In one summer I learned how to crochet from a little old lady that lived down the street from me. Now that I'm grown I realize that she wasn't really an old lady, though she probably is now. It's so funny how everyone seems ancient when you're little. Well, if it weren't for this lady, Mrs. Jones, I probably would've grown up to be a lawyer, doctor, veterenarian, or a marine archaeologist, things that had nada to do with textiles, unless suing over copyrights or sewing up wounds counts. I loved the yarn, the funky hooked needles, and the misshapen fabrics that grew from my little 10 year old hands. The thrill of creating this handmade fabric was short lived however. After carefully crocheting (what was probably the ugliest shawl ever created) my annual end of the school year gift for my too stylish to be a 6th grade teacher Ms Duplussis, I can't remember really picking up a crochet hook again. Until this week. After seeing my teacher holding my shawl as one would a soiled baby diaper, perhaps I was a bit put off. Needless to say in the interim years that have passed, my crochet skills have not improved, therefore I will not show my work as you should do on a math exam if you want partial credit. No, No, I'm only showing you the answer:
So ok. I cheated. Just a wee bit!! My crocheted bits were just so dismal I learned how to imitate crochet on my knitting machine. There were just too many profanities flying out from under my breath! You can see this in the sleeve and at the waistband, which is connected to the bust and skirt part of the dress by a faggoting stitch. This piece was actually made during our free week 6 along with the last Knit of the Week.
alright maybe just a wee bit of partial credit.
No comments:
Post a Comment