Survey of progress: the Norsk Strikkedesign sweater

About ten days ago, I sat down and resolved the question of what to do with the patterning at the shoulders on the Norsk Strikkedesign-inspired sweater. My thoughts were these:

• I could run the pattern right up to the shoulder seams, but . . .
• I'd placed the motifs differently on front and back, so the sweater would “read well” from both directions, which meant . . .
• the patterns would not match at the shoulders at all.

So what I needed was a patterning technique that would:

• bridge front-to-back,
• look good on each side, and
• give a sense of intentional design to the whole.

Of course, I could have left the shoulder areas blank . . . no patterning, just the blue background . . . and it would have looked fine (to most people). However, I look at this as a game. And I would probably think “cop out!” every time I glanced at those shoulders.

I went back to the Norsk Strikkedesign book for inspiration, which I found in the cuffs of the sweater from which I'd unexpectedly taken my yoke patterning. You won't recognize my source material by the time I'm done—I don't either—but I wanted an idea to use as a launching platform. Here it is:

In the original, those single stitches are a third color. I just wanted the basic bones of an idea and—so far—I plan to work in just two colors. As I knit the yoke, I am pondering whether to add a few duplicate-stitch accents later. I probably won't know whether I think that's a good idea until I'm finished and add a couple as tests.

After I taped together the shoulder areas of my front and back yoke charts—putting the tape at the edges of the paper, outside the design area—I began to draw in the strong single-stitch verticals of my inspiration pattern. The most challenging bits of the front-to-back transition are the motifs that are blue on the chart. (I'm working all my knitted patterning in black-on-blue, but make the design units on the charts different colors so it's easier for me to keep track of where I am while I knit.) Those blue motifs stick up toward the shoulder and make it obvious that the patterning is offset from front to back.

Speaking of offset, I already know that I am going to join my shoulders with a three-needle bind-off, where each front stitch will be joined in line with a back stitch. If I were going to use a kitchener stitch, which offsets the joining edges by a half-stitch, what I came up with would be less successful.

I wanted the shoulder patterning to relate solidly to the motifs on the fronts and back. So I began by sketching one of those strong vertical columns directly above the point of each of my blue motifs (dark gray).

I looked immediately for a useful repeat interval, and there it was: five stitches between those two columns meant I could repeat my vertical columns every three stitches across the shoulder area (add light gray). That was easy. The repeat frequency also worked out nicely at the edges of each shoulder (outside and neck), which I considered a nonessential bonus and a sign that I was on the right track.

Now I needed to figure out what else was going on . . . how these columns would have finials; how I would move from one to the next; what this patterning would be like, other than a row of vertical stripes across the shoulder; and how the shoulder patterning would fit around the other elements of the front-and-back patterns.

When I say “figure out,” I don't mean that I really thought much. I just began to doodle with my pencil, filling in squares in ways that would make a pattern on their own and would harmonize with (or at least not crash into) the yoke patterning on either side. I did use the square-box idea from my inspiration as I began to shape the finials of my new pattern, and the single-stitch bits showed up as a final bit of definition for my shoulder band.

Again, this is just two-color knitting. All of the brilliant stuff is to help me keep my place in the pattern while I draw and knit. Although sometimes it looks interesting enough for me to consider making another sweater with intarsia-defined color areas! Or, in this case, did until I added that obnoxious yellow.

Here's the piece of the original that shows up most directly in my doodle:

There are, of course, two really long horizontal stretches of background-only stitches between the body motif and the shoulder band. On the back, those stretches are 29 and 33 stitches long. On the front, they are “only” 24 and 26 stitches long.

Well, I've already got a few 14-stitch spans in the lower pattern. How do I manage those?

For Fair Isle and Scandinavian repeating-motif color-patterning, the rule of thumb is to keep the gaps between color changes at or under 5 stitches. I prefer to think of this in terms of gauge, and generally keep the gaps (stranding intervals) under an inch (2.5 cm), ideally at about a half-inch (1.25 cm). An inch is okay when I'm working at a really bulky gauge, preferably with a nice wool that will increasingly “grip” those floats as the sweater is worn. I really hate to snag my fingers in a float, and I really love color work.

So . . . how to deal with the likes of 14- and 24- and (gasp) 33-stitch intervals. . . .

There's probably information about the techniques that I use somewhere on the web, but that's not where I picked them up. Realizing that causes me to think about the value of the web for learning techniques (which is astonishing and marvelous) and its limitations as well.

The advantages to the web are that you can get instant gratification and, now, moving images of the techniques in action. That's very cool.

The disadvantage of the web is that you don't readily encounter (or I don't) the whole of an individual knitter's approach to the craft, which gives you a sense of how that person problem-solved . . . which can, in turn, show you a pathway through which to discover your own approach to problem-solving.

This may not be true for people who are using the web as a primary learning resource; they may know their way around better than I do, or have a better ability to put the scraps together into a philosophically integrated series of concepts. But it's definitely the case for me.

I learned a whole lot about knitting by reading entire books and looking at an array of different people's designs and technical approaches. Knitting writers whose global approaches have helped me evolve as a knitter, in no order at all, include Elizabeth Zimmermann (my favorite book of hers, early on, was Knitter's Almanac, with which I spent time in 1974 and 1975), Jackie Fee, Deborah Newton, Debbie New, Priscilla Gibson-Roberts (Knitting in the Old Way, second edition . . . the first edition didn't work for me at the detail level), Meg Swansen, Anna Zilboorg, Montse Stanley . . . not by any means a comprehensive or thorough list.

Anyway, I am using two techniques here for my color work that I picked up from different sources and at very different times in my knitting life.

From Jackie Fee's The Sweater Workshop (but the old edition), I acquired the idea of doing two-color knitting with one color in each hand.

