Mixing Things up for a Sweater

words and photos by: Johanna Carter

I always admire those who are able to spin mountains of yarn for a big project, ready to knit a wonderful sweater or cardigan. It is a satisfying feeling when you finish all that work, especially if you started with washing and combing the wool or even raising your own sheep.

Mixing spinning and knitting

The typical way to work through a larger project is to spin all the singles first and ply them in a particular order so you get the yarn even throughout the whole project. I don’t have so many bobbins, but my bigger problem is that I am quite impatient and want to get on with knitting once I have an idea. And normally, my brain is full of ideas for fibre work and the limit is the time, as I am a musician and teacher. I can’t sit at the spinning wheel for a long time if I’m not on holiday, so during the school year I mostly knit, and during the holidays I can dye, spin, use my drum carder, and do lots of fibre work. The only time I was able to produce bigger quantities of yarn before I knitted them up was during the Tour de Fleece in the two years during the pandemic, when we did not go on holiday at the beginning of July.

A highly photogenic collection of naturally dyed fibres.

I like to finish knitting one big project like a sweater or cardigan before I start the next one, or at least until I can’t carry it in my bag easily anymore, so I have an excuse to begin the next one. Sometimes it is good to have a second project on the go – I call it mindless knitting, where I don’t have to look very much – which I can keep my hands busy during Zoom or other meetings, which helps me listen.

Mixing colours and fibres

Usually I dye my yarn with plants which I collect in the woods or get from garden flowers. I also use cochineal and indigo, which I buy, to get lots of different colours. I really love the greens and blues I get from dyeing with indigo. I have lots of dyed wool, and all those colours give me inspiration for further projects.

Beautiful greens and blues dyed by the author using indigo and other natural dyes.

Blending the wool on the drum carder I can get even more shades. I like to blend with fibres like silk, alpaca, or plant fibres, and I love sari silk, to get those little bits of colour in my yarn.

Fibres of different types and colours are blended on a drum carder for elegant results.

When I have an idea for the next sweater, I start carding, and then I can begin to spin. Once I have spun enough yarn – say, for one day – I cast on and start knitting, usually top down, so I don’t have to decide too much in advance about length and width.

An idea for the author’s next sweater in the gathering stages.

When I spin on my wheel, I have to sit at home, but while spinning I can read a book or talk to others during online meetings. I also like to spin on my spindles, and that works on a walk, or a museum visit. I take them on holiday as they don’t need much space, and when I spin for a lace shawl, I don’t even need much wool either. At home there are spindles all over the place; I can spin when I am waiting for the kettle to boil, when the computer is slow, when I am cooking. Like that I can make good use of a short time and the yarn still grows.

Knitting as soon as the yarn is spun helps the author complete sweater projects in a timely manner.

I can take my knitting almost everywhere, which is why I don’t want to wait to get started until I have spun all the yarn for a whole sweater. I knit at home, on the bus or train. The only thing I have to make sure of is to be one step ahead with the yarn.

I love to knit Fair Isle sweaters. My favourite method is to use only one bobbin, which I don’t even fill, because I need smaller quantities of lots of colours. Then I wind a ply ball and ply it on itself. For that I put my thumb through the ball, so I can tension the two singles with my fingers and they don’t get tangled, as long as my thumb (or a cardboard roll or a pencil) stays in the middle. I don’t have any leftovers from plying, and it is quick when I suddenly need more yarn.

Several charming sweaters dyed, spun, and knit by the author.

I have never had problems with the yarn not being consistent enough throughout a project. I just know what yarn I want and my fingers seem to remember what to do. I am sure it is good advice to have a little card tied to the spinning wheel with a bit of the singles you are aiming for, so you can check and make sure you are spinning a consistent yarn.

Mixing breeds

There are so many different breeds, but some of my favourites are Shetland, BFL, and Jämtland – a Swedish breed. After dyeing them, I often forget what I have used, so when I do a new project it often turns out that I have used different breeds and fibres just to get the right colour. For the Fair Isle knitting I want to juggle lots of colours, which is more important to me than making a sweater out of only one breed.

Recently I made a pullover for my husband using about 12 different breeds and colours, even mixing short and long draw. For me it was a breed experiment and a way to use up lots of smaller quantities of wool I had in my stash. For that sweater I used combed top without blending.

Mixing in knitting during the spinning process is a wonderful way for a spinner to avoid being overwhelmed during a sweater project.

