friends and family members. Here she is below, looking so cool as she works on a circular needle all the while keeping a foot on the tiller of her sailboat. The best of multi-tasking! Thanks to Consuelo's daughter Robyn for sharing this fabulous photo with me.

With that, it was decided. A knit dress was in my future. After selecting one with a long full skirt and a wide-necked short sleeve top, I took a look at the instructions, realizing rapidly that the size 1 needles and hundreds of beads required were a bit beyond my desires for this next project (it wasn't obvious in the pattern photo, but the top was both cabled and beaded). So...perhaps that particular dress was not the one in my future.

I eventually settled on a slightly less-involved pattern, with a trimmer skirt and simpler stitch pattern. It's the one on the left in the two-page spread above: a knee-length black dress with an overall lace pattern. I'll be using size 4 needles and two strands held together of a wool/rayon crepe yarn, which I believe is quite similar to the original yarn specified in the pattern. My swatch is a dense springy mesh, to which the lace pattern brings great texture and the fiber blend lends good structure. I hope it will work up into a comfortable, fun garment. Stay tuned. My 1950s dress is underway.

1940s: Done and Dusted

Here it is! My 1942 "Name, Please" is complete. I'm loving the puffed sleeves (as always), the gold zipper, and the fine gauge of this sweater.

 

You'll notice immediately that I opted for a single set of initials in my version, rather than the all-over pattern in the original. This was simply a matter of taste. I thought I might go for the all-over effect, but once the first set was done, I decided that I liked the look of it. Plus, I used a metallic embroidery thread and I was worried that repeating the letters over and over again would be too much. I think it'll be more wearable for me this way, too. (And also, the one set I did took a long time and was really fiddly and I didn't relish the thought of doing it a dozen more times, so...)

 

On the whole, this was a bit of a long haul, knitting-wise. Those wide bands of moss stitch on size 2 needles are not for the faint of heart and, more than once, I had to grit my teeth and muster up my resolve to keep going. Once I moved on to the stockinette portion, progress became much more evident and the sweater moved more quickly. Shaping and construction were fairly straightforward. I fiddled around with the stitch count for the back, but then ended up making the front to the pattern specifications. I'm happy with the fit.

 

Despite their time-consuming nature, I do love the look of the moss stitch borders and the construction of the front is really great. The partial zipper is a pretty cool feature. I had initially planned to go for a standard all-purpose zipper in a matching brown, but then my husband suggested this gold metallic one and it just seemed perfect. Of course, an original 1940s zipper would have been metal, so it is certainly a more authentic choice as well. I was very careful when installing it to ensure that the knit edges were a safe distance away from the teeth of the zipper. Metal zippers and fine gauge sweaters can be a scary combination without some degree of care and planning. It works smoothly, but I think I'll always feel a little nervous when zipping or unzipping.

 

A closeup of a few details. The dark color of the yarn makes this a very tough sweater to photograph! Please excuse any washed-out areas or blurriness.

The yarn (Jagger Spun Super Lamb 4/14 sock yarn), as I mentioned in this post, is spectacular. I loved working with it, the color is gorgeous, and the finished fabric is fine, even, and soft enough to wear next to the skin. It felt really luxurious to knit and the sweater took a little less than three skeins, so it was quite affordable.

 

 

All in all, my "Name, Please" was a satisfying project. I can absolutely foresee wearing this sweater to work this fall. I'll be back with some 1950s choices soon (my pattern collection really starts to expand when it hits the '50s, so there are lots of options). Dare I attempt a knitted dress?!

 

 

Specs

Yarn: Jagger Spun Super Lamb 4/14 sock yarn in Raw Umber

Amounts: about 2.75 skeins

Needles: size 2

Hardware: 9" sparkly gold metal zipper

Started: 25 February 2017

Finished: 9 July 2017

Mending

Everything I knit for friends or family members comes with a service contract of sorts. This is an offer (or sometimes a demand) that if any holes or thin spots or seam issues develop, the item should come back to me for a repair. And, boy oh boy, do I ever get great satisfaction from mending an item of knitwear. Part of that comes from knowing that the thing I made has been worn and enjoyed so much that it is starting to show some wear and tear and the rest comes from executing a successful mend and knowing that the object can be worn or used again.

The service contract extends to non-handmade knitted items, too. For example, my dad has a large and well-loved collection of wool socks that sees a lot of use. I've restitched toes, pulled together small holes, and patched large losses in the knitted fabric to keep these favorite socks going for another season or two. In fact, I enjoy the mending process so much that sometimes I "adopt" sweaters from Goodwill and repair tiny moth holes to restore their wearability.