As an English-style knitter, I usually hold the yarn in my right hand and throw it around the needle.

(I know, I know; it's far less efficient to knit English-style. And I can knit continental style. I choose not to, under almost all circumstances, for two reasons: (1) my grandmother taught me to knit this way many decades ago, and I loved my grandmother, who is no longer around except in tiny ways like this, and (2) if I knit continental-style for too long, like more than about five minutes, my hands start to hurt. When I worked at Interweave Press, several of us would—of course—knit during staff meetings. Perhaps the greatest knitting-style contrast was between me, poking along in English style, and Ann Budd, relaxed and incredibly speedy in continental style. The only way to cope psychologically with this on my part was to (1) marvel at and admire Ann's skill, which was easy—she's a delight and so is her work, and (2) breathe deeply and enjoy my own process for what it is . . . mine. It does work, and has done so for decades. I'm a contented knitter. What more can I ask for?)

Anyway, I knit English-style by choice and preference. However, Jackie suggested two-handed color knitting. So I hold one color in my right hand (and throw it) and one in my left (and pick it). I did make her “fish sweater,” the truly worthwhile technique-teaching oddity explained in her book, and by the end of it I'd picked up several new tricks that have stuck with me, including this one.

I've found, through trial and error, that in most instances I get the best results if I pick the background yarn from my left hand and throw the pattern color with my right hand. In this case, “best” means that my tension is most even and my pattern stitches show up most effectively. The difference between when I hold the pattern in my right hand and when I hold it in my left is both subtle and noticeable.

I picked up the second set of tricks that makes those long floats work from Priscilla Gibson-Roberts' Knitting in the Old Way while I was editing and laying out the second edition. The first sweater I ever knitted, which was in 1966 as far as I can remember, was a five-color Norwegian ski sweater (instructions in Norwegian; help from a yarn-shop owner, because I don't read Norwegian). I've knitted a lot of color work since. I didn't pick up these techniques until, oh, it must have been 2001 or 2002. Knitting continues to astonish me in its variety, and I love learning new things about it. There's an incredible amount of great information in Knitting in the Old Way, which I've picked up a bit at a time.

(Disclaimer: I actually ended up as the publisher of this book. I just began as its editor and layout artist. Life takes interesting and odd turns, some of which require huge leaps of faith. I'm also listed as its co-author, because I elaborated on enough chunks of information in the long run that Priscilla told me to sign on for my contributions. It's still her book, through and through, although I can point to specific parts, like the entrelac material on pages 283 to 291, that I developed from brief mention into tutorial.)

Anyway, the yarn-handling techniques I was mentioning are on page 132 of Knitting in the Old Way (for which the written shorthand around here is KITOW). They revolutionized my color-knitting life. There's one trick for securing the left-hand yarn while you are working a stretch of the right-hand color (lifting) and another trick for securing the right-hand yarn while you are working a stretch of the left-hand color (wrap, wrap, unwrap). You can use these techniques over as long a stretch as you'd like. With practice, both movements become very fluid and fast. The strands coming from the balls of yarn never tangle or twist around each other.

For details, check the books (I'm a huge fan of libraries).

Priscilla likes to secure her floats every half-inch or so, which is what I aim for as well. She holds the color she uses most frequently in her right hand (usually the background), whereas I've explained that my work turns out better if I hold the background strand in my left hand.

I also take the time to position all the elements before I start: the pattern yarn is on my right side and the background yarn on my left, with each ball able to unwind freely. Not having to stop and unsnarl things makes the knitting pleasant and keeps the tension more even. Whenever I think I can skip this and just leave both balls in my knitting bag, I end up slightly irritated, which is pointless.

So here's what the inside of my sweater looks like these days:

That funny bit in the middle? That's the inside of one of the steeks. There's a raised line on either side of it because I work one purl-stitch column at each edge of the steek. (This may be a personal quirk, although I probably picked it up from Priscilla . . . ah, yes, I did, page 120 of KITOW, but I apply it all over the place, not just when I plan to add an I-cord finish.) There are ends of yarn dangling in and around the steek because I start and stop colors, and connect new balls of yarn, in the middles of steeks. Also, if I'm going to have more than three stitches of the same color in a row at the edges of a steek, including the steek stitches in that count, I do an extra lift or wrap to secure the second color just before or after the steek.

That's a lot of talk. I'm knitting about two rows on the sweater every day, which isn't a lot but the upper body is steadily growing. Today I've used my knitting time to write, though, so it's time to make at least one token stitch.

Comments

[Kristi aka Fiber Fool]

I really enjoy getting to sit on the sidelines and watch you problem solve the design of this sweater. It is so wonderful to get to be inside a designers head!

As for the English/Continental - I'm English too for more or less the same reasons you mentioned. But, both A and I have been mistaken for being Continental just because of the speed we can get. English isn't always so slow as they like to say.

[Deborah Robson]

Hi, Kristi:
Glad you're enjoying it! I don't like to write up patterns, but I do like talking through my process.

Nope, English isn't as slow as some folks think. A knowledgeable knitter once remarked that I was slow by the stitch but fast by the week. I do manage to finish a fair number of items.

That won't often be apparent here. For example, a lot of what I've been knitting lately are samples for the artist to draw from for our next title: partial gussets, step-outs for steeks (many fewer than are required for the Knitty Gritty guests--fortunately!), and so on. Speaking of which . . . the artist's arriving in an hour and I need to mount and label the latest group of reference pieces for her. . . .

I've also dug out some socks that were half-done and that I need to finish because I've blown out the heels on most of what's around here. The commercial ones aren't worth mending, and I haven't felt like snipping/reknitting the hand-knits' heels. I may snap photos of the new socks and put them up some day.