When I started off with it, crocheting helped me realise my prowess at maths. Now, having been doing it for months, I find myself diving into an abyss of thought and living through a whole new dimension of time
As part of the ‘Crochet Along (CAL)’ project I am a part of, I am making a table runner with a pattern of squares that seem to emerge out of squares. Pic/Rosalyn D'mello
I’ve spiralled so deep into the crochet rabbit hole, there’s no returning to any version of a past self that didn’t know how to work a needle. Sometimes I think back to the first flower I made, and the immense sense of accomplishment I felt when I photographed it to share with you, my reader, before I undid it again, because I had only so much thread and couldn’t afford to make anything until I could source more yarn, which was simply not possible during lockdown last year.
ADVERTISEMENT
When I vacated my apartment, I had to leave behind so many things, and my needle and yarn were among them. When I got to South Tyrol, I asked my partner’s aunt where I could find the material I needed. She looked through her drawers and gifted me her mother’s old 1.25 mm needle, which I have been faithfully using ever since.
Last year I’d had this wild idea of having a small stall at the Christmas market in Tramin, to sell the things I would have crocheted. The pandemic ensured all such rituals were cancelled. I’m secretly glad I got another year’s worth of time to make my debut as a crochet artisan and build my repertoire.
It’s exciting to figure out what form of crochet one feels instinctively drawn to. Many other people who took to the craft during the pandemic found they enjoyed making things that had functional value, like handbags or purses or headbands. I found I delighted in making doilies. First of all, I love the word ‘doily’. It seems so quaint, so nostalgic. I love the gratuitous nature of its existence. It is so wholly unnecessary, so purely decorative. It has more aesthetic than functional value. I derive a lot of pleasure from the sight of well-made doilies.
It amazes me how, by using the right size of needle and thread, one can replicate the texture of lace. I enjoy the complex mathematics that informs the pattern, and each time I engage with the instructional diagram, I find myself in awe of the mathematical nature of most arts practised by women.
In the course of making doilies, I’ve found myself enthused about counting numbers, an activity that otherwise filled me with dread. I was always told that maths was not my strong point, but I’ve even been wondering whether I had the aptitude for it all along but was just not taught the subject well enough.
In trying to figure out the variations that make the pattern appear, I find I am constantly wrestling with algorithms. I am able to perceive the flow of even and odd stitches, and how they then assemble through repetition to create form. It is magical to watch a pattern take shape between one’s fingers. It is astonishing the mobility that crochet offers, and the sense of having lived through a dimension of time in which one senses its passing and yet feels its length. You fall into an abyss of thought and sometimes only plunge out of it because you’ve arrived at a point where you must embark on the next round.
February has been an inadvertently intense month. Even though I’d promised myself to do less, to take on fewer assignments, I still ended up inundated by work, constantly between different modes of thought. The most relaxing thing for me has involved participating in a ‘Crochet Along (CAL)’ initiated by a member of the Crochet Goa Facebook group. I’ve been part of a few Goan groups before. Unfortunately, they are mostly always filled with patriarchal men who refer to women patronisingly as ‘darling’ or ‘dear’ and don’t miss out on any opportunity to belittle you. This is generally the case with any intellectually-minded group that is premised on some notion of Goan identity. I now avoid these like the plague.
The CAL involves many of us making the same table runner at our individual pace. The lead coordinator posts instructions for four rows at a time once every four days. The runner has 90 rows in total and is a gorgeous pattern of squares that seem to emerge out of squares. We make the runner at our convenience and post pictures of our individual progress.
It’s the most fun project I’ve participated in since the pandemic began. It’s not competitive in the least, and we prod each other one. It’s a way of being together without necessarily engaging with each other. There’s something superbly poetic about it. Working on this has helped me unlock a whole new level of crochet which works in a grid format, with the pattern comprised of boxes of empty and filled boxes that create a sense of positive and negative space.
I like the waiting every four days for the pattern and the sense of companionship, or catching up with the others, taking pride in my work and witnessing others take pride in theirs. I hope, soon, to share with you a photograph of the completed piece. For now, I hope you’ll appreciate this in-process picture.
Deliberating on the life and times of Everywoman, Rosalyn D’Mello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover. She tweets @RosaParx
Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com
The views expressed in this column are the individual’s and don’t represent those of the paper
Subscribe today by clicking the link and stay updated with the latest news!" Click here!
