September 2011

The knitting on Rural Modern Home keeps getting weirder and better - check out Neo, an Italian company that specializes in knit neoprene accessories.

Neoprene, a form of synthetic rubber, was invented in the 1930's. See scientist-extraordinaire, Julius Nieuwland, hard at work!

... and then advance in history - past Nieuwland's experiments, past DuPont's acquisition of Patent rights, past the inaugural application in fly fishing - and into the present moment. Here, you'll find Neo's oddly inviting, rubber-like textiles. Knit into useful, sculptural forms, their bowls and cushions are substantial yet supple - appearing cartoonish and industrial in each and every stitch.

Neo's products have an androgynous appeal, and are not what we'd call fully "feminine" or "masculine" in vibe. And yet, they're personal pieces, clearly constructed by hand, and imbued with character, asymmetry, and spunk.

Their neoprene cordage varies in thickness - sometimes thin and stringy (below) and other times thick and doughy (above). When knit to completion, the works appear nest-like. Hospitable, futuristic digs, am I right? As if they're interlaced fingers poised to cradle something delicate...

... Or else mats of rubbery hay...  I guess it all depends on the beholder.

For more on Neoprene, click here.

For the purposes of Rural Modern we'll be focusing on the hinterlands of knitting - more so than, shall we say, suburban expressions of the craft. No sweaters, socks or scarves. Instead, we'll explore the tradition's far-reaching realms - those slightly experimental areas where function remains intact and appearances change.

Knitting, conventional or otherwise, is an organic process. It's one that certainly can adhere to strict pattern and rule, but in reality is as subject to order as it is to impulse. Unlike weaving, where warp and weft relate in perpendicular-only-arrangements, knitting is unbound (directionally speaking) and can take on multitudinous shapes, forms, and functions. It does all this and remains recognizable as the age-old craft it is at heart.

So, too, is knitting flexible. Counting rows and stitches with sharp attention can produce precise finished pieces. Ask any seasoned knitter; they're always keeping track. However, try as you may to be in charge of your work, in the end your garment will prevail over you every darn time. This is due in part to the following: Knitting is expansive. Stretching up to 500% of its intended/original form, its loops and gaps are subject to any and all environmental conditions . Weaving, on the other hand, is less responsive to time or place, holding more tightly to the way it should have been.

As examples, check out these funky Urban Nests (impromptu, hanging resting-baskets) by PiaDesign. We'll be looking more closely at her work in posts to come, but for now take note of her stretchy and supple, private and public, there and then gone, single-person-knit-pods. They're not your Granny's sock monkeys, that's for sure. Not better, and not worse. Instead, they live into difference, just as the tradition allows.

Sometimes the things we believe to be most fragile are in fact the most resilient, most certain, most assured. Take the proverbial old soul, whether human, dog or cat, these sorts of beings may initially seem quiet, small, withdrawn - and they may indeed be - but not for reasons of weakness.

No, old souls have discretion about them because they experience the present through awareness of the past. This mechanism of perception is not literal - it's not even conscious. But it occurs nonetheless.

Flowers are in this category of creature. Still and silent, patient - ever old and perennially renewed.

Among the most deceptively delicate is the genus Limonium, home to 120 heathers and statices that thrive in the driest, wettest and/or saltiest of environs on earth. Stoical, quavery, solid and light, these beings sprout from and sustain themselves in challenging conditions, just as they've done for years and years and years and years.

The underdog? The struggler? The ever-vulnerable meek one? Hardly. The limonium family is wise - wiser than most. It just doesn't let on in ways newer souls easily understand. By straddling the realms of then and now they are forever relevant, if unobtrusive with their sageness.

As most of us know, it is a unique pleasure to receive freshly cut, local flowers all bundled together in a vibrant bouquet. Recently, I was fortunate enough to receive such an arrangement, and was doubly pleased to discover that it contained one of my most treasured cut blooms: Verbena Bonariensis.

Gardens, flowers, plants and farms are, like Furniturea, both rural and modern. Their roots are (literally) as much in the past as they are in the present, and they can appear and feel old fashioned or contemporary, depending on how they're applied.

Verbena Bonariensis is a flowering plant with clustered, almost moss-like terrains of diminutive lavender blossoms that emerge from stark, linear stems, darting dart here and there at 45 degree angles. Whether planted alone or combined with other species, Verbena is a striking, fierce flower that is distinct without being dominant. The purple sepals and petals are antique-ish while the firm, narrow stems are angular and modern.

From a distance Verbena may seem sweet or pretty - like light little flowers dotting the garden-scape. But look more closely and you'll see a plant growing to a different tune. They're weirdly beautiful - other worldly, even. Sweet enough for the bees, and strong enough to hold goldfinches who frequently pause on stalk and stem to prepare themselves for swoops and glides through smooth summer air.

Need locally propagated Verbena Bonariensis? Click here.