‘Mindful Knitting: Escape, Catharsis and Contemplation through Repetitive Craftwork’ Dr Jo Turney- Bath Spa University
Stream-Repetition and Endurance

When we knit, we dwell in our safe place – a quiet, focussed, contemplative space. The ordinariness of the world gives way to a sense that everything holds a little bit of magic. [1]

This paper aims to investigate the ways in which the repetitive activity of knitting can create a mental space for its practitioners as outlined by the romantic tone of the opening quote. ‘Space’ here may be described as non-space, or non-place, in which the practitioner/knitter can transport themselves from the ‘real world’ and escape into a ‘calm’ or meditative state, which can aid mental and physical well-being.[2]

The intention of this investigation is to outline the ways in which everyday creative practices can act as a form of self-help, of coping with difficult situations, mental and physical illness. For example, repetitive activity is believed to mediate the heart-rate, distract the mind, whilst craft work offers the potential to mark progress through making. [3] Such activity is deemed absorbing, to the point that the maker can ‘lose’ time, engrossing themselves in the project at hand.

Similarly, in the light of the popularity of texts such as The Knitting Sutra, [4] Mindful Knitting, [5] and Zen and the Art of Knitting, [6] this paper intends to uncover the significance of ‘new-age’ thinking in the promotion of craft activity. Can knitting (or indeed, any craft practice) contribute to mental and physical well-being, and can repetitive activity potentially create a space for meditative thought and in turn, express personal empowerment? Or, does the repetitive clicking of needles, combined with the mental withdrawal of the knitter from their surroundings, contribute to their alienation?

Focussing on the practice of amateur knitters and drawing from oral history research, studies in psychoanalysis, psychotherapy and cogitative and behavioural therapy, as well as populist knitting texts, the paper emphasises the expression of rhythmic and repetitive activity as a means of transcending the physical to a cathartic and/or alternative state of being.

This paper will examine the repetition inherent in crafts processes, specifically knitting, as a means of contemplative practice, as demonstrated in a ‘new’ genre of texts aimed at the amateur maker.[7] These texts centralise the meditative and mindful potential of creative practice and outline the processes by which the knitter can transcend the everyday, creating a mental space which can enhance well-being. We might see this as the fusion of knitting, spiritual awareness and self-help. As a genre, these texts are in themselves repetitive; they say the same thing to the same audience, and with this in mind, and in the interest of balance, issues and testimonies arising from these texts have been juxtaposed with responses from amateur knitters in the UK, interviewed in 1998. [8] This paper intends to emphasise what might be seen as an innovative approach to traditional domestic practices in an attempt to capture new audiences. This paper will question this assumption by proposing that such literature is highly revivalist, ultimately returning to and repeating popular concepts of the constituents of knitting and knitters.

The crafts are often defined as repetitious. They require the application of learned skill, and as such are consequently understood within an arts hierarchy as devoid of cerebral or conceptual input. This is of course untrue; but nevertheless this definition pervades the language of both art and craft. Repetition will be discussed in this paper in three ways: as rhythm, sound and language, an aspect of the coincidence of hand/mind activity; repetitive activity as the creation of a transcendental or meditative state in which the maker distances the self from the bodily; and, as a revisiting of traditional concepts of knitting, which places it at the heart of a post-modern and retrogressive yearning.

The relationship between textiles, sensory perception and life, refer to touch, the senses, and physical movement as a language, as an extension of the ‘semiotic’. Unlike the structuralist definition of semiotics (sound/image/word),[9] crafts criticism addresses the term as a continuation of the psychoanalyst and linguist, Julia Kristeva’s ‘Semiotic Chora’,[10] where the semiotic occurs as a direct response to intense stimulation, i.e. the bridge between the conscious and unconscious, the real and the remembered or expected. [11] Fundamentally, Kristeva’s ‘semiotic’ derives from the visual, but this concept of emotional and sensory response is further developed to address ‘feeling’ inherent in the crafts.

Central to Kristeva’s semiotics, and to much crafts criticism that relies on her work, is the notion of rhythm, repetition and interruption. Historically craft practice as repetitive, repeatable or rhythmic, had distanced craft from art - seen as spontaneous, creative, cerebral and coming from a ‘higher’ being or sense of purpose.[12] Intent on addressing the properties inherent in craft, this new criticism, investigates activity as ‘sound’ as an aspect of semiotics.