One of my favorite mending techniques is detailed in Kate Gilbert's "Darn It All!" post on the Twist Collective blog. It's option #4, reknit and graft, which creates a new flap of fabric that covers the hole neatly and cleanly. I like to use a contrasting color so that the patch is pleasingly obvious. Somehow, this visible sign of repair feels significant, like the physical manifestation of care, love, and time. For more on these themes, check out Tom of Holland's wonderful blog about his visible mending practice. 

Anyway, my sister-in-law recently gave me her favorite pair of handknit gloves, which had developed rather alarmingly large holes in each thumb. I've worked on these gloves before when they needed a small repair on one of the fingers and I know they were made by someone special and are both used and treasured (the ideal combination for knits) by my sister-in-law. I warned her that the holes may be difficult to repair, but vowed to do my best by them and the original knitter.

These holes were too big to stabilize and close up and I knew that my favored knit patch method wouldn't be appropriate either. It would be awkward to work a patch onto the structure of the thumbs and I worried that the resulting mend would be too bulky. It was time to learn how to darn. Despite all my experience repairing knits, I'd never actually executed a true darn.

I checked out a few tutorials, found a good matching yarn, took a deep breath, and dove in, opting for a slightly larger darned area to give the fabric around the hole greater stability and reinforcement. I'm pretty happy with the results, though next time I'll try for a tidier finish. On the upside, the hole is long gone, the new woven area is dense but still flexible, and any fraying or unraveling that had started with the hole has been stopped. I'd say it's a successful first (and second) darn.

Exchanges

Thanks to Maine Women Magazine for the fabulous profile of my work! You can read the story in the magazine or online here. It was lovely to share my sweaters and project with their staff and I've had some wonderful interactions as a result of the story. One acquaintance read the story and then gave me her collection of vintage knitting patterns. I was delighted to "adopt" them from her and I think she was glad to know that they were going to a good home.

Along those same lines, I recently participated in an "Emotional Value Auction" at work. The premise was to offer participants an opportunity to release an object and tell its story. These became the items up for bids. Bidders were invited to attend the auction to read about the items on offer and then bid on anything they liked by contributing a story of their own. Owners then chose the story they liked the best and passed the object on to a new person. Many of the items offered in the auction were objects of great sentimental value that no longer fit into the owner's life, but somehow taking them to Goodwill or otherwise disposing of them didn't seem appropriate. Everyone has stuff like that in their life, right? The collected objects ran the gamut from handmade goods to seemingly mundane household items to works of sculpture, while the stories were equal parts humorous and heartbreaking. Bidders' stories were similarly rich and the transactions forged and connections made were powerful. It was a really wonderful event.

I donated a sweater I'd made years ago. It's a vintage-inspired cardigan that I made in a luxurious silk and wool blend, purchased with the help of a gift certificate to a local yarn store. It was a splurge and a delight to knit. The stitch pattern was fun and the whole project just seemed to fly off the needles. I took extra care in all the finishing and was really pleased with the results. I even liked the fit the first couple times I wore it, but, after that, it didn't seem so great. I felt like it was a little too baggy in the body, so I knit a belt to try to cinch it in. That worked okay, but then I noticed that the shoulders were too wide for me and the puffed sleeves didn't work right. Every time I put it on after that, I ended up changing before I left the house. I considered taking it apart and re-engineering it to fit, but never felt inspired to take real action. So, the sweater sat. I felt sad that I didn't enjoy wearing it, so it seemed like the perfect object for the auction.

Bidding was open for four hours, but no one seemed interested until the very end when I received one bid from a woman who said she loved the design and color of the cardigan and had just moved to the area and needed to expand her sweater collection. I invited her to try it on. Lo and behold, we had a perfect match. It fit her beautifully and even coordinated with her outfit and jewelry! It was a happy exchange. And now I have space for one more sweater in my closet!

Name, Please!

I've made a good start on my "Name, Please." The deep moss-stitch welt, which looks so good in the pictures, is kind of a pain to knit in fingering weight yarn. It's incredibly time consuming. But, I've moved past that section now and am a few inches above the armhole decreases. A few more inches to go and I'll have finished the back. It's not very picturesque yet, as you can see.

The pattern is written for a vintage size 16 (34" bust), but offers options for size 12, 14, 18, and 20, which is an unusually wide range for a vintage pattern. My gauge with the Jagger Spun sock yarn and size 2 needles was just a touch chunkier than recommended in the pattern, so I got out pencil and paper and did a little math. It looks like my gauge combined with the original size 16 stitch numbers will produce a garment that should fit me. Normally, I'd knit a size 18 for a 36" bust.

