Kauni has finally spoken: 

“Turn me into a Sea Scallop“, she said.

An aborted attempt at this shawl began a few years ago with a mother-of-pearl colored yarn that was like a famous blonde movie star–  soft, glamorous and beautiful but entirely lacking in character.

Before Kauni found her voice,  I cast on and then cast aside one possibility after another.  Eventually I thought of the Keepsake shawl that I knit about three years ago with Brooks’ Farm kid mohair and silk.  It was easy and natural to think of it because it was, at that very moment, draped across my lap keeping me warm.  At the Maryland Sheep & Wool Festival that year I had practically set up camp at the Brooks’ booth, walking endlessly around tall easels hung with an infinite variety of color,  pondering the possibilities.  It was one of those times when I had a picture in my head of what I wanted, which usually means that nothing on earth can actually exist to match the picture.  I remember almost walking away out of sheer fatigue and lack of confidence that my choices were the best they could be, but eventually I triumphed over myself.  Later,  the carefully chosen shades of handpainted yarn that had survived my strict evaluation blended effortlessly one into the next in this giant mitered square, and I was very pleased with the result.

 And so, as I rummaged through my knitting patterns with newfound fervor,  looking for the Keepsake– in vain–, I came across the Sea Scallop, long relegated to its plastic pouch in a large binder with dozens of other such patterns.  A spark of recognition burst into flames of knitting enthusiasm, and I commenced.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything,
That’s how the light gets in.
~Leonard Cohen

The desire for perfection is natural for those with an appraising eye.  We see so many examples of what appears to be perfection that when we see what is not perfect,  what we really see is the imperfection itself, and not the substance of the article.  It is therefore difficult to accept the possibility that others will not also see the irregularities in what we knit– and we know they exist. 

Yet our focus is on the wrong thing.  A garment perfectly knit yet unflatteringly fit is not to be preferred over one whose slight flaws hide within apparel perfectly proportioned to the wearer.  The former attracts a negative reaction, a visceral realization that this item is not suited to its wearer; the latter fosters implicit approval, an internal knowledge that the garment belongs with the wearer as surely as a star belongs in the night sky.

Thus it is better to pay close attention to the suitability of a finished item to its wearer– to the scale of its pattern, the fit of the shoulders, the bulk of the yarn, the position of colors– than to the genius of the construction techniques or the popularity of the design or softness of the yarn.