Knitting of course makes a sound; needles click together as stitches are formed. And through repetitive practice, the needles’ sound creates a rhythm. The more expertly performed the activity, the more metered the rhythm. Rhythm here can be seen as contributing to a state of meditative contemplation in two ways; firstly, repetitive sound created through bodily action can be seen to mediate the heart-rate and induce a state of calm, and secondly, that continued repeated action and sound can create a hypnotic-like state which enables the creation of a mental space ideal for contemplation. Indeed, interviewees acknowledged that repetitive acts such as knitting, encouraged a sense of ‘other-worldliness’, an emotional space of calm. One noted:

When you are knitting you are left alone. You look busy, you are doing something. It’s not like reading when it looks like you are just filling time. Knitting gives you space. When I knit I don’t think, I do it automatically, I can even do it in the dark, so it allows my mind to wander, to get away from the kids, the housework and all of the other rubbish I should be doing.[13]

Another outlined the ways in which knitting acted as a form of absorbing stress relief:

I find that if I’m a little uptight I just have to pick up the project I’m working on and I completely lose myself in it. I tend to lose all the stress I have built up. What a life saver knitting is. [14]

The ‘invisible’ space created and induced by crafts practice, has been described by crafts critics as the distance between the interior and exterior self . [15] Indeed, one interviewee so disliked the space making alone created, she joined a knitting group, so that she wasn't haunted by her personal thoughts, which caused her great distress [16]. This suggests that craft as rhythm can be seen as a form of introspection, either as a means of finding an internal ‘quiet’ space or as a more uncomfortable confrontation with the self.

The creation of this body/mind distance might be considered a state of transcendence or an empty space which enhances the potential for meditative and contemplative practices. Alternatively, one might see this as a form of alienation, in which the knitter both physically and mentally distances themselves from their surroundings and those within it. This is certainly evident in the testimonies of knitters who ‘wanted to be left alone’ or ‘escape’ from other chores. Yet the benefit of these practices often had consequences – the wrath of disgruntled family members who felt that knitters spent too much time on their hobby and not enough on them, or other domestic chores. Testimonies repeated that knitting was an activity undertaken outside of other more specific tasks, so respondents spoke of  ‘sitting down and picking up’ knitting [17], almost as a reflex action; a physical and psychological ‘time out’. Indeed, for interviewees who used knitting as a form of escape or ‘therapy’, the act of making created a sensorial rhythm, a repetitive rocking motion, which was calming and stabilising.

Knitting is a repetitive activity based on two stitches. If you can master even one of them, you can knit. This means that knitting is relatively simple and that most people can do it. By mastering the stitch or stitches, even the real novice can achieve a result – you can make something. This suggests that knitting is ‘easy’, and as such even belies the classification of ‘craft’. Such an assumption negates the actual practice of knitting, yet it is precisely this ease and repetition which is addressed as a means of creating a space for contemplation, of mindful creativity, and of self-healing.

The act of knitting is inherently built on the formation of a stitch, the creation of fabric. When we knit, we place our attention over and over again on the natural rhythm of creating fabric from yarn – insert needle, wrap yarn, pull through a new stitch, repeat. Following this simple repetitive action is the basis of contemplative practice. It continually reminds us to stay focussed, to stay in the moment. When we knit with this attention, we have an almost indescribable feeling of satisfaction and contentment. This is knitting as meditation [18].

This opens the introduction of Tara Jon Manning’s Mindful Knitting, and exemplifies clearly the relationship between knitting and contemplation. Here she focuses on areas one might associate with craft per se; repetition, focus, and the coincidence of hand/mind activity. We might assume therefore that all craft is ‘mindful’ or ‘meditative’, as although she suggests that ‘the object of focus for the mindful knitter is repeated formation of the knitted stitch [19], this could be applied to a wealth of other activities and practices.

This meditative and contemplative approach situates knitting within a model that is constructed from three areas, one medical (occupational and psycho-therapy), one historical, derived from a cultural appraisal of knitting as a gendered activity, and one spiritual and loosely based on Buddhism, but encompassing a gamut of religious belief to accommodate any reader/knitter.

Contemplative knitting is initiated by the ability to create and sustain a state of stillness and calm, which is described as ‘mindfulness’. Like meditation, mindfulness is far more directional and pro-active and encourages the meditative state to focus on progressive activity, combining both body and mind. Mindfulness exists in the moment, it has no past or future, and can be understood as the expression and experience of being.

