Yarn bombing has been around for a while now. I remember first reading about it in Vogue Knitting, distinctly remember the photograph of an actual knit bomb they used to illustrate the article. That picture exhausted my entire knowledge of ordnance in a single blow as I wondered, What the heck is that? Like most pieces of installation artwork, yarn bombing made more sense when I viewed it in person.
One of the libraries I frequent is yarn bombed, and browsing through the stacks is both a delight and a challenge as I sporadically glimpse an alternate universe where everything, everything, is covered with knitting. Books, chairs, computers, desks, pens, the walls. In this world, there are no limits to where yarn can go and what it can become.
Silly me, I thought I was imagining a utopia. A Shangri-La envisioned by a slightly yarn-addled brain.
Well, I was wrong.
Now, admittedly, the most-excellent producers of this most-awesome commercial are using yarn covered surfaces as a visual metaphor for warmth; but let’s face it, haven’t you ever had days in–oh, let’s say mid-February for the northern hemisphere and mid-August for the southern hemisphere–where you wish you could just curl up inside your project and never come out?
Even better, the most-excellent producers released a video showing how they did it.
I quote from the youtube description:
The story is simple, visualize the warmth of natural gas by wool. A month of preparation, 4 days and night shoot, with a professional crew of over 40 men, shot live and in stopmotion with 4 different cameras.
All the work to knit those objects, only to unravel them for film. Wow. I can’t even imagine the yardage. And what did they do with the scraps? I’d particularly like to take a closer look at those knit sneakers, and chat with the knitters who figured out how to shape the knitting so it unraveled at the correct angle.
Incidentally, you can tell this isn’t from the United States: No warning saying “DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.” I would hope that knitters are fiber-educated enough to know better than to cover a radiator and tea kettle with yarn, then turn on the heat; but you never know. This film is knitting idealism (surrealism?) at every level.
But like the best films, this commercial has another interpretation for my knitting self, beyond the entirely knit world so cannily brought to life.
If I think back to the dark ages before I knew how to knit, it seems like a cold, inhospitable world compared to where I live now; a place where knitting has a prominent and welcome place in nearly every aspect of my life. I wear sweaters from my own needles, decorate my home with lace scavenged from Victorian pattern books, stash yarn in places far more random than my actual “stash” location, carry pattern books with me as recreational reading, and consider crochet-hooks my go-to tools for everything from fixing benign dropped stitches to remedying life threatening clogged drains.
And the thing is, it happened so quietly. So imperceptibly. It crept up on me, and boom, I’m living a yarn bombed life and dreaming of a yarn bombed universe.
So I can watch this film, and see the story of myself and knitting. Where we have been and where we are going.
And you know what, the story has a happy ending.
Happy Knitting Everyone!