Speaking of math, there are some oddities in this particular pattern. The numbers given almost seem more like estimates rather than exact figures, so I've had to be careful and have worked to chart out my course more specifically to make sure I'm working to the right measurements. There's also a vagueness to some of the instructions. For example, the pattern says to increase one stitch at each side every inch until you reach the desired length. This might have been problematic since I've opted to add a few more inches to the body of the sweater. If I had kept increasing as instructed, I would have ended up with too many stitches at the bust. So, I'm going cautiously and will plan to block the back and measure in detail before I tackle the front. That way, I can attempt to correct any sizing issues before the pieces are finished.

Meanwhile, I've been interviewed and my sweaters photographed for an upcoming issue of Maine Women Magazine!

1940s Preview

Welcome to the 1940s! Sweaters and knitting get a little more political during this decade as patterns emerge for conserving scarce supplies of yarn, making do with odds and ends, creating useful items for soldiers (the same homefront trend appeared during WWI and the Civil War), and wearing visible signs of victory. The 1940s is also the first decade that is very well represented in my pattern collection. I have quite a few booklets from which to work and have already knit two 1940s patterns: one for my husband that I love and one for myself that was a little less successful. A couple years ago, I made this Victory Vest for Sam:

It's a 1942 design with a pattern of tiny slip-stitch Vs all over the fronts, not to mention some pretty irresistible knitterly details like the three built-in pockets, the polished look of the button band, and the shaping on the lower ends of each front. I thoroughly enjoyed making this vest (and will admit to some relief that it didn't call for sleeves). The shaping and slip-stitch colorwork were fun and the fiddly finishing was time consuming, but so very satisfying. And Sam wears it all the time.

The 1942 pattern booklet for the "Victory Vest." Keep an eye on that cigarette, folks. It'll be an essential accessory for male knitwear models for decades!

And here's my other foray into 1940s knitwear:

This is "Versatile" from the 1946 Columbia Style Book, vol. 108 (pictured below). I like to imagine that the model in the photo on the right is dreaming about what it might be like to wear this sweater against a background of a grill, a yard-waste bucket, and a dog. Answer: it's pretty sweet. I'm fairly mixed in my opinion of the finished project. I like the shaping and style of the sweater, but it's just a little too big on me for complete satisfaction. It's tough to see in the photo, but it's a little baggy along the side seams and so doesn't quite have the same sleek glamour as the original photo, though I have successfully worn it a few times.

So, it's time for my official 1940s project for this current challenge. We're now solidly into the realm of fine gauge, fingering weight sweaters. I skirted the issue for a little while in my earlier decade sweaters. When no gauge is provided and you have to reverse calculate a stitches-per-inch figure using the original stitch numbers in the pattern and your own body measurements, you can get away with using a heavier yarn that the pattern writers probably intended. But, once we hit the 1930s and '40s and yarn companies started adding in those helpful details (like gauge and needle size and modifications for different finished garment sizes, etc), it's harder to avoid those skinny yarns. Don't get me wrong: I absolutely love the look and feel of a lightweight sweater knit on size 2 needles, but they do tend to take a little longer to make.

I took a leisurely browse through my 1940s booklets and identified a few potential projects.

Name, Please! Can you say "bombshell" with that partial zipper and deep V-neck? The embroidered initials seem so much a hallmark of the era, too.

A Little Something on the Side. I adore the off-center buttons and almost military styling of this otherwise simple cardigan.

Lumberjacket. So practical for work or housework. The tiny buttoned pocket and collar are great features, too.

Block Cable Cardigan. There's something about those interrupted block cables that looks so vintage and cool to me. And I really like the zipper and peplum.

Remember my personal goals for this project from a couple posts ago? When I said that I wanted something made of a natural fiber, ideally without buttons and miles of crochet finishing? Ha! It's true that all of these can easily be made with wool and there is not much, if any, crochet edging in them, but look at all those buttons! And the ones without buttons have zippers!! Well...two out of three ain't bad.

I love that all four options have crisp lines and a fitted structure. I also like the menswear inspired details, like the collars, the buttoned pocket, and the off-center buttons. All look very '40s. I polled my friends and early results showed a clear preference for "Name, Please," although "A Little Something on the Side" had a great late boost and probably would have won if I hadn't already decided to go with "Name, Please," which was published in Sweatertime: Around the Clock by the Oregon Worsted Company in 1942. My copy of this booklet was given to me by a friend who found it in a stack of other patterns out with the recycling.

