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hilaryreadsbooks's review
4.0
“It’s just two sticks and a string.” But, as the essays in SHARP NOTIONS: ESSAYS FROM THE STITCHING LIFE edited by Marita Dachsel & Nancy Lee show us, knitting and other forms of stitching can become so much more. A quilt storytelling an ocean to help a friend through unimaginable grief. Embroidery mailed back and forth between Nova Scotia and Ontario to bridge religious differences. An Antiques Roadshow episode’s relationship to Navajo textiles and heritage. Knuckles swollen from RA flares against bamboo, stitch after stitch to ease the pain of anticipatory loss. Black reclaimed space. Stitching can be slow, can at times be frustrating, can be done alone or together. It can be a reprieve from the demands of capitalism: “meditative, not productive.” SHARP NOTIONS crosses race, class, disability, religion, etc. to prove that a craft often demeaned as women’s work holds so much more meaning.
One of my signature outfits as a toddler was a large red sweater paired with a matching cap. My mother had hand-knitted the sweater when she was pregnant with me—she’d only been in America for a couple of years, having left everything she knew behind, and I’d like to imagine knitting brought her comfort. Years later, I would become so sick I couldn’t leave my bed for a while. In the beginning, I lay in bed, staring up at my ceiling, and then I began knitting and crocheting. First was a too-short scarf that my father could barely fit around his neck (less of me being bad at measurements and more of my lack of willpower to power through the last couple inches I had originally planned), then a hat for my sister, and then a whole series of amigurumi: giraffes, snails, and even Toothless the dragon. Stitching became a crip bed experience during a difficult time in my life.
Thanks so much Arsenal Pulp for gifting me such a special book.
One of my signature outfits as a toddler was a large red sweater paired with a matching cap. My mother had hand-knitted the sweater when she was pregnant with me—she’d only been in America for a couple of years, having left everything she knew behind, and I’d like to imagine knitting brought her comfort. Years later, I would become so sick I couldn’t leave my bed for a while. In the beginning, I lay in bed, staring up at my ceiling, and then I began knitting and crocheting. First was a too-short scarf that my father could barely fit around his neck (less of me being bad at measurements and more of my lack of willpower to power through the last couple inches I had originally planned), then a hat for my sister, and then a whole series of amigurumi: giraffes, snails, and even Toothless the dragon. Stitching became a crip bed experience during a difficult time in my life.
Thanks so much Arsenal Pulp for gifting me such a special book.
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