Amazing Sounds

I have been hard at work on several projects including my Town & Country soundmap for The MERL. This project is destined to have a nice long life; the map will be played live over wireless headphones at the Digital Takeover event on May 18th (next Thursday) but the sounds will be archived at MERL under this creative commons license. This means they can be accessed and used by other people in future projects exploring the textures of urban/rural experience in Reading.

I’m really excited about the longevity of this project and that it has been structured with future listeners in mind. I have benefited greatly in many of my projects from sound archives created by recordists of the past and even recent recordings of familiar locales give new sonic perspectives and ways of listening in those places.

The process of recording sounds around Reading is giving me a wondrous feeling of connection with its inhabitants and its textures which I would like to share with you today. This week I have particularly enjoyed listening to the sounds of the Shinfield Shambles Morris side; (I think) a nest of baby woodpeckers; a fantastic old telephone bell; and the chirrups of the darling little cygnets that my swan buddy at Whiteknights has been so anxiously awaiting. I thought it might be nice to tell you a bit about my experiences of recording these sounds and to play them here so you can hear them too.

Shinfield Shambles are a local morris side who dance in the Welsh Border style. They are based in the village of Shinfield. Each dancer wears an outfit themed around a single shade, with a rag jacket covered in small pieces of fabric; a hat covered in flowers of the same hue; and a coloured skirt and shoelaces to match. Bells are wound into everyone’s shoelaces and the musicians are dressed in all shades of the rainbow. The Shinfield Shambles were performing last Sunday at an event at the Museum of Reading and I enjoyed the inclusive style of their dancing which featured several numbers in which everyone was invited to participate. Perhaps even slightly more than the sounds of the actual performances, I liked that wherever the morris side walked, they left a trail of bells with their feet. One member of the side commented that after a while you get to know who is who from the distinctive sounds of their bells; I don’t doubt it. It was wonderful to listen to this acoustic performance of sticks, bells, dancing and traditional English folk music and I hope you like it too.

Mark and I have recently discovered a beautiful pocket of woodland at the fringes of the Harris Gardens in the grounds of Reading University and I wanted to go there to listen to the sounds of the birds who are all very busily chirruping away just now with their babies and their nests. I found a nice clearing, resonant with the songs of birds, but then became aware of something – amplified through my microphones – high up and high pitched in the trees. Luckily I was recording using Chris-Watson’s pro-tip to attach two omni-directional microphones to a coathanger. This gives you a lovely stereo impression of ambient sound, but it also means that when you hear a difficult-to-access sound that is high up, you can wedge your coathanger on a stick and poke it up to the source. That is what I did, standing in a clearing still and near to a tree, watched over by two anxious woodpeckers. I think this sound is what I heard – the sound of their babies in a nest inside the tree. Isn’t it amazing? I love it when the process of recording a sound highlights something I had not previously heard – once I’ve heard it through the headphones, it’s there forever in the soundscape.

Sometimes a happy sonic incident can change your perception of a place forever too; on one of my recent brick walks I was startled by the magnificent old-school telephone bell at a local architectural salvage yard. It is a wonderful, thunderous and immediately nostalgic sound that I suspect is well known to everyone who lives in proximity to it; one day it will no longer be part of the soundscape but I feel its vintage character must be preserved for posterity right now while it rings out across its yard. I returned to the site the next day, cheekily positioned my recorder and telephoned the number of the establishment in order to make the bell ring out, but my batteries died before I had successfully documented its full sonority in the context of its busy urban setting. I shall return again with batteries fully charged but for now here’s what I managed to collect with the dying energy of two AAs.

Finally I wanted to supply you with an update on the swans of which I wrote the other day. Having followed the male swan and listened to his aggressive defence of the lake, his nest and his mate, I confess to having become rather attached to the outcome. Clearly I am not alone in this – as you can hear in the recording, many comrades were gathering at the weekend to greet the six perfect cygnets and their parents now swimming relaxedly around the lakes. You can hear families, ducks, some of the other birds who live around the lake, and keen local photographers as eager to capture the fuzzy loveliness of the cygnets in light as I was to document their glorious chirrups in sound.

KNITSONIK is all about listening and looking to everyday inspirations and celebrating them either in stranded colourwork knitting or in community sound projects like my Town & Country soundmap with its associated archives. Photos, sound recordings, drawings and daily walks are all important for my creative practice, but they have an important emotional dimension too; they make Reading feel more like home to me, and they foster affection for this place in which I live. I’m really curious to hear about anything you do to more closely connect with your environment and I hope you enjoy the sounds!

YOURS IN THE SONGS OF SWANS, BELLS AND BABY WOODPECKERS,
FX

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Recording swans

Thanks for your encouraging comments on my last post – I was so happy to see some of your bricks on instagram afterwards and I really value that we have so many tools for sharing inspiration and joy online.

Pattern One for you @knitsonik #Sussex #patternity

A post shared by Louise, South Downs Yarn (@louise_sdy) on

These are my #walls house and yard. Old and even older looking @knitsonik #pattern #bricks

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Today I want to share my adventures in recording swans at Whiteknights Lake.

More particularly I want to tell you about one swan… this swan.

From listening to this cob and observing his activities, I think that he is anxiously awaiting the arrival of some cygnets that are not yet hatched. A pen – his mate, I presume – is currently incubating some eggs on a nest tucked out of sight at the uppermost corner of the Whiteknights Lake.

A week or so ago he seemed to take exception to a small family of Egyptian Geese. The pair were doing something that looked a lot like mating while their two goslings grazed in the grass nearby; their mating activities began with soft growls, grunts and huffy noises which built to a loud honkfest, at which point the cob flew dramatically across the lake to see what was going on, grunting and flapping his wings in a display of power and size. He then got out of the water, puffed himself up and menaced the young goose family for a bit. After this, he drove a pair of Canada geese apart, and stalked the male goose round and round on the grass rather quietly but with unmistakable body language and a low level hiss that could be heard at close quarters.