I've chosen a gorgeous Maine yarn for my "Name, Please;" it's JaggerSpun sock yarn in raw umber (I absolutely love it). I toured their Springvale mill recently and thoroughly enjoyed learning about the spinning process. The staff was so very kind and informative. I highly recommend a visit if you can get there. If not, grab some yarn when you see it around. I think you'll really like it. This is entirely my own honest opinion. I haven't been paid in either yarn or money to say such things.

And so, I'm off! My size 2 needles are clicking away. 

Accepting the torch

Most of my friends and family members know that I collect old knitting patterns and they keep a good eye out for me. One time, a friend found a stack of 1930s and '40s booklets out with the recycling on a sidewalk and grabbed them for me. There were some gems in that stash for sure (more on that little collection when we get to my next project), including a single solitary cover of a fabulous Vogue Knitting magazine from the 1950s. Just the cover though. It was such a disappointment to discover that there were no pages attached.

A few weeks ago, another friend alerted me to a "free for the taking" ad on Craigslist promising a stack of 1950s and '60s Vogue Knitting mags, among other vintage booklets. Of course, this meant that I might be able to expand my Vogue Knitting collection beyond just the cover page that I then had in my stash. I saw that the ad had been listed for several weeks, panicked slightly, thinking that naturally someone else would have claimed the lot in the meantime (in my mind, of course, there's hot competition for old instruction booklets), and emailed the poster immediately. I sent along a link to my blog, explained the project, and hoped that I might be able to take home the mags. She wrote back right away and said that I could have them, adding that her mother would have thought the project a great idea.

That little comment was meaningful to me and clued me in to a couple of things. This wasn't an ad posted by someone looking to get rid of a few things that had randomly turned up in the attic. These books belonged to someone in particular. That someone was a knitter and these formed part of her stash. And knitters' stashes are personal. These points became even more clear when I met the poster, who described her mother to me as a "fearless knitter," someone who had traveled the world, become an accomplished artist, and knit dozens of garments for herself and her family. She showed me to the promised stack of knitting magazines and invited me to take a peek at them and several others that were not included in the original listing, including a long run of the Italian needlework magazine Rakam. There were bags of yarn on offer, too, and a sweet painted wooden lady (a wall hanging) with jointed arms and legs and a mini knitted swatch in her hands.

The stack.

It was great fun to look through everything and I ended up with a stack of booklets and magazines, one bag of wool, and the little wooden lady, who will be cute hanging up near my knitting supplies. At the same time, it was lovely to be able to learn about this other knitter and, figuratively speaking, take up her knitting needles.

I always feel this way when part of someone else's stash is added to my own. Joining their magazines or yarn to mine brings with it a sense of responsibility. I feel inspired to honor their creativity and curiosity. Passing the torch in this way keeps the craft alive and vibrant, keeps its roots visible, maintains my connection to generations of knitters going back over the years. Of course, it's easy to feel this way when I pick up a pattern book that belonged to my grandmother, but I feel it, too, when I knit with yarn that belonged to a friend of a friend who has passed away or when I take a look at some of these fabulous mid-century suits and dresses in my "new" Vogues and wonder if their previous owner ever made one.

Incidentally, it turns out that she did indeed make dresses and other similarly impressive feats of knitting. I was lucky enough to be able to take one of these incredible garments home. And it even fits! It is a truly fabulous full-length, high-necked, long-sleeve Fair Isle dress made of the gauziest mohair in luminescent greens and blues. It is incredible. It is all hand made. And it is super warm. I love it. There is just so much knitting and care and work in it. My apologies for the slightly blurry photo; I'd like to think that part of it is due to the halo of the mohair, but it's more certainly due to the fact that I am standing on tiptoes to show the full length of the skirt. Without my shoes on, I'm just a little too short!

I'll have details soon on my next knit from the 1940s. And hopefully some preview pictures of possible 1950s projects from my new Vogue Knitting magazine.

1930s: Complete

Well, I didn't get the pose just right and I didn't have the appropriate statement necklace, but my 1930s metallic cocktail jacket is complete! I'm thrilled. Not only is it a great feeling to have finished what has been a painfully slow project, it's also a welcome break for my hands and fingers. The metallic yarn was harsh on my skin and the matte gray yarn was splitty and annoying, but it was all worth it. I love the result. The puffed sleeves, the metallic smocking, the solid yoke...a great 1930s look.

And I'm pleased with the fit, too. It's close-fitting and tailored without being too tight, the sleeves are well-engineered, and the buttons work without too much gapping.

