Showing posts with label Mountain Colors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mountain Colors. Show all posts

10.22.2008

Thoughts on Socks, Hand-Dyed Yarn, Colorways, and Better Labeling

I'm two-thirds of the way into another sock class I'm teaching at A New Yarn. We're using my MUMTU pattern to teach Magic-Loop technique, working two socks at once, toe-up, and using a gusset heel. You're already well-familiar with my pattern (download here) and in-depth pictorial workshop, so I thought I'd share my response to the sock yarn I selected this time around, as well as some thoughts about hand-dyed yarn and yarn labeling, in general.


It's Pagewood Farm's hand-dyed sock yarn in the Butterfly colorway. This is their Denali line, with a fiber content of 80/20 Superwash Merino and Nylon.

I'm particularly drawn to this yarn's lovely sensitivity to color. Pagewood Farm incorporates so many different colors and shades, but they do it in such a way that you don't end up with distinct overall striping on your project.


As with my other recent socks, I've reinforced the toes and heels not with a packaged reinforcing thread but, rather, with a 100% wool lace 2-ply in my stash—Lydia brand from a Russian mill, Moscow Wool Company. I have both a dark grey and a light grey in my stash, and I've found that one of them always looks perfect with whatever yarn I'm using on the body of the sock. In the above pictures, you can see the reinforcing on the toes and on the decorative Eye of Partridge heel stitch. Isn't it remarkable how well that grey scans so it appears to match the darker purples in the main yarn?! I highly recommend reinforcing toes, at least—it protects your hard work and is a nice way to use up left-over lace wool!

For the cuff, which is done on 60 stitches this time, I selected a twisted rib variation with a 6-stitch repeat: K3, P1, K1tbl, P1. It adds a nice architectural line to the rib, giving it a more-striking look that also works to show off the yarn.

It always makes me cringe to see hand-dyeds knit up using stitches that compete with rather than complement them. I believe one of the beauties of hand-dyed yarn is its tremendous capacity to make large areas of otherwise unchanging (a nicer word than "boring," but you know what I mean) stitching very interesting. It acts to augment. The problem is that if the stitch is too fancy—and I'm mostly talking about cables and laces here—the yarn and stitch clash. As a result, neither the yarn nor the stitch gets featured in its best light.

That's why I tend to keep my sock patterns simple when I use variegated hand-dyeds. Yes, there's room in the MUMTU pattern for lots of creativity... lots of room to substitute fancy stitches. But I pay a premium price for hand-dyed yarns, and I want to make sure the focus is on them whenever I use them.

Which brings me back to the Pagewood Farm yarn. I simply adore this colorway. It made me happy the moment I saw it, and even though I've been operating under a self-imposed moratorium from purchasing more sock yarn until I work down my stash, I made an exception for this one. The sheer number of colors used is spectacular, and I could tell at a glance the color would knit up the way I like. Plus it's very soft. (BTW: Pagewood Farm also makes a version of its sock yarn that includes some bamboo content for those looking for even mushier softness.)

I do, however, have two critiques:

First, there's quite a bit of drag on this yarn when you work with it. It's an elastic kind of drag. You can feel this strongly when winding the yarn from swift to ball, but you can also feel it when knitting. It's made me question whether there might be more distortion in these socks than in others I've made or whether I might notice a difference in terms of elasticity in the finished product.

The other critique gets back to color. I know I've just spent much of this post talking about how much I love the colorway of this yarn—and I do—but I noticed a problem. Let 's see if you can see it, too:


Did you catch it? The socks are, overall, different colors. The right sock is more pink; the left sock more purple. Now before you ask, let me assure you that this is not a dye lot problem. These socks were knit from a single skein of yarn that I divided in my own home. But there is clearly a blue-ish "dot gain" (to borrow a design/printing term) over the course of the skein.

It's disappointing. Will anyone notice it when the socks are on my feet? Probably not. But I notice. And it's the kind of thing I've noticed before in other hand-dyed yarns. Maybe I'm being overly picky or exacting. I don't know. I guess it wouldn't bother me so much if the label just gave some indication that I should expect a gradual color shift over the course of the skein—whether that means from light to dark or from one color to another.

The problem is especially troublesome when companies are marketing sock yarn in 100g put-ups. Why? Because the customers are definitely going to split those skeins and are definitely going to be disappointed when the two socks look completely different (and not always in the most optimal way).