This weekend, the same Canada goose was once again the focus of swan wrath (from the same cob). Mark said “these two clearly have history” and I think he is right. In this photo the goose is at the edge of the water making uncertain honking noises, while the cob circles in the lake nearby, scooting over in a very aggressive pose if the goose looks like it might be thinking about getting into the water.

After watching a long stand off between the swan and the goose, and having done a big lap of the whole lake, we later found the same Canada goose wandering about in a field by itself, unsure of whether or not to try once more to re-enter the lake. The cob was making big, casual circles in the water, lazily grazing and on patrol.

I got some nice recordings a couple of weeks ago of some of this; you can hear the Egyptian geese mating, the Canada goose, and the stampy activities of the swan on aporee on the town and country soundmap on which I’m currently working for the MERL. I also saw the cob chasing off a heron, but have not yet edited and uploaded that sound! For those of you who prefer to hear recordings through soundcloud, they are uploaded there as well. PRO-TIP – you can hit play on this playlist and carry on reading if you would like to hear the sounds while reading on…

I love how listening regularly in the same place reveals the patterns, rhythms and behaviour of the seasons and the inhabitants and while I have been stood still for long stretches of time watching this cob and his mate, I confess that I have formed quite an attachment to the pair, and anxiously await the arrival of their cygnets (though not as anxiously I think as the cob). We know all the families of ducks and swans and geese at Whiteknights Lake, and it’s an absolute pleasure to become more familiar with their sounds and characters each time that we see them on our walks.

All this reminded me of the wondrous chapter in Ludwig Koch’s book, Memoirs of a Birdman, in which he describes his own field recording adventures with swans. By happy coincidence many of Ludwig’s listening and recording adventures took place at Abbotsbury Swannery, a place I know well, and which I visited several years ago with Mark and his family. Today I enjoyed digging out the photos I took there, and I thought you might like to see them, too. It is wondrous to imagine that the same swans I saw a decade ago may be descended from those that Koch recorded in 1946. Though his recording equipment would have been much more cumbersome than mine, and though he was at the very start of field-recording as a practice, there are some lovely correlations between his observances and mine, and it’s lovely to read his notes and to feel us both listening to swans across time.

We saw in the distance a pair of mute swans which I soon discovered were wild and which, as I later learnt, had come from the Danube delta. As we carefully drew near, the pen remained sitting, while the cob – although it did not attack – assumed a very aggressive attitude. With wings raised and stiffened neck, it threw back its head and uttered a loud trumpeting call. To this day I have never again heard this sound, but ever since that incident in Laeken I have been haunted by the idea of studying and recording the call-notes of the bird known here as mute swan…

…I knew of Abbotsbury, the oldest swannery in the world. Its origin goes far back into history, and it is the only one of its kind in the British Isles. It was in existence in the days of King Canute. Now it is part of the estate of the Earl of Ilchester who, with his family, is greatly interested in the preservation of swans. The swannery is stuated within a kind of natural preserve and harbours over a hundred different varieties of bird… [The] wild swans feed mainly on a marine grass called zostera marina. It grows under the water and the swans seem to love it. There may be a shortage of this grass at Abbotsbury in times of drought or during a severe winter, but in general it is plentiful, and there have sometimes been more than 1,500 wild swans settled there…

…On a stormy May morning I was back in Abbotsbury… we transported our gear through the beautiful tropical garden and selected a rather muddy site for the studio about three yards from a swans’ nest. The swans looked at us defiantly, but since we took no notice they did not interfer with us as we built our hide-out… I set out first of all to explore the territory. I went between the bulky nests of breeding swans, and was greeted by an angry hissing note from the cob, which spread its wings to attack , threatening and challenging any intruder, whether man or one of its own species…

…I had also to get closely acquainted with the habits of the swans… The wild swan is too shy and cautious to give you a chance to approach it. Though they have not many enemies, apart from man, wild swans choose resorts where they can command a view of the neighbourhood, and at the least sign of danger they fly away… Swans are vegetarians, and protect lakes and ponds against an overgrowth of aquatic plants. They are also dictators. They need Lebensraum, [lots of personal space?] and, although so graceful, they are aggressive birds, especially during the breeding season, when the male bird will furiously attack not only intruder of his own species but also man. One once stood between me and my recording gear. I did not want to use force, nor did I wait for one of the terrific blows from one of the cob’s wings. I preferred a tactical retreat through swampy ground, a detour of half a mile…

…I have often noticed that rain and storm will suddenly stop for a short period before dawn. I also noticed that this was a favourite bathing hour for the swans of Abbotsbury, who assembled for a family meeting regularly on a certain spot in the Fleet… This was perhaps a chance to listen to the conversation of the so-called mute swan. My recording gear was about two hundred yards away and the swans could neither see nor hear us…

…When I played back the results of the series of such night recordings, I came to the conclusion that the vocal performances and movements of the swans during the breeding season, before the arrival of the cygnets, are not so limited as a casual observer might believe. There are sounds easy to identify: the clumsy but very rhythmical stepping in and out of the water: wing-flapping: landing in water: taking off: and the unique flight with its strong and powerful vibratory rhythm…

…A good many of the various greeting notes, ranging from low and threatening grunts to soft groaning, could be recorded, but they may have a different meaning according to their differing pitches. Most strange was a loud alarm note, which I was lucky enough to capture. There was danger in the vicinity, and the swanherd believed that it might have been an otter…

…I frequently heard a variant of the trumpeting sound, not to be compared with that clear ringing sound but fairly loud and more snorting. Very occasionally I heard the complete call, ending with a tremulous vibration and at a low frequency…

…There was nothing that could irritate the bird at night. In the daytime, however, when I saw visitors coming close to the nest, the cob took up its attacking position and, sometimes after the people had gone away, he would make this trumpeting, with wings raised and neck stiffened, ready to strike. It could be a victory call, similar to the ‘V’ call of a stag in the rutting season.