The pattern was solid, too: clear, detailed, well-written, and mistake free. I made just a few modifications, including adding 2" to the overall length and reducing the number of cast-on stitches for each front from 63 to 50. My gauge was just a little larger than recommended and, after knitting and measuring the back, it was clear that I'd need a few fewer stitches to do the job. I'm glad I did. Sticking with the original instructions would have led to a sweater that was a bit too big. Other than those two points, I changed nothing!

Construction-wise, this was a pretty standard knit. One back, two fronts, and two sleeves, all knit from the bottom up. The seams were easy to sew and the busy surface design means that the seams are virtually invisible despite mismatched patterns on the different pieces. Just like my first two decade sweaters, there is a lot of crochet finishing in this. The sleeves, neck, fronts, and lower hem are all finished in a few rows of single crochet. In fact, the buttonband and buttonholes are done in crochet. So, that took a long time, but it does provide nice stability to the edges and a polished finish. I chose simple black hemispherical plastic buttons and I think they're just right and in keeping with the original pattern recommendations.

The next step for this sweater is to find somewhere to wear it! I'll be delving into my 1940s pattern books next to see what I can find. After this one, though, I have a few personal goals for my next project:

1. Must be made of a natural fiber.
2. Maybe no buttons for a change?
3. No crochet edging!

Specs

Yarn: Massive mystery skein of dark gray cotton (?) and cone of silver metallic synthetic

Amounts: I still have a lot of each left

Needles: size 2

Crochet hook: necessary, but I don't remember the size

Started: 2 October 2016

Finished: 19 February 2017

Blizzard update

Two feet of snow over the past two-and-a-half days means that I've found lots of time for knitting and have finally made substantial progress on my 1930s metallic Cocktail Jacket. This has been a really slow project from the beginning. Size 2 needles and smocking means that a lot of time and labor goes into each inch of length.

The back was completed a while ago; both fronts were fairly quick and easy after the expanse of the back. Sleeve the First was larger and more labor-intensive than I'd anticipated (though I don't know why as that's always the way with sleeves). It looked huge as I was knitting it, so when I finished it I decided to start assembling the sweater the make sure the sleeve worked and fit well before tackling Sleeve the Second. The seams were a little awkward to sew up due to the different textures of the yarn and the uneven edges caused by the stitch pattern. Luckily, the busy-ness of the surface camouflages any areas of mismatching seams. Sleeve the First fit in beautifully and has a sturdy enough structure to hold up a substantial puff at the shoulder. It took a couple tries to set in the sleeve evenly, but I think I've got it now.

Apologies for the blurry photo, but it's dark and snowy here.

I've already cast on for Sleeve the Second and hope to have it finished within the next few days. After setting that in, I'll start with the crochet edging around the cuffs, neck, buttonbands, and lower hem. Getting so close to completion!

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year! A few somewhat-related tidbits today:

1. I have now worn my 1910s sweater to work (when I wrote my last post, I mentioned that it hadn't been cold enough yet, but that has certainly changed). I wore it with jeans and it was really cozy and comfortable and I didn't need to wear a coat that day. I think my coworkers enjoy my vintage sweater habit, too, and they both seemed to like this one.

2. My 1930s cocktail jacket is growing bit by bit. It is pretty slow going in the smocked sections, but I've reached the yoke on the back now. I really do love that metallic element in the design.

My two mystery yarns: a smooth matte gray and a crinkly silver metallic

I've started the yoke.

I hesitated for a little while before starting the yoke. As I mentioned in my last post, the pattern calls for both yarns to be held together for the metallic sections, but mine are too hefty for that, so I opted to use the metallic by itself instead, which means that my metallic sections are a bit more sparkly than the original pattern intended. I briefly considered knitting the yoke in the gray instead of the silver, but ultimately decided to stick with the pattern and make it metallic. It's really quite sparkly. I hope it's the right choice.

3. I was desperate for some more immediate knitting satisfaction during December (surely a side effect of the infinitesimal pace of the Cocktail Jacket), and so I made one hat for myself and another for my nephew. I also made him a Christmas sweater with a super cute built-in scarf collar.

4. Today, I picked up a cute 1980s angora and wool sweater from Portland's Flea-for-All. It's blue and white with a pattern of moons and stars across the top (adorable) and puffed sleeves. I really like it, but it has a few little wear spots and needs some TLC before I can wear it. I do love "rescuing" vintage knits. That's my project for the afternoon and then it's back to the Cocktail Jacket.