by Lucy Edington

Created on: June 06, 2009   Last Updated: June 15, 2009

Many people are interested to know if a knitter falls into the 'process' or 'product' category. In simple terms, a process knitter is one who relishes the act of making a project, usually wanting to have their skills challenged and stretched, and yet is not as focused on the end product. A 'product' knitter is an individual who cannot wait to see their latest project finished, who measures their success by the number of completed garments and happy recipients around them.

So I took the time to ponder where I fit into this debate. I love knitting for the soothing effect and thinking time, but I also set up a target for myself every year when I am writing my resolutions, wanting to have completed a minimum number of projects by the time I next review my goals. I hate the sewing up stage as I never seem to get better at sewing no matter how many times I do it, and I don't like to incorporate too many new skills all at once; but I love learning and beginning things and then rotating the resultant works in progress when I need new inspiration. But I believe my craving for creativity goes deeper than this.

So I've decided I am more of a 'Yogic Fibre Artist'.

I knit and crochet for serenity and to breathe beauty and good will into the world. I learn to be patient through my craft. I learn to step up for a challenge and bend the rules and play with creativity. I appreciate that ample gifts are provided from nature: the bamboo in my needles, the wool or cotton in my fibre, the sunlight streaming through the window that illuminates my stitches. I begin to observe my thoughts and mull things over while still being useful.

I see the fruit of time spent in concentration and application within my chosen project. I learn that imperfection still yields things that can be admired by others. I can see the connections between everyone and everything is indeed a kind of knitting, a fusion of moments and actions and nurture that produces substance and relationships and bonds where they did not exist before. And I need to be reminded of these wisdoms over and over again; through the mindless runs of football games and crime programmes, housework breaks and waiting room marathons.

I need to know that I can return to some comforting reassurance at the end of a busy day, which I can self-administer instead of relying on my husband or someone else to do it. My stitches let me return to myself, the person that was there before life twisted my logic and raised all my barriers and made me insecure. The part of my spirit that knows it is all going to be ok. The me that is eternal and forgiving and joyous. This me is the me that needs fibre and time.

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