– Ludwig Koch, Memoirs of a Birdman, pp.81-5, 1955

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Walking as Workspace

I’ve been working on a personal challenge to try and walk at least 10,000 steps a day and it is a quest that I am relishing. The best part is the local brickwork.

I’m clearly not alone in being appreciative of this aspect of Reading; one of my most commented on blog-posts is this one from 2011 on my domestic soundscape blog, celebrating some aspects of brickwork of Reading. Six years on, the decorative bricks of this town only seem more beguiling, beautiful and inspiring.

I’m enthralled by what is possible within a fairly restricted palette; by endless variations on common themes; by how tales of repair and restoration are writ in the bricks; and by the skillful hands of past pattern workers whose work has created so much to see and enjoy.

My rich daily walks are increasingly becoming a sort of research context – a workspace, if you will. I’m working on two art projects for this summer about bricks that I’ll be able to unveil soon, as well as some knitting that I can’t share now, but which is happening in the cracks between looking and listening and walking.

I’ve done a lot of wandering around in Reading over the years in which I’ve lived here, but the recent 10,000 steps challenge has reinvigorated and refocused this activity. I’m really enjoying how constant exposure to my town renews my love for it, and how familiar places can always reveal something more when you make a regular habit of exploring them.

My psoriatic arthritis has been mentioned here in the past, but something I’ve not really talked about in depth is the cycle of pain, depression and poor sleep that goes with flare ups; the worst symptoms I have are intense pain and a savage fatigue, which can make me feel like shite, and damage the deeply needed powers of restorative sleep. Underslept, in pain and introspective is the worst place to be when managing a long-term pain condition but luckily this can be avoided by building a positive cycle of joy, distraction, gentle exercise and deep rest. I’m finding something like that in 10,000 steps a day, with the comforting company of clay, and my number one comrade for all daily walks, Mark.

So in a way at the moment my daily walking space is a kind of workspace not only for developing exciting creative projects, but also for a very personal and no less important sort of work. I’m grateful for such sturdy foundations for making, creating and being.

YOURS IN BRICKS,
FX

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Town & Country soundmap: knitSONIK at MERL

On May 18th 2017 from 7-10pm, as part of the Digital Takeover late night event at The Museum of English Rural Life (The MERL), I’m sharing a soundmap of Reading, featuring sounds broadly themed around “Town & Country”. The map is being created using the superb aporee platform created by my friend Udo Noll, and you’ll be able to explore it at the event with your friends using wireless headphones. You can also check it out at any time from your own home. In the weeks leading up to the event, I’ll be expanding on what’s currently featured so what you can see today is a work in progress. I’m mainly using recordings from my archives and new recordings made especially for this. However, if you are a fellow aporee contributor living in Reading and would like your sounds to feature, please get in touch or leave a note in the comments – I would love to hear other perspectives on this place!

Town & Country

Working on this project is making me think about the ways in which we categorise places as “Town” or “Country”. Reading Museum and The MERL respectively represent the histories of urban Reading and English Rural Life, but many objects in their collections speak across a shared history. Reading (Town) like most urban centres grew through utilising the natural resources found in the encircling working landscape (Country) – a relationship immediately evident in old maps.

Map of Redding by John Speed, 1611

When I was writing the chapter in my book about my special Huntley & Palmer’s biscuit tin, I learnt that barges used to travel up the Thames to the mills at Sonning and Mapledurham to collect flour for use in Huntley & Palmer’s biscuits. This is just one example but it’s a good one for illustrating how Town & Country were once aligned to common enterprises; similar examples illustrating interdependent relationships between working landscapes and nearby urban centres of trade can be found everywhere.

Huntley & Palmers biscuits postcard

However, each context seems to have become more discrete as the commercial activities of the Town have lost their direct connections to the nearby natural resources of the surrounding Countryside. This has happened gradually and is a shift enabled by transportation technology. Now goods can be grown in one place and transported almost anywhere else for sale, so towns like Reading are no longer commercial hubs for the surrounding landscape, but conurbations in which goods from all over the world might be bought or sold… and the countryside is no longer bound by the commercial demands of its nearest towns, but rather by the needs and opportunities of the global market. To go back to my example, the mill at Mapledurham still produces flour, but it also now produces and sells electricity with a state of the art hydro-turbine; the mill at Sonning is now an arts venue; and Prudential Plc. – a multinational life insurance and financial services company – now stands where Huntley & Palmers once had its headquarters. The sonic story of Town & Country in this case may once have involved the sounds of wind through wheat in the fields; the sounds of millstones grinding it to flour; the sounds of the working waterways bringing the flour to the factory; the sounds of biscuit production in a Victorian factory and then its art deco successor… now the same journey would feature the sounds of lorries and tarmac rather than boats; and there is no biscuit factory here to record, but instead, the new sounds of the water turbine; theatre and dance; and the sonic textures of a globally connected office and all its telecommunications. The major change between an 1800s recording and a 2017 recording would be the sounds of the roads that encircle it all in 2017.

Sounds in the street: Ladybird Leaders series – Sounds
Sounds in the country: Ladybird Leaders series – Sounds

Today, the sounds of transportation and the tones of the combustion engine really have come to define the sonic textures of both Town & Country… yet there are still differences, and for all the presence of cars, lorries, planes and trains in the soundscape of Reading, distinctions of “Town” & “Country” persist.

Urban/Country Meditations (1988)

Urban
Listen to a roadway – eyes closed – distinguish size shape and make of car by the sound – also speed and health of engine.
Country
Sit by the trees – what kind of tree makes what kind of sound?

– Pauline Oliveros, Deep Listening, A Composer’s Sound Practice

Even in a globalised world, Reading still draws on the heritage and identity formed from its agricultural past – from its specific geographic position, natural resources and subsequent trades. I have been thinking a bit about how to speak across those ideas – those concepts of Town & Country – in sound. I’ll keep you posted, but in the meantime, I’d love your feedback on the map if you have time to explore it, and please do get in touch if you are an aporist of Reading and would like me to add your recordings to my map!

