in this article. Pretty weird stuff and religiose, but not just owls and plant holders. I always wanted a macrame hammock myself.
Also these
via Pinterest, though I can't find an original source. And a lot of owls and plant holders.
Internet mon amour, how I have missed you.
11 comments:
Pam says she can think of worse things than macramé, so can I. Catching dengue, being forced at gunpoint to read a James Patterson novel, eating tinned new potatoes (a Bradford Grammar School memory), watching stuffy Welsh pillow-case Huw Edwards introduce an inordinately long "cultural" piece about grime music on News At Ten, hearing a report that the poll predictions between Trump and Clinton are narrowing, still being no wiser about the implications of Brexit, reflecting that Theresa May's new hairdo is both stylish and charming but knowing I must - as an ideologue on the left - hate her just as much as those easily detestable figures: Boris Johnson and Liam Fox. I could go on.
Look, you turned knitting into potential Nobel Prize material and I have profited. Knitting is of this world. Macramé with its minimalist tendencies and its obvious introspection is a tunnel out of this world. It is parvo in parvo, it is seeing you only from the rear, never from the front. In musical terms it is the equivalent of an all-exclusive interest in Gesualdo. Once you reached out to me with a series of brilliant photos that somehow ennobled buildings on an industrial estate; there'd be no more of that. Your world would contract as the knotting got smaller and smaller.
Oh, go not to these wars, dear Lucy.
When I was about 16 or 15 I was heavily into macrame (thanks to the Woodstock Craftsmen Manual - which was the closest I could come to Woodstock and being a hippie) and apart from the whimsical and weird wall hangings I actually managed to "create" a hanging seat, I miscalculated something along the lines and it turned out to be big enough for a baby or a small puppy dog. My mother made it disappear after a while.
Cheers Lucy, good to have you back online!
Ah, just the kind of responses I was hoping for!
Robbie - I am partial to Gesualdo myself, despite muddling him up frequently with Josquin des Prez, whom I sometimes in turn muddle up with Lionel Jospin, though only the spelling of their names. I also in fact have rather happier associations tinned new potatoes, (or they with me rather, I suppose) though I never buy them and would probably find them repulsive if I did, as in my childhood they were a staple of caravan holidays, which I enjoyed except for the daddy-long-legs around the incredibly fragile china clay calor gas mantles. The tinned spuds were fried in a little pan in bacon drippings or similar. Almost as good as tins of M&S chunky chicken, the real gourmet delight of these trips, the taste and texture of which I rediscovered somewhat coming here in rillettes.
From my limited researches into the matter, I find quite a number of those of my acquaintance who might call themselves ideologues on the left appear to grudgingly admit to having a degree of admiration of Theresa May, though you are the first to mention the haircut. Other grounds for this are the fact that she isn't Andrea Leadsom and that when on her appointment as PM she was invited to dinner by Tony Blair
she declined, saying 'I don't like Tony, I don't like Cherie, I never have and I don't want to see them or their house.'
Your level of cool par rapport de mine is evidenced by your knowledge of the existence of grime music. I assumed you must have meant grunge but googled it just in case, and lo.
As to macrame, see my response to Sabine below, and indeed do not omit to read her comment.
Sabine - like you, as a youngster of the seventies, macrame was rather part of my hinterland too, though it must be said that apart from the hammock, and I would doubtless have liked a hanging seat too, I didn't really see much point to it even then. Your puppy-sized one sounds a hoot! It's good to be back, thanks for stopping by.
So glad you are back, and safe and sound, and that Elfie is learning off-leash, and that things like those cool macrame creations are in this world. I fully expect you to be posting some of your own any day now. A big happy sigh that all is well again.
tinned potatoes. oh, you brits!
be curious about what you will, heed no word narrowing your curiosity. if not for that, would i have added knotted skulls to my pinterest? i would most certainly have not.
welcome back!
I like those skulls but SWMBO would hate them. So it goes.
Well, Roderick's passionate denunciation of macrame was by far the most moving speech I've heard, or expect to hear, this season. I'm ashamed to admit that up till now I was on the fence about macrame. No more!
I should add, I did read Sabine and it made me feel like John The Baptist but without - I trust - that unfortunate conclusion to his CV. And then there's Dale, a very rewarding reaction - thanks to him and to you for providing the platform. I don't think I've denounced anything before, so much more dignified than to have merely ranted.
I am house/animal sitting for a friend. She used to be a spinner and a weaver so, aside from the sheep, she has a spinning wheel, a loom, and enough wool that I could, given the time, knit something large enough to cover their whole house. It's so tempting and so frustrating and when she returns I am going to get her going at the woolly stuff again!
Not macrame, but kind of related?
I'm with Mr Robinson on Patterson and potatoes by the way.
I have also missed the pure indulgent pleasure of lying in bed in the mornings with the computer laughing at stuff like this from people I like.
I think I once read a James Patterson, I seem to remember rather big print, very short chapters and quite a lot of glib violence. Still, anything that gets boys reading, I suppose.
Julia, your house sit sounds delightful; you could get duplicate keys cut and flog them off to compulsive knitters and yarn hoarders.
An artist can take any substance or technique and create wonder. Knotwork.
I did a macrame project for school once, adequately, now long lost.
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