My feeling is that some people don’t dare to start spinning for a bigger project because they get overwhelmed by the quantity they have to spin and then all the knitting there is to do, especially when you want to spin the yarn entirely on spindles. Mixing the spinning and knitting for the same project is more interesting; you get more variety and more freedom to choose what you want to do next as long as you don’t run out of yarn. It breaks the project down into smaller, less daunting parts. The only thing you might want to plan is to have enough fibre at the start, but even that is not necessary, there is always a sheep growing more wool.

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Winter 2020 ads on sale

Ads are officially on sale for the next issue on Warmth (Winter 2020).

We are dedicated to keeping this magazine content heavy and ad light (ads are only 12–15% of our content). Hopefully you’ve noticed this, and hopefully you’ve noticed the ads. We love our advertisers – without them, we couldn’t bring you this magazine. So if you’ve got a spinning-related business, consider advertising! We’ve got a limited number of spaces available at a variety of sizes/aspects and affordable prices.

Art due September 1, with the issue shipped December 10, 2020.

Check out all the details about ads here.

Introducing PLY’s new graphic designer

Elizabeth Fitzpatrick is the new graphic designer/layout artist for PLY, and we asked her a few questions so we could all get to know her a little better. Her first issue is the Summer 2020 issue on Supported Spindles.

Tell us a little bit about yourself, what fiber craft(s) you do, and how you got started in the fiber world.

My introduction to the fiber world is through my partner of 22 years, Maxine. She learned how to crochet when she was young, but about 15 years ago we were on vacation and walked into a yarn store. Thus began her true fiber journey. I just tag along. She tried to teach me how to knit, which is when I discovered I’m really terrible at counting. So I don’t do any spinning, knitting, or fiber-ing. A few years ago we started our company, knittingbuddha studio. Maxine does the handspun, knitting, and teaching, I do the design. My one foray into fiber was doing the felted sign of a knitting Buddha that hangs in our show booth.

Tell us about your journey in graphic design. What made you get started with it and what is your past experience?

When I was young and living in the NY area, every Sunday one summer, the newspaper featured a Peter Max painting as a full spread. I loved his work. It was fun and colorful, but it also bridged this gap between fine art and commercial art, and that spoke to me. At the same time, John Lennon and Yoko Ono launched a billboard campaign titled “War Is Over.” In our small town of 1,000 people, a “War Is Over” billboard was posted right before the river bridge. It was a small billboard, but I remember staring at it and thinking it was different than any billboard I had ever seen before. Simple black text on a white background. It was a message, it was art, and it was performance. And it was on a billboard! I wanted to do that.

I started my design career in the early 80s, back when being a graphic designer was a hands-on craft involving mechanical layouts, t-squares, drawing boards, proportion wheels, and amberlith overlays. I’ve worked as a designer laying out newspaper ads, designing logos, and creating graphics for K-12 English learning programs and as the artistic director for a non-profit arts organization. Plus, I have 20 years of experience as an art director for several trade magazines, and now PLY!

What was it like when you found out you were going to be the new graphic designer for PLY? How has the experience been so far?

I was a bit blown away to be chosen as the PLY designer. When I applied, I wasn’t originally picked as a finalist. But those who weren’t chosen were given the opportunity to go ahead and submit a mock up. I decided to do it because, at the very least, I could use it as a portfolio piece. I received some great feedback from Jacey, she had me do a couple of other pieces, and then she offered me the job. It was awesome. I celebrated with wine and cake.

The thing about PLY is it’s very much a showcase magazine with big, beautiful pictures and wonderful illustrations. My previous magazine work involved pipelines and construction. There wasn’t much room for interesting design work, so it’s great to work on a magazine with an artistically receptive audience. Like spinning, the joy of designing is in the process. It’s always nice to have the finished product, but it’s the process that makes it worthwhile, and that’s how I felt working on my first issue of PLY.

What do you do with your free time? What else would you like to share about yourself?

I am also a fine artist. I’ve sold some paintings over the years and was active in the Art Car scene for a little while. I’ve painted five cars and a VW bus. A few years ago I received a ukulele as a gift and have worked my way to the ceiling of beginner and the floor of intermediate. I now have a repertoire and play for our four dogs. They don’t seem to ever tire of hearing “Dock of the Bay.” I’ve got a bunch of DIY projects that I continually procrastinate on. I consider our house a big sculpture I will probably never finish. It’s all in the process.