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Looking in Japan 2: hanami

In Japan I was blown away by the beautiful ways in which the seasons are culturally celebrated. We were there during winter, and the Sapporo Snow Festival about which I wrote here is a good example of what I mean – a glorious collective celebration of winter, using all the creative potentials of snow. Elemental, exciting, inspiring, public-spirited and outdoors, I found the snow festival deeply moving. It was a wonderful way of using civic space to pay tribute to the snow and ice, and to bring everyone together to experience them at their most inspiring. Memories of joy and beauty bound up with slippery pavements and not being able to see for snowflakes will stay with me forever.

With its urban placement, lasers and music, the snow festival has an almost futuristic texture… but it also felt old; a contemporary expression of something deep and special embedded in Japanese culture long ago. Visiting the highly recommended Ukiyo-e museum in Harajuku, I was struck by how something similar to the snow festival and its feeling goes back much further back in time and can be seen in wood block prints from the Edo-period in Japan (1603-1868), which show people sculpting the snow, playing in the snow, falling over in the snow, admiring the beauty of the snow, having fun in, and at the same time giving thanks for, the snow, much the same then as now…

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…at the same time as appreciating and loving the snow, I couldn’t help but notice that the stationery shops wherever we went were preparing for the next seasonal celebration: hanami.

Hanami or “flower viewing” is described as follows on Wikipedia:

Hanami is the traditional Japanese custom of enjoying the transient beauty of flowers. Flowers are “hana” in this case almost always referring to those of the cherry (sakura) or, less frequently, plum (ume) trees. From the end of March to early May, cherry trees bloom all over Japan, and from around the first of February on the island of Okinawa. The blossom forecast is announced each year by the weather bureau, and is watched carefully by those planning hanami as the blossoms only last a week or two. In modern-day Japan, hanami mostly consists of having an outdoor party beneath the sakura during daytime or at night. Hanami at night is called yozakura meaning “night sakura”. In many places temporary paper lanterns are hung for the purpose of yozakura.

A more ancient form of hanami also exists in Japan, which is enjoying the plum blossoms instead, which is narrowly referred to as “umemi” (plum-viewing). This kind of hanami is popular among older people, because it tends to be calmer than the sakura parties, which usually involve younger people and can sometimes be very crowded and noisy.

I would love to go back to Japan in order to enjoy hanami for myself in that country. I imagine that like the snow festival, the modern forms the celebrations take draw on a much older tradition that can be glimpsed in woodblock prints from the Edo period, and that they are elemental, exciting, inspiring, public-spirited and outdoors.

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The evident enthusiasm for cherry blossom in Japan is beautiful and uplifting. Motifs and colours and artwork based on the distinctive five-pointed petals can be seen everywhere and were even the focus for the artwork decorating a room in which we stayed.

Instagram buddies may have already seen that my talented friend and comrade Yumiket has immortalised a version of sakura in this very beautiful piece of knitted correspondence – I love how she has captured the delicacy of cherry blossom in her knitting.

As long-term readers of KNITSONIK may have detected, I’m a huge fan of celebrating the everyday. Many aspects of Japanese culture speak to that creative instinct, and it was amazing for me to go to a place where such importance is given to things like the changes of the seasons and everyday rituals like making tea. Since we returned from our honeymoon I have been looking for ways of drawing some of the magic of our honeymoon into daily life in Reading.

Memories are present in Japanese stickers, washi tape, tableware and textiles, but we also formed impressions there that have stayed with us as more lasting, subtle souvenirs. For example I am more aware than I have ever been before about blossoming times here in Reading, and of the colours of blossom, and of its presence in the green spaces around where we live. I am more thankful for it, too.

There’s a wonderful botanical garden – the Harris Garden – about a half-hour walk from our home in which there is a circle of Japanese cherry blossoms. We went to see them last weekend and found that while one great pink tree was fully in bloom, many were just on the brink of blossoming. Yesterday we went back with my trusty SLR and spent much time admiring and smelling the open flowers. It was lovely to share this experience with other comrades doing the same including several Japanese families and students. The jolly, informal gathering of people out in the sunshine admiring blossoms was not on the same scale of the National celebrations of Japan, but it gave me the slightest feeling for hanami, for which I’m grateful. In our current depressing political climate it feels to me both sensible and necessary to give thanks for reassuring things like spring and flowers.

Thank you, Japan, for helping us love and appreciate the appearance of the blossom more than we did before. I have tried to capture a little bit of hanami in my photos and to share that with you here, sorry, I got a bit carried away.

Just as we were leaving the gardens, we saw a glorious crab apple tree with flowers much darker than the cherry blossoms from which we heard some glorious birdsong…

…peeping up through the branches we found this guy (a Goldfinch I think?) singing his heart out…

…I hope to return to the Harris Gardens soon so I can record his song and share that with you too.

In the meantime, I hope you can find time to admire the blossoms wherever you are, and to enjoy some sense of hanami for yourself.

YOURS IN BLOSSOMS,
FX

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Colours of Edinburgh at EYF

Following on from my earlier post, I thought you might like to see some of the beautiful knitting done in my Colours of Edinburgh workshops at EYF. This is a slightly different class from Quotidian Colourwork, as I’ve designed this workshop to speak directly to the wondrous geographic context of Edinburgh, and attendees get photos and a pre-selected palette from which to work rather than using their own inspiration sources. I designed this class firstly to help address how a vast landscape can be edited down into a manageable source of inspiration, and secondly to celebrate that EYF takes place IN EDINBURGH!

I’m really grateful to my friend Gordon Anderson for the photos we use in Colours of Edinburgh, and for introducing me to Arthur’s Seat – my favourite place to go in Edinburgh, and one of the sources of the stone used to build (and colour) that city. Thank you, Gordon!

