I still remember the sense of wonder and magic I felt when I knitted my first stitches. I was five years old and my granny was teaching my cousins and me the basics of knitting. In those days you always started out by knitting covers for wooden clothes hangers. I sat on the floor in the winter sun, my clumsy little fingers struggling to get it right, my whole being willing the process on. After every row I stretched and stretched the knitting, hoping to get to the right length faster. I wanted to see what the finished product would look like … but even as I was struggling with the stitches, I thought: how magical! I’m taking a length of yarn and making something with it – and something completely different to what it was originally, at that. Something unique, something that only exists because YOU made it.
Today I see my knitting as “building a house”, starting with small squares of fabric or crocheting, and building on to it, row by row.