A Study of the Effects of Canis Lupus Familiaris (Dog) Fiber on Achieving Nirvana

words and photos by Brittany Trask

As I walked my 17-year-old Chow Chow Bear, otherwise known as “Chookie,” for what was to be our final time in September 2018, I stood proud and transfixed. I was mesmerized by a piece of fur that had shaken itself loose from Chookie’s cuddly frame, drifting through the twilight like shimmering copper, only to assuredly land on my partially untied tennis shoe. It was during this moment that I began to realize how Chookie’s meaning to me had changed over the years. Her fur had became something to use rather than a place to bury my tearstained face after yet another abusive incident with my parents. I thought about how lovely it would be to simultaneously commemorate Chookie and make the argument that fibers – specifically those of a Chow Chow and Suri Alpaca – and the fiber arts as a whole can save a life and beautify even the darkest of souls.

This is a difficult piece to write, much like anything that is worthwhile, because there’s so much I have experienced both positive and negative. I’ve served as a lightning rod for irrational anger and have allegedly been the reason for my parent’s alcoholism and abusive behaviors; I am a sexual assault survivor, recovered self-mutilator, perennial scapegoat, and recovered anorectic. To Chookie though, I was her human, someone who could always be counted on to appreciate the freshly killed prey she’d set at my feet because I knew it was her way of showing love. She’d accompany me on my runs, sans leash, or sleep on the topmost stair since my bedroom door didn’t have a lock, or climb into bed with me in the winter because heat was only available downstairs where my parents were. In essence, she became my confidant and protector since her arrival as an 8-week-old puppy when I was 11 years old, and she remained thus throughout 3 moves, a graduate school experience I wouldn’t wish on anyone, and the start of a stable loving relationship with another human being, all the while acting as a better role model to me than those who thought themselves suited to the task.

After a temporary separation caused by college, Chookie and I were reunited under odd circumstances and she found a second-favorite human and home in/with my boyfriend Brad, effortlessly made friends with the cats we’d taken in, which was surprising given the higher-than-average prey drive she’d possessed throughout her life. In the meantime, I began spinning yarn, saving her fur, and preparing to move to North Dakota for graduate school with Chookie and Trillian the kitten in tow. What I didn’t realize was her ability to console and comfort would increase exponentially while I navigated a difficult Master’s degree in English by myself. 

After 2 years of long-distance pep talks and annual visits, Brad asked me to come back to Ohio with Chookie and Trillian, which I accepted because I was growing to really love him and what he brought to my life. I was freer, able to feel comfortable enough in my own skin to be and love myself. Over the next 2 years, as I gave in to the gnawing thought that I should at least try to get the fiber arts business set up that I’d been dreaming of for years, Chookie and her soft fibrous constancy were there for a nuzzle, or a leisurely walk on Gladys St where she was much beloved by the neighborhood for being the elegant, amicable old dog she was, spry frame galloping up and down the street.

All this time, I was spinning the most amazing suri alpaca fiber and becoming friends with the owners to the point where shearing day was my Christmas in May. Spinning fiber from animals you have gotten to know is a very rewarding pastime, but spinning chiengora for not just myself and others (there was a commissioned spin for someone’s Australian Shepherd) takes what is a truly transcendental experience and transforms it into something akin to nirvana or moksha.

When Chookie died on 14 September 2018, I requested the vet shave her so I could spin it. A week had gone by since that transfixing walk, and I didn’t want to honor such a noble member of my family with a glass necklace full of ashes. I wanted to do something meaningful with what I had left but wasn’t sure I would have enough for a huge project, so I have been plain-weaving tiny pieces that combine the fur and fiber of animals no longer with us to give to people who knew Chookie and helped take care of her while we were away. This piece is not just about Chookie or the 2 alpacas, Blaze and Diva, who died, but about all the fiber-producing animals that have warmed our hearts and souls as fiber artists over the years, helped us through trauma and painful moments, inspired us to be our best selves, and showed us that the path to happiness lies in the simple motions of picking up and holding some fiber.

A leisurely stroll can be a beautiful thing, but the addition of a 4-legged companion can make such a venture all the better. Chookie hated the leash when she was younger but came to appreciate it as her vision deteriorated and our walks became an intermittent switching of who was walking whom. One thing’s for sure, Chookie has taught me what Bill Maher firmly believes:

“It just doesn’t matter.”

Enjoy the walk, Chookie!

Brittany Trask resides in Northeast Ohio where she owns and operates The Medicinal Spinner and lives with her boyfriend Brad and 3 kooky cats. She enjoys teaching others about the healing power of the fiber arts, reenacting, writing, and the macabre. Find her on Facebook or at www.themedicinalspinner.com.