Each class begins with looking at the photos and defining one element for exploration. In my notes for my first class on Thursday I have scribbled things like “green and orange in a triangle” “stone with a ghost in it” “speck with a particularly pleasing colour combo” “lichens with a graphic yellow line standing out” “yellow and orange speckles, BIG BLOBS” “hard shapes against soft pinks” and other details that sang from Arthur’s Seat to the knitterly instincts of the workshop group…

Nora’s “green and orange in a triangle”
“stone with a ghost in it”
“the graphic lines of shadows”
Catrin’s “reds and fades and a tiny skull”
“greenish and the dark shadow”
Fi’s “little yellow green popping out from a dark background”
“lichens with a graphic yellow line standing out”
Vicky’s “yellow and orange speckled BIG BLOBS”
“lichens with a graphic yellow line standing out”
Maria’s “graphic pattern of shadows and a speckly texture”

For the second workshop, I have written “moss light shade” “skyline and shadows” “graded shading” “GREEN plants” “spikiness of grass gingerbread to green transition” “geometric form” and “lichen circle and black gashes” among other notes…

Vera’s “skyline and shadows”
Deb’s “spikiness of grass gingerbread to green transition”

(keen-eyed spotters will note that this is a very different interpretation of the same grassy inspiration source shown from the earlier class)

Rachel’s “texture of grass and shape”
Yvonne’s “green plants”

(I love the refinement of Yvonne’s design here; she was drawn to the glowing orange tips of the moss… in her first design the shading evoked the colours of this, but the shape felt too straight and blocky… in her second iteration, the pattern has a more slender, diagonal shape that more accurately communicates the delicacy of the original inspiration)

“geometric form”
Julie’s “leaves then pink”
“diagonal lines”
“lichen circles and black gashes”
Lesley’s “strata”
“mustard and greys and dots”
“rounded shadows”

I really, really love the ways in which comrades at Colours of Edinburgh classes parsed the textures, surfaces and details of Arthur’s Seat into stranded colourwork, and the different ways in which knitters have individually transposed lichens, rocks, geology and light into unique designs… I think this class in particular shows how differently each of us views the world. Thanks for your willingness to adventure into knitting the landscape together, and for bringing such a variety of knitterly perspectives to this special place. Apologies for the sometimes blurry photos but hopefully the collection here gives a tiny glimpse of the joy we had exploring THE COLOURS OF EDINBURGH!

YOURS IN ROCKS AND MOSS, FX

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Quotidian Colourwork at EYF

For me the best thing about EYF is getting to teach my classes there: Quotidian Colourwork and Colours of Edinburgh. I *love* seeing what people bring as inspiration sources, and the many various and unique ways in which comrades translate these into stranded colourwork. This morning I thought I would share some of them with you in two posts; one featuring Quotidian Colourwork and one featuring Colours of Edinburgh! I’ve tried to be brief but there is lots of glorious creativity to enjoy in the photos, so I suggest getting a cuppa before you dive in! Thanks so much to everyone who knitted with me at the awesome Edinburgh Yarn Festival and for blowing my mind all over again about how much fun it is to swatch the world around us into stranded colourwork.

Anna’s beautiful hostas

Sometimes the way a photograph captures or enhances the colours of nature can be a great starting point for knitting stranded colourwork, as for Anna here with her photo inspiration source of hostas, and the beauteous blue green palette that she extrapolated from it…

Geraldine’s special Indian fabric

…for folk like Geraldine, it is the sumptuous materials of physical things that provide inspiration, like this gorgeous embroidered fabric found on a recent trip to India…

Louise’s landscape

…landscapes are a time-honoured and popular inspiration source, but I especially loved the contrast in Louise’s photo between the lilac bushes and the deep red sand…

Jesse’s suburban rail ticket

…a palette that resonates, too, in Jesse’s beautiful suburban rail ticket, with its peaches, purples and deep coral hues…

Tabea’s new shoes!

…you can’t beat stuff that’s just ON YOUR PERSON for an instant inspiration source, and I love the enthusiasm with which Tabea set about translating her new sneakers into stranded colourwork, and the way that knitting the shoes inspired a discussion about their distinctively bold, high-contrast aesthetic…

Alex’s amazing roof tiles

…and there is something deeply satisfying about transposing the grid-like structure of the built environment into the grid-like structure of charted knitting, as in Alex’s translation of the roof tiles of the Matyas Templom in Budapest, shown here!

Angela’s moss on rocks

…I believe every knitter has a secret stash of lichen photos, documented for future repurposing in knitting… is it the way the soft texture and beauteous colours sing to our knitterly instincts? or the way that heathery yarns so perfectly resemble the semi-solid (often pastel) tones of lichens? I’m not sure, but there is always lichen in my classes, and it’s always a treat to see. I think Angela has done a beautiful job here of drawing out the subtleties of her pastel-dotted rock picture…

Johanna’s salad

…Johanna’s salad is another reminder of the inspiration that daily tasks such as cooking can provide, and it was great fun working out how to shade from green to purple as in the radicchio leaves pictured here…

Joanne’s magazine page

…I love how Joanne drew specific shading schemes and ideas for her knitting from this magazine page, and how in trying to describe the fiddly pattern on the bag pictured in the scene we coined the verb “to specklise” – i.e. to change colours very frequently across your stranded colourwork in order to produce a “speckly” or “detailed” effect…

Dominique’s Abbey

…Dominique bought in this photo of an Abbey in her hometown, from which she drew together a calm and subtle palette of greys, blues and golds, reflecting the light in the sky and glinting off the architecture…

Jannike’s Iceland sky

…while Jannike found some similar (but darker) tones in the beautiful grey blue skies from her photos in Iceland…

Sabine’s lipstick tin

…everyday things are a wondrous source of inspiration, and I was really made up that Sabine brought in this bright, jolly lipstick tin from which to experiment with high contrast, acid bright shades of stranded colourwork…

Andrea’s yarn truck

…and who can argue with the charms of Andrea’s beautiful yarn truck – the itinerant home of Laines & Co.? The found stripes, the restrained reds, the greys and the brick lines behind…