Drawing from Buddhist thinking, the mundane becomes an arena in which the self, environment and the everyday can be endured, worked through and even transcended. This means that the knitter becomes aware of their place within a wider scheme (which may or may not have a religious imperative) and become more philosophical about their personal situation. An example of this is highlighted by Nancy’s testimony recanted in Bernadette Murphy’s Zen and the Art of Knitting:

Every project has its challenges. In each sweater there are times I get really discouraged or bogged down. There’s great satisfaction in sticking with it, moving through the difficult times and getting to the end. Then you just have a thing, and things are impermanent and of little value [20].

The testimony highlights the ways in which the process of knitting becomes a metaphor for daily life, but one that has a projected conclusion. Knitting like life, is amassed with obstacles and difficulties to work through, but unlike life, has a set outcome, a sweater, scarf or other woolly object. In this respect, knitting is predictable, even if the journey/process encountered outside of the making isn’t.  Indeed, the process itself seems to draw attention to the development of skill as a ‘learning curve’, the opportunity to put right that which is ‘wrong’ or could have been addressed differently, an opportunity not possible when dealing with life events.  The potential to correct ‘mistakes’ is outlined by Sister Elizabeth who suggests that knitting offers her the opportunity to restore calm to her stressful working life:

I find I can’t leave a mistake. I have to go back and rip no matter how far back and do it over again. My friend thinks I’m crazy when she sees me doing this. “no-one will notice that”, she tells me. My answer is “but I do”. I often think that if I could undo mistakes that I’ve made in life as easily, it would be just wonderful [21].

The emphasis here is the acknowledgement of imperfection; the notion that to ‘err is human’ refocuses the knitter to accept that no-one and nothing is perfect, and as a consequence challenges their expectations of life.

This rather sentimental appraisal of knitting typifies the rhetoric associated with knitting as a contemplative practice; it highlights the spirituality which draws from the historical notion of making as familial and sociable, enhanced with elements of individualism and self-help. The made object is not valorised on the level of skill in its construction, nor on its aesthetic appeal, but on the time spent, and the emotional and spiritual significance embodied in its construction.

The psychiatrist, Adolph Meyer suggests that people: ‘learn to organise time and he (or she) does it in terms of doing things’[22].

This exemplifies the significant role ‘doing’ has on emotional and physical well being as well as its impact on self-fulfilment. The value of time usefully spent demonstrates how the performance and completion of activities contributes to a sense of self-worth, of achievement and desire to continue, which, in turn, creates pleasure, satisfaction and pride. Therefore, doing or making, or generally being engaged in any form of activity, promotes self-esteem, confidence, which ultimately, enhances quality of life.

‘Quality of life’ is a familiar facet of post-modern society. It acknowledges that our lives are increasingly chaotic but empty and yet we have the ability to fill the void of dissatisfaction. The sociologist Zygmunt Bauman recognises the need for life direction, asserting that we need to make sense of who we are and where we’re going, and describes modern life as a pilgrimage. The concept of pilgrimage is significant because it offers the potential for self-awareness, discovery and the ability to gain control over ones’ life. This is a form of identity building in which our past and future creates an objective language of space. The subjective here and now allows us to look back to our past and forward to plot our way into the unknown [23].

It is evident that the performance of making, and the completion of each made project, is demonstrative of inter-personal communication, between the real and the ideal self, and the self and others. Each worked project is representative of the imperfect current self, marking progress towards an ideal, thus acting as the physical manifestation of an internal dialogue. Therefore, mastery over a pattern or technique promotes mastery over the self. In a culture that valorises human worth in terms of activity (i.e. ‘What do you do?’), and places importance on the cult of individualism, doing it for yourself - in whatever form this may take – is indicative of control over the self, thus promoting self and social worth.

