I know that I promised you grand updates filled with yarnbombs in Revelstoke and Golden and Banff. My heart aches a bit to tell you that this won’t be that kind of update. Far from excuses, I offer only explanation. Here’s the thing. The girls and I left Vernon and enjoyed a gorgeous drive to Banff listening to good music and only stopping to pee lest we arive late and miss the main event. But wait. I’m sure I mentioned that I talked B and Meemats into accompanying me to go and see Hawksley Workman in Banff, right? So… no time for knit graffiti on the way East.
We arrived in Banff to gridlocked traffic and by the time we had camp set up we had to book it down town and over the bridge. We arrived at the grounds about half way through Matthew Barber’s set and he was really great. I knitted tidy little rows of Neapolitan stripes.
Then life lost all relevance as Hawksley Workman stepped on stage. He and Lonely rocked a killer set and all of a sudden my tidy rows of knitting turned spastic, spatial and special. I think I died a little during Smoke Baby (those familiar with Elizabethan slang will know what I mean by that). INTENSE!!! Here’s the best part. Afterward, I got to have a few words with the man through a chain-link fence (on which I subsequently placed the only piece of knit graffiti I accomplished over the weekend during the Spirit of the West set – more on that later) and I was standing thisclose thisfuckingclose to him.
This is how it happened: We all three of us were walking past and saw him behind the stage so I went over to the fence and shouted “Hawksley!” Then he looks over and sees me so I say “I love you!” to which he smiles, laughs a bit, then starts walking over! In my head, I’m kinda like, fuck, I didn’t plan past I love you… He asked me what I thought of the set, actually asked if I thought it was okay, which I did (I think I might have maybe used the word orgasmic). Anyway, he was very cool to come say hi and was totally open to a quick chat and I really hope I didn’t seem too mental about the whole situation, but I’m reasonably certain I did. He’s got mad sex appeal. Oh dear!
Blah blah blah. Anyway, after this, I was a bit too dazed and out of it to concentrate on putting up tags, but I did one little one and gave up. During Spirit of the West, which was rad, I snuck over and put it on the fence. And got a big fat parking ticket.
The rest of the trip was spent beating prohibition… we were rum runners. Bootleggers. Regular Habana Joes. We were pretty burnt out for the drive back. Meemats and B alternated between sleep and waking and I kept the music on so I could sing myself awake. It was a crazy 36 hours.
Oh yea, and guess what. I totally got judged by non-knitters! This is great (note implicit sarcasm).
So, just as we sat down on the lawn at the front of the stage, we moved in just behind/beside this group of trendies. One of them turned around to see who sat down as I was pulling out my knitting. She raises her eyebrows and leans over to her friend, whispers in her ear, they both look back at me and the friend mouths the words, “Oh. My. God.” And then they laugh at me. I’m SOOOOO unbearably un-cool! Please tell me how to be!
This is the best part: the chick that realised that somebody would do something as loser-ish as make art in public was wearing, wait for it, boots made of knitted fabric. Yes. It’s cool to wear fashion made in the sweatshops of Bangladesh, but not cool to make it yourself (fuck-heads). God forbid we give up consumerism! People, curb your creative urges! Don’t express yourself artistically! Clearly, this is a threat for some people. What kind of world would we live in if we all made it ourselves, or got someone we knew to make it for us? Probably a better one. I pick that one, thank you very much.
Lastly, my focus for the next few weeks is to get my Persephone shell completed and then make some progress on my Stompin Tom Connors portrait. Because I haven’t touched either in weeks.