Rhiannon’s picture

…someone always brings a big THING to my Quotidian Colourwork classes – it’s one of the highlights for me to see what it will be each time! – and this year at EYF it was an amazing painting that Rhiannon brought along as her material inspiration source for knitting glorious turquoise and gold ideas…

Rhiannon’s painting translated into stranded colourwork

…the natural world is a popular source of inspiration and I really enjoyed watching the progress of Lene’s ferns, so perfectly matched to her famous cherry blossom yoke cardigan

Lene’s fern bag, charts and knitting
Lene’s fern swatch and cherry blossom cardigan

…I fancy you can really see Lene’s distinctive style when you see the cherry blossoms and the ferns together, and it really is magical to see how every knitter’s different approach distinguishes their ideas from that of their comrades. In Verity’s swatch – also botanical in nature – daffodils are not literally translated into stranded colourwork: instead, they provide the basis for a gloriously bold, striped design. I love how she has reversed the motif to create a kind of symmetry and rhythm…

Verity’s daffodil design
Loret’s Dutch hats

Similarly, I love how Loret has simplified the shapes of these traditional Dutch hats, and found ways to shade the background that reflect the colours in traditional National dress.

Thank you so much to everyone who came and who knitted, who swatched, who took risks, who tried different inspiration sources and who brought so much colour and flair and creativity to QUOTIDIAN COLOURWORK classes at EYF! If you would like to continue your swatches and the conversations we started in Edinburgh, please visit the KNITSONIK Ravelry group, where you’ll find experienced KNITSONIK swatchers happy to help and share ideas. YOURS IN SWATCHING! XF

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Preparing for EYF 2017

Greetings, Comrades!

I, like many other knitting comrades, am in the throes of preparing for the wonderful Edinburgh Yarn Festival. I am so excited to be teaching classes on Thursday and Friday and if you’re coming to one of those classes, hurrah and welcome: I’m really looking forward to it.

Colours of Edinburgh at the Edinburgh Yarn Festival in 2016

I always like to bring examples of the KNITSONIK System in action to my classes for comrades to see and this year, in addition to the swatches from my book and several mitts-a-long mitts, I will be bringing – in all its magnifient glory – the wondrous swatch-bunting made by comrades everywhere for our Wedding. Liz is an immensely kind and practical person and, true to form, the amazing bunting that she co-ordinated is colourful and joyous and a fantastically useful tool for demonstrating the KNITSONIK system in action. I love this photo of Liz putting the bunting up around the staircase at our Wedding!

Liz hanging the KNITSONIK bunting up the staircase at our Wedding, photo © Catherine Hadler and used with kind permission

Here are some of the flags in closeup:

Deborah Gray’s “Traces” in swatch form

I especially love this flag knitted by Deborah Gray, who was working on this idea for willow-pattern inspired stranded colourwork at the very first every Quotidian Colourwork Class. Deborah also knitted an amazing sweater for Monkl based on bananas, the creation of which clearly inspired this flag!

BANANA BUNTING!!!

Of course, Monkl wore his 100% WOOL KNITSONIK sweater from Deborah to our wedding as you can see in these photos…

Monkl and his confetti cone! Ably assisted by Dorrie. Photo © Catherine Hadler and used with kind permission
Monkl on the top table, photo © Catherine Hadler and used with kind permission
Naughty Monkl in Lara’s pocket while she puts the finishing touches to the amazing giant woolly cross stitch MARK + FELIX sign! Photo © Catherine Hadler and used with kind permission

…other flags were also full of precious memories such as this one from Hazel, celebrating an amazing day we had together a couple of years ago in Shetland

Sunsets and whalebones – a beautiful bunting flag from my friend Hazel

…this one from the wondrous Mel (whom all of you will know from Kate’s blog) that I immediately recognised as an interpretation of our two Keith Moon sweaters together in Edinburgh when I was there for the EYF several years ago…

KEITH MOON LOVE FROM MEL!
Sorry for the crappity quality, but look! KEITH MOONS spotted together in 2015!

…DUCKS from my lovely friend Mandy, who endures much talk of Honey & Pretzel at weekly knit nights…

TWO NAUGHTY DUCKS!

…sewing notions including machine, pins and zippers, from Gabrielle who is also a regular Sticks’n’Strings-er…

SEWING INSPIRED STRANDED COLOURWORK BY GABRIELLE!

…waves in beautiful blues and aquas from Hannah…

Hannah’s swatch for the bunting – beautiful waves

…a tribute to extreme the joyous and merry time we shared together in Shetland in 2013 from my dear friend Tom of Holland, complete with resplendent tassel…

Tom’s woolly contribution to the bunting, in handspun Shetland yarn no less!
TASSEL!!!

…and many examples of BEAUTIFUL stranded colourwork from lovely Cecilia, whom I feel has an extra specially deep and rich connection with the Plants chapter of my book, having proof-read and discussed several aspects of it with me when I was working on it. I especially love that she made some bunting flags based on fruitcake, ensuring there were two kinds of KNITTED CAKE at our wedding!

Knitted fruitcake bunting flag by Cecilia
Knitted wedding cake icing by Vic and Lou, covering fruitcake from KNITSONIK book inside

…to go with the cake, my friend Mikal made this wondrous tea and biscuits flag, recalling the Huntley & Palmers biscuit tin gallery we admired together in Reading Museum one day when she visited here…

TEA AND COFFEE AND BISKITS!!!

…like Liz, Mikal is one of the Oxford Bluestockings knitters. That’s the group I joined when I revisited knitting in my early twenties, while I was living in Oxford. It’s amazing to think how central knitting has become to my life thanks to the initial inspiration and important friendship I found in that group. I adore all the bunting flags but I confess to having a particular soft spot for Liz’s witty and elegant interpretation of hot pot in stranded colourwork:

Knitted hot-pot – check out the slices of onions and neat rounds of potato!!!

There are many, many flags on the amazing bunting – far more than I can show here, this is just a glimpse of the splendour – so I will be very happy to show this to comrades at my classes, and may bring it to the EYF Podcast Lounge on Saturday where I intend to spend at least some of the day with my EDIROL and podcast buddies!