I think sock-yarn labeling, in general, needs an overhaul. If the label doesn't have a picture of a knit-up sample and the LYS doesn't have a swatch knit up, it's not always possible to tell whether there's a distinct color repeat in the yarn or not. If yarn companies provided us with a simple statement indicating that the yarn either did or didn't have a distinct color repeat, it would save a good deal of time for those of us who actually do like to knit matching pairs, when possible. And if there is, in fact, a distinct repeat (created through a space-dyeing technique, right?) why not do like the wallpaper companies and tell us the length of repeat. You know what I mean? It could be as simple as this:

Colorway: Apple Pie, 24-inch repeat -OR-
Colorway: Crazy Neighbor, 16-foot repeat -OR, as in the yarn I'm using now-
Colorway: Butterfly, all-over variegation

... or some such.

Wouldn't that be nice?

I get that hand-dyed yarns shouldn't be held to the same consistency standards as machine-dyed. I love them for it. And I love all the techniques for striping and dyeing we see today. Bring it on! Just give me a label that provides a slightly better sense of what I'm getting. Nothing worse than loving the way a yarn looks skeined up but hating the way it works up because you didn't have just that little bit of extra information (which you know the manufacturer/dyer already has) that could give you a better chance of making an appropriate project choice for it.

8.04.2008

Downward Spiral—A Cinderella Story?

It had to happen sooner or later: A project that just doesn't work for me. I've hinted around about my despair over this project. I couldn't face blogging about it sooner. But it's time to work through the pain and get it over with.


This cleverly staged photograph masks the utter failure of the downward spiral that was (and is) my Redhawk Tailspin of Pacific Beach Socks, knit from Cat Bordhi's Spiraling Coriolis architecture in New Pathways. Originally intended for me, the socks are being modeled by J because of how ridiculous they look on my feet.

Pattern: Spiraling Master Coriolis by Cat Bordhi
Materials: Mountain Colors Bearfoot, 1 skein (350 yds with quite a bit left), Red Hawk Tail.
Needles: US 2 / 2.75 mm
Started: June 21, 2008
Completed: July 31, 2008
Technique: 2 at once on Magic Loop

I swatched. I checked gauge. I checked and re-checked my measurements and my calculations. If I were to try knitting these again tomorrow, I'd end up working with the same master numbers and would end up with the same bloody mess.

As far as I can tell, the problem likely has to do with my instep: Mine is unusually tall. So using the numbers the architecture specifies for my instep height meant creating a horribly baggy mid-foot and arch. It's an odd experience for me to have any socks too baggy in the arch because my feet are almost completely flat.

These socks fit through the toe and the ball of the foot, and they fit through the "bottom of heel to top of instep" measurement, but they're swimming everywhere else. I did try them on as I knit, and I knew they were awfully baggy . . . but I held true to my faith in the made-to-fit qualities of Bordhi's pattern and convinced myself that something else—surely—would happen in the architectural construction to pull the bagginess around and make them work. Boy was I wrong.

I mean, seriously. Check out the carnage as they blob all over my 9" antique sock blockers:

My first UGH in 30 years of knitting!

(If you look at the top picture again, you can see signs of puckering in the arch area along the left side of the picture, and you can see how straight the right side—which corresponds to the bottom of the foot—looks.)

By the time the sad truth about these socks could no longer be denied, I figured I would felt them to adjust fit. I decided not to frog and re-knit the socks because I simply didn't care enough for the pattern.

I know, I know: Other people love this pattern. More power to them! But besides my issues with the finished results I got, I have a lot of problems with the way the pattern is written, in general. I'm a well-practiced reader of all kinds of patterns and charts. I can't remember the last time I had such issues with the way a pattern was written. Flame me if you want, but I found Bordhi's style tedious and overly complicating of something that need not be so thick.

To be honest, even if the socks fit me better, I don't know how much I'd actually wear them beyond around the house stuff . . . which is what may happen to them anyways if I don't find another foot that fits them.

As for my efforts to felt them? Silly me. I normally knit with non machine-washable wools, but I knit this particular pair with a superwash . . . a fact I remembered only after tossing them in the wash and having them come out exactly the same as before they went in. The good news: Mountain Colors Bearfoot is a fantastic superwash! The bad news: I really would have preferred the option of felting.

Ah well. I'm sure someone with bigger feet will like them. They're customized to fit someone . . . but how will I find the foot? Anyone in contact with Cinderella's prince—or his footman?!