what we remember
My sweet mother was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer at the beginning of September. It was quite a shock to everyone since she was a perfectly healthy, vibrant, and feisty lady.
Her decline was unimaginably swift. By January, my mother was in hospice, thankfully at home, where my brother and I spent a lot of time going through pictures with her. Below are pictures from a special box my aunt put together for her on her birthday a few years ago.
She passed away in February. It was devastating. Every bit of it. Anyone who has been through it will tell you - cancer is cruel. In the weeks that followed, I wandered around the house aimlessly, sometimes managing to get dressed, occasionally showered, hardly ever making the bed (because really, what difference?), mostly snuggling with my dog. I knew I would feel better if I could just get something going. My mother would certainly want me to. Looking for some inspiration, I picked this book up from the library...
I knew very little about Chanel before I cracked this book open. Apart from wearing Cristalle since college, and Chanel No 5 any time I need to feel extra elegant, I don't own a single piece of Chanel anything. I was looking forward to an inspiring story about how she created her fashion empire and was hoping to gain insight into a design master's process. She is, after all, a legendary, self-made woman who created one of the most enduring fashion brands of all time. "Fashion changes, style endures," darling. Don't you forget it.
Unfortunately, the main focus of the book is on Coco Chanel's social dalliances - her romantic liaisons with this English Duke or that French aristocrat, ... too much gossip, not enough design. I can't say I finished the book - however the story of her early years is fascinating. Over the years, Chanel told many fantastic, and imaginative versions of her childhood. But in truth, Gabrielle 'Coco' Chanel was born the second of five children, to a poor, unmarried laundrywoman and an itinerant street vendor. Her mother died when she was 12, after which her father deposited her at the Convent of Aubazine to be raised by nuns.
Above left is a panel of stained glass from the Abbey d'Aubazine juxtaposed with the iconic Chanel logo. Given her ambiguous feelings about her impoverished childhood, I wonder if she ever realized the connection or if it was trapped in her subconscious. Regardless, it sure looms large in her brand, even now.
At a certain point, you have to stop crying, just sit down and get back to work. A good friend of mine, who used to own a local yarn shop, came for a visit a few days after the funeral and loaned me a giNORmous pile of knitting books. My favorite in the stack is this vintage pamphlet of Icelandic sweaters. I adore the graphic patterns and I spent quite a bit of time analyzing the elements of the traditional three-color designs. So bold and so clever.
What better project to get back in the proverbial saddle than an Icelandic dog sweater? It's a good place to experiment. Especially if your dog is small. Zuzu is a little peanut of a French Bulldog. Her sweaters are scarcely bigger than a ski hat.
I started by charting something similar to the traditional Icelandic patterns for the yoke, but soon realized that since the canvas of a dog sweater is significantly smaller than a human sweater, I would need to simplify. But I was determined to play with color a little bit - pink and orange for Zuzu. Always. If I don't color code her - people think she's a boy. Because naturally, all dogs are boys and all cats are girls. After knitting and ripping a few times I ended up creating an irregular vertical stripe.
It was only after I finished Zuzu's sweater that I realized the pattern was inadvertently (and subconsciously) inspired by the clock in the background of the picture below of my mother - all dressed up and ready for her first dance when she was 14. That clock hung above my grandparents' fireplace throughout my childhood. Looking at it now, the clock is a sunburst shining it's light on my young mama. Zuzu may never appreciate where her sunburst comes from, but I will.