Louise and her magnificent podcast lounge will be at EYF!

…keen-eyed spotters will also see some KNITSONIK Stranded Colourwork in action on Lilith’s stand as she very kindly invited me to contribute a design to her BEAUTIFUL book, Coming Home. Wild Mountain Time is my design celebrating good times had on the West Highland Way with Mark, and Lilith’s magnificent and distinctive palette.

Wild Mountain Time mitts and swatch

Working on the book was a fantastic experience and I felt really honoured to be asked, and to be able to develop my design in the company of amazing women – many of whom will be at EYF this year, hurrah! Lilith has come up with a very fun game of designer bingo, the idea for which as as follows:

‘if you’re coming to EYF, get ready to play Coming Home bingo!!!! everyone except for Kirsten Kapur, Clara Parkes, and our marvellous book designer Nic Vowles will be at EYF; working on stands, teaching, or just drifting about being fabulous. the aim of the game is to get EVERY contributor who’s at EYF to sign your copy of Coming Home (you can collect all the signatures on the “contributors” page at the back of the book, or anywhere else in the book you fancy – although it’s probably best to get them all on the same page or two). then, instagram or tweet a photo of your signature collection with the hashtag #OMAcominghome – and don’t forget to tag me in the photo (i’m @oldmaidenaunt)! if you get a full house, i’ll add you to the draw to win one of a few fab prizes – there’ll be yarn to knit one or more of the projects in the book, a notions pouch kit from lorna (aka stitchbirdie), and possibly more!’

– Lilith, AKA Old Maiden Aunt

I SHALL BUY A MAGIC SHARPIE JUST TO PLAY!!!

KNITSONIK swatch in Lilith’s magnificent yarns

I am bringing no copies of my book to sell at EYF this year, but two of my favourite businesses will be carrying the KNITSONIK Stranded Colourwork Sourcebook on their stands: Purlescence and Ysolda. Do pop over to see them!

Jonathan and Sarah of Purlescence
Ysolda wearing my Missy Elliott sweater last year at EYF

A little bit of housekeeping

I will be closing the KNITSONIK shop tomorrow and doing what I can towards celebrating International Women’s Day to support this. The shop will reopen on 9th March and I’ll post orders out again following my return home from Edinburgh; thank you for your understanding.

#DayWithoutAWoman

HAPPY INTERNATIONAL WOMEN’S DAY FOR TOMORROW; I’M LOOKING FORWARD TO SEEING YOU AT EYF!

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Looking in Japan 1: snow

Two reasons we chose Japan for our honeymoon are SNOW and OPPORTUNITIES FOR SNOWBOARDING we knew we’d find there in February. Before you ask, dear comrades, I do not snowboard*. However, I married a man who does.

Happily, I’ve learnt through our Japanese adventures that there are many other ways to enjoy SNOW and I thought I’d share some of them with you! Be warned I got very excited with our travel photos so you might want a mug of tea before settling in to read this!

We traveled from Tokyo to Sapporo for its famous snow festival. This festival mainly takes place in Odori Park throughout which you can see the most amazing giant snow sculptures…

…we saw snow Star Wars…

…a snow knitter with snow yarn balls and a snowy garment on her snowy needles…

…a brilliantly unflattering snow Donald Trump holding the big apple in his tiny snowy hands…

…a snow moomin…

…a snow heart…

…and a beautiful snow Japanese house, complete with tiny snow tassels at each corner.

As you can see, the sculptures are all beautifully lit at night and range from professional sculptures the size of buildings to smaller pieces made by local snow sculptors. Some of our most magical evenings were spent wandering through the park, watching laser shows projected onto the big snow sculptures, enjoying the ingenuity and beauty of some of the smaller pieces, sipping hot sake from little glass jars and feeling the snow coming down in drifts around us.

Snowy Sapporo is also lovely in the daytime; we loved looking at the city and its encircling mountains from the wondrous T38 Observatory deck of the JR Tower; from 38 floors up you get a fantastic perspective.

We headed east of Sapporo on our adventures in search of Crane sanctuaries and Ainu culture. On our way a mix up about where we were meeting our host meant that, on the down side, we were temporarily stranded at the smallest, snowiest most isolated train station I’ve ever seen… but that, on the up side, we traveled around Lake Akan on a tiny train seeing deer and snow and long tracts of a completely mesmerising landscape of snow, trees and mountains…

…we arrived by the shores of Lake Akan in time to see an amazing fire festival down on the frozen lake. The evening began with a moving performance by folks wearing traditional Ainu costume on a snowy, owl-shaped stage, after which there were fireworks on the deeply frozen lake. I wished I could understand more of what was taking place but I got enough of it to comprehend that Ainu culture lives on in modern Japan through ceremonies, performances, dance and representations like this one: it was a privilege to be there to see it.

Shops in which descendants of the Ainu people make and sell traditional wood-carvings line the main street on the shores of Lake Akan and the distinctive patterns and carvings can be seen everywhere – even on boats and buildings – and there were ice-lanterns there as well, to light the way at night…

…by daylight the cats of Lake Akan seek and gather round warm manhole covers…

…and the forests and mountains are clad in mist and snow…

…and sometimes people do a little dance on the lake because the snow makes them a bit giddy.

On our way back to Sapporo we stopped to see and hear the Cranes at Akan International Crane Sanctuary; this was magic. We had watched Japanese Cranes on various nature programmes but nothing beats seeing them with your own eyes, all elegant and tall with a majestic, trumpeting call.

From Kushiro station we traveled back to Sapporo to fly down to Nagano, where we had a date with yet more snow and snowy creatures. I took about ten million photos from the plane because it was so amazing to see the snowy, mountainous landscape come into focus as we began our descent.