History to the contemporary knitter is significant as it offers a return to a way of life which benefits from hindsight. The past offers security in a world which is constantly changing and unstable. For women, whose roles have changed to dismorphic proportions throughout the past century, such solace potentially addresses the problem of social and cultural confusion. Indeed, a lack of a sense of traditional social guidance often leads to a climate of anxiety. This anxiety is largely a twentieth century phenomenon emerging initially after the First World War, building momentum as a consequence of economic instability, and coinciding with a general loss of faith in religion, science, progress and reason. Renata Salecl [24]

in On Anxiety, highlights the current sense of social anxiety as embracing a loss of identity through the dissolution or changed perception of traditional social roles, which is being redressed through a return to right-wing and overtly restrictive political and social doctrines in order to find structure and life guidance. She notes:

In today’s culture, it again seems that economic uncertainty is not the primal cause of anxiety, since the latter is much more connected to the problems people experience with regard to their social roles, to the constant desire to change their identities, and the impossibility of finding guidance for their action. These uncertainties today also result in people turning to religious fundamentalism and to their embracing social restrictions, which introduce new forms of totalitarianism [25]

I am not suggesting that texts aimed at amateur knitters are on a par with religious fundamentalism, but there is certainly a parallel between the ethos of the texts and a contemporary need to find a sense of guidance for survival in the modern world. Knitting here may merely be a diversion, both in activity and subject, to promote a return to ‘wholesome’ and moral activities that fulfil a traditional sense of women’s social role, or indeed satisfy the political ambitions of the Right. Indeed, from a feminist perspective, we might conclude that by promoting a traditionally ‘feminine’ pastime to women with the additional emphasis on spiritual enlightenment and escape from the mundanity and anxiety of everyday life, these texts might be disempowering women, returning them to a state of domesticity without questioning the continuing dominance of patriarchy. Indeed, the combination of testimony, projects to make, advice and humorous words of wisdom, juxtaposed with perceived spiritual enlightenment within these texts, are highly seductive, subjective and somewhat dictatorial. Knitting becomes a metaphor for ‘goodness’ and moral purity, a state which one obtains it seems, through meditative and contemplative practices.  

Such an assertion is by no means new; indeed, the meaning of knitting in the contemporary world is largely based on definitions emanating from gender division, binary opposites and nineteenth century codes of morality. Likewise, knitting has long been associated with disability, philanthropy and usefulness, historically offered as a pastime for injured servicemen, and as a recouperative and restorative activity for those unable to find work in paid employment due to their mental or physical frailties. Knitting is also a useful activity and therefore has moral associations arising as a response to the Protestant work ethic, in which ‘the Devil finds work for idle hands’. So, the contemporary knitting texts outlined, encapsulate Christopher Frayling’s assessment of the crafts, as ‘providing solace in a changing world’ [26] whilst projecting an individualist ideology of self-help, combined with a series of spiritual practices which embrace a post-modern approach to non-organised religion. This is effectively a return to traditional female roles and an understanding of craft as nostalgic yearning. Knitting therefore becomes a metaphor for a retrogressive journey, travelling forward through the process of knitting row after row, whilst simultaneously looking backwards to the history and tradition of the discipline itself.

Conclusion
Statements from knitters alongside a more philosophical or spiritual approach to the craft, encourage a sense of empathy in the reader which is both seductive and sentimental. Perhaps this bears testimony to the distance that we have travelled culturally; the impact of feminism no longer warrants women to ‘suffer and be still’ as Victorian women were instructed to do (although they might be doing this if they are knitting in a contemplative state), and in a post-modern era which encourages the articulation of the personal as the social, discussions of the experience of life traumas and ways in which they might be addressed become more commonplace. As cultural boundaries are redressed, high merging with low, it appears possible for the ordinary to become extra-ordinary, and the previously hidden testimonies of ‘ordinary’ amateur makers to become elevated examples of how to live ones life.

Bauman asserts that we now live ‘life in fragments’, this fragmentation has led to a sense of ‘placelessness’, of confusion, and with the dissolution of grand narratives the place of Religious belief has been superseded by ‘New Age’ thinking, which prioritises a pro-active approach to spirituality that offers an escape from the pressures and mundanity of everyday life. Knitting offers a practical application for this form of thinking; as a repetitive and rhythmic practice, it has the physical potential to elevate the mind to a state of contemplation, whilst doing something which is both measurable and ‘useful’. In this sense, traditional concepts of the cultural meaning and purpose of knitting merge with more scientific and rational practices such as occupational and psycho-therapy, and popularised relaxation and meditative activities. 

Knitting today is ultimately presented as a leisure pastime, and as such perhaps is deemed less ‘important’ than other forms of creative and cultural activity. Yet, in respect of the testimonies and accompanying philosophy, it offers more than just a means of filling time. It potentially offers a form of escape from mental and physical pain, a sense of calm during times of anxiety, and as a means of striving towards good health through contemplation. It seems for some people at least, serenity emerges from their knitting bags. [27]