Rabbitch

I was reading a book tonight, and one of the characters said "this is a play that would be best presented in the dark. And in pantomime."

This reminded me of one of my favourite reviews, which started with something like "Leaving an impression as lasting as that of Whistler's Father ..."

This makes me snort every time I think of it. I may be a bitch. I should also never be allowed to review anything.

The first paragraph of this post was referring to a community production of The Sound of Music, which is a movie I hate with every fibre of my soul, having been forced to watch it about 40 times as a child. I always want to yell to the Nazis that the family is hiding behind the cart ... but if they were even slightly competent, they would have found them anyhow. I mean, there were what, seven people standing behind some sort of cart and nobody looked? As if.

Yes, this makes me hideous and mean-spirited, but whatever. If I can live with it, you can too.

But it made me think about how artists are so concerned about public opinion. And me ... I guess I'm not. When I make something, when I dye something, it takes effort and it takes emotional connection. However when it's done, for me, that's it. If someone buys the things I dye and wants to knit washcloths, willie warmers or just landfill it, it makes absolutely no difference to me. The joy is in the making.

Once I've done it and you've bought it, I never think of it again.

I've had my yarn reviewed a few places. I have never read the reviews. I've never asked anyone to send me pictures of completed items. I guess I'm cold as ice or something.

But you see, for me, the reward is the making of the yarnz. Once it leaves here and belongs to someone else, I really couldn't care less if someone lets their chihuahua eat it (don't let your chihuahua eat it, it will tangle up inside them and they will die -- it's not a good idea).

I was happy to hear once that a friend was knitting in public with my yarn and she was asked what colourway of Wollmeise she was knitting, and she said "no, it's not Wollmeise, it's Rabbitworks" but really, that's about as far as my ego extends.

I'm really happy that the things I dye, that make me happy while dyeing them, make other people happy to own them, but once it leaves my house, it no longer belongs to me. And so it's yours, and you may do with it as you wish.

Am I alone amongst artists that I feel no connection to the things that I create once they leave my hands? I don't think so.

But maybe it's just me.

And to those of you who have bought my yarnz or my fibre; I'm delighted that you love them. I won't be able to dye much of anything for the next year or so, as we are moving to a smaller place and it likely won't have a space for me to work. I'll start up again next summer when we buy a house (at LAST ... I can't take this moving all the time shit; I need a nest). In the meantime ... the stuff I've made; it's yours, not mine. Just don't feed it to your chihuahua.