A ponderous train ride took us across further snowscapes to our destination of Yudanaka – a destination that I heartily recommend to anyone contemplating a February jaunt to Japan. This is an onsen town, which is to say that while the whole place is blanketed in snow, hot volcanic water courses through its veins and is channeled by ingenious piping into many delicious public and private bathing contexts. It’s a beautiful place in which the sound of flowing water is a constant accompaniment, and where gorgeous old Japanese buildings can be seen everywhere.

We stayed in a wonderful old Ryokan with paper dividing walls, tatami mats, mattresses on the floor and this view.

In Yudanaka we discovered there are few pleasures greater than feeling the deep freshness of snowy air on your face whilst simultaneously luxuriating in blisteringly hot volcanic water… and nobody knows this better than the star attraction of the area: THE SNOW MONKEYS. I forgive you if you scrolled through this whole post just to see these guys for they are, by far, THE BEST THING EVER WHEN IT COMES TO SNOW AND WAYS THAT SNOW CAN BE TRULY AWESOME.

Here they luxuriate in their natural spa…

…here they do important MONKEY STUFF in the snow…

…warming up again…

…climbing trees.

Meeting the snow monkeys was absolutely amazing – it was everything we had hoped it would be and more. However, I am also blown away by all the other ways in which SNOWY Japan is beautiful; by the loveliness of lines of trees and mountains standing out starkly against so much crystalline white; by the restrained palette that results from blanketing everything in snow; by how inky shadows appear against such a bright background; and by just how fricking magical the world looks when it is covered in snow.

There is so much for the knitter’s eye to pick up on… so many special palettes, patterns, and shading schemes that seem particular to snow. More generally, the different festivals and celebrations of snow that we felt and experienced in all the snowy places we visited were really inspiring in terms of aligning oneself to, and living with, the rhythm of the seasons. I feel so inspired by having this new perspective on winter and by my memories of how snow looks in different kinds of light… most of all, I keep thinking of the special way a forest sounds when all its trees are covered in snow, of tracks that lead off and away into the snowy distance, and of one magical evening spent recording water flowing beneath the streets of Yudanaka while the snow fell silently all around us and the lights of the buildings lay in glowing circles on the white ground.

I LOVE THE SNOW!!!

YOURS IN SNOW,
FX

*like never in a million years.

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Listening in Japan 1: bells

Thank you all so much for your kind wishes and lovely comments on my last post! It was so nice reading them together and so nice to share that special day with you a little bit on here.

I have been sorting through some of my sound files from the trip and thought you might enjoy hearing one or two of them. As long-term SONIK buddies will know, I am very fond of the aporee sound project run by my friend Udo Noll, and I generally upload my sounds there. I love that you can pinpoint exactly where in time and space each sound was recorded, and find recordings made by other people, too. The aporee sound maps are a fantastically collective undertaking: I think there are 1,000+ aporisti currently uploading sounds there, and I love following the adventures of the community of listeners that build the site. If you would like to hear a very general impression of Japan (not only including my sounds) I heartily recommend searching for “Japan” under places, then pressing play to hear the map play itself and all the sounds uploaded in that amazing country. You could also look up your own postcode there and see whether anyone has been uploading sounds to the map to aporee that you recognise…

…although I am a huge fan of aporee, I upload sounds to soundcloud from time to time as well, because sounds are slightly easier to embed in blog posts and across social media if they are hosted there.

Today I uploaded two special sounds to soundcloud and it is these that I shall share with you today. I’d read about both of these sounds before visiting Japan when I came across an amazing project called 100 Soundscape of Japan. This was set up in 1996 by the Ministry of the Environment to combat noise pollution and to foster greater awareness of, and engagement with, local sounds. 738 submissions were received from all over the country from which a shortlist of 100 was derived by the Japan Soundscape Study Group. The final soundscapes chosen are intended to function as symbols for local people and to promote the rediscovery of sounds in everyday life.

This first sound is that of the Sapporo Clock Tower striking twelve.

The clock tower was designed and built by some of the Americans who helped establish modern-day Sapporo in the late 1800s, bringing their farming skills and knowledge. The clock tower was built in 1878 and still chimes on the hour and keeps time for the city. I like listening to the combination of the newer sounds of the city (such as the electronic sounds at pedestrian crossings that can be heard in this recording) along with this older, mechanical sound that has been part of the soundscape there for a little over a hundred years.

The Sapporo Clock Tower is a celebrated local symbol and features on the rubber stamp at the JR rail station (there are rubber stamps at many attractions in Japan, and at the railway stations too!) as well as having its own handsome stamp!

The second sound I want to share is also a bell, but this one is much older; it is the Bell of the Zenkō-ji Temple.

Zenkō-ji is a Buddhist Temple in Nagano and its special bell was cast in 1667 and, according to this sign, the Nagano Olympic Games were commenced with “its solemn peal”.

My recording is of the bell being struck several times at around 1pm. The bell-ringer approached the tower, untied a special beam held in ropes, and then gently used the beam to strike the bell. The sound is amazing, listen with headphones so you can hear all the amazing harmonics in the sound… it was a sunny day and the snow all around me was melting, which is what you can hear in the recording, as well as the bell and the bell-ringer.

As with the Clock Tower, the Temple is a celebrated local symbol and features on the rubber stamp for the local train station of Nagano.

I love bells as objects with enormous sonic and cultural fields. This sign in the Sapporo Clock Tower Museum shows “how far the sound of the Clock Tower bell could be heard in olden days” and long-term listeners of the KNITSONIK Podcast may remember me speaking a few years ago about “Of This Parish” – a sound project that explores the range of bells as a way of defining the territory of a particular church or religious building.

Foundries in different places favour different casting techniques and harmonics, so that bells from different places offer a kind of signature timbre and song.

All of this reminded me of a happy time I spent in Leuven several years ago in Belgium, recording a carillon there after a blog-post reader kindly let me know that this is a signature sound of that city.

I’m curious to know: what bells ring or are rung or struck where you live? Are they an important part of your sense of place? And do you feel there ought to be a rubber stamp that comrades who visit and listen to your special bell(s) might be able to use to commemorate that sonic occasion?

YOURS IN BELLS,
XF

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