It’s funny how things come together, almost charming. One pokes a seared needle through coloured loops of cotton and pulls. As if infused or imbibed by an unknown presence, a spirit that has been lurking, haunting, writhing on the ground, the thread jumps to life shaking as it twists and turns in the lurches of your seared needle. And as you pull and weave, swaying between a rainbow of coloured loops, these discarded pieces of thread are joined together, like a patchwork of knitted strings.
The image the artist or the engineer has in their minds is perfectly exquisite. Down to the anonymous, unseen bolt, the oil that lines the interlocking parts, the soft shade of blue that subtly sings against the robust and dominating orange, the soft blue which just lies there, gently highlighting, gently spreading a warmth, a sensual sensation through the body of the painting, they are both captured in the mind of the artiste. Yet the engineer or the designer always seems mildly surprised when it comes together. When the final nut is screwed in, when the last strand of horse hair trails its faces against the thick, drooling, canvas, they step back head cocked and sigh, eyes slightly drooped, eliding the mind’s eye with the organ.
Knit-work. It all comes together, the excitement is the unknown process, which often, is more adventurously beautiful than the end product.