SistahCraft

Ancestors, Take Care of My Friend

(DJ Adam Goldstone. This is a picture of one of my longest and closest friends, taken by Mr. K, (Ian Keldoulis) at Burning Man, where they went together for the first time, for Ian's birthday, last year. All pics enlarge).

Ancestors!

I met Adam as a young man, at Richard's club The Choice, through ambient maestro and longtime acquaintence, John Hall. I was slightly baffled at his attraction to me. As much as I was out and about downtown, I was not a particularly major part of the downtown scene; my allegiance to the Bronx and Harlem streets, was––and still is––a part of my identity.

But Madam, I'm Adam…

It was the pure, unadulterated sincerity of his friendship, that won my heart. And as such, despite a decade or so difference in our ages, we did damn near everything but sleep together. But when it came to catching some sleep after a night out, when the Bronx was to far to go?––Adam was the one man whose house I could sleep in unmolested, although his couch did not endear me to mid-century furniture.

My memories of Adam are not so much memories of downtown club life, although I attended as many of his parties as possible––Robot's, Destination Lounge, Don Hill's, Filter 14, the Frying Pan, P.S. 1, Sapphire, East Side Company, Movida, Speakeasy, Love, private parties, and on and on.

They are of treasured moments.

Not having a fearful nor prejudiced bone in his body (and not just with sisters, to qualify), He allowed me to take him into my world to dance, the private world of some of Harlem's major after-hours––Doll's, The Uptown Garage, The Warehouse (Bronx), and the one and only Pumkin's––to experience  jazz, rap, Latin, R & B and uptown house. He was so old school, folks thought he'd been around forever. Laced in the illest threads, and armed with a fierce sense of humor and wit, he was respected––better than that––liked. Best, was that his musical taste jibed with all of ours.

Now, he wasn't totally no angel and ancestors, you know he could get on my nerves. But he was one of the few, who could work this sister's last nerve, and not get cussed out. That's friendship.

Many a morning, I helped lug his heavy records up them damn stairs at 5 a.m., while complaining that my ass was too old for this; his wisecrack about my old ass, almost made me fall down the stairs with laughter.

I received the call on Tuesday.

I caught the flu, working the door on an unseasonably cool, Memorial Day party, he gave at the Frying Pan for the grand total of a coupla' dollars profit, which we spent on breakfast. I'd get upset at how talented he was and how begrudgingly clubs sometimes dealt with him. I was sure glad the kids across the pond helped to keep him afloat. We used to talk about how the changing demographic in New York, combined with the new social conservatism, was turning the club scene into straight, segregated, model and bottle joints.

Cash rules everything around me/ green!/ git' the money/ dolla' dolla' bill y'all. Jimmy Spicer '83'

When I had my hip replacement 20 months ago, he came to visit me, with my locks all over my head and a tube stuck in my neck. We hollered about my deliberately scaring the visitors when I walked him to the elevator.

I started this blog in the spring of 2005 as part of my recovery. Adam's parties was one of the first I'd started announcing––"the don of the decks." I swear, I his parties were the only ones that you could bring any of your friends to, because he spun a disk for everybody! His Latin vinyl, was as good, or better than some of the Spanish spots––yeah Babs, even Willie's Steak House. And his classic house knowledge, put other folks to shame. Who else could bring in D C LaRue for East Side Stories?

Ya' know––Adam was truly connected to the mosaic of the City; in these parochial times, for me, that's golden. It means you have joined the rest of the planet, and you don't consider yourself something else.

I was very impressed with Adam, because he wasn't very impressed with himself. He was a stand up guy.
(This picture was taken last year, in the town of Gerlach, Nevada, on the dawn of Mr. K's birthday)

In keeping with this being a knitting blog, my final post mentioning him, was when he brought to my attention, The Madam DeFarge Knitting Circle that was meeting at Burning Man. The last time I saw him physically, was at a mutual friend Micky Hohl's benefit where he was spinning music. He was sooo looking forward to going out to the festival. I'm glad he arrived.

I heard, that when you get there, they say "welcome home."

Ancestors, take good care of him, now that his place in the universe is with y'all.

New Friends for My Head, New Songs for My Heart

I must say that I had a good week, highlighted by a trinity of firsts on Wednesday night: my first visit to the Point, my first time meeting Jon and Bryna, and my first time seeing Ledisi perform live (yes Lisa D., I know – this was a previous engagement, however. Soon, my love, soon).

The Point, an intimate and very brightly-lit yarn shop/cafe was absolutely hoppin' with a group knitting lesson taking center stage (I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the concept of the knitting/cafe. This is baggage from years of training and working in places where food and fabric were not allowed together in the same room. Period. No matter what).

Anyway John, was busy teaching the class in the true fashion of a maestro. In the minutes I spent observing his class while waiting patiently for someone to direct me to where the knit stalkers were, I gleaned some very useful knowledge on how a group class should be taught. Cool.

Finally I was directed to Jon and one stalker, Bryna. To say the least, I was a bit surprised. I'd thought there'd be a crowd of admirers alongside of him, giving me the "fish eye"– as I was dressed to go out to see a show.  So I was a tad disappointed, but slightly relieved (no fish eyes).

The very pretty and wide-awake Bryna, (click for enlargements) was working on a top-down raglan-style top, in a nice aubergine merino, a lovely color for her. Jon, who is an absolute sweetheart by the way, and a much more exceptional knitter than he let's on – was at the beginning of a zip-front vest, the pattern being a fashion-forward, unusual, vertical stripe fair-isle. Small stitches in a butter-soft yarn, whose name now escapes me. But trust me folks, it's going to be stunning when it's finished! I worked on Mr. K's cashmere hoodie, and was glad that no one noticed (I hope) that I totally ruined my
project-matching nail color, from breaking in my latest fabu knitting bag for a sister on the go, by Kenneth Cole. Plenty of room, pockets, long enough for 14"or more needles, and water-resistant.

Our little knit together was a wonderful, although too short (as I arrived around 7 something, a torrential downpour slowing the taxi) way to connect and spend quality time. It's funny, really. When you read someone's blog for a time, and are then in their presence, it feels more like being re-acquainted with a friend you haven't seen in a while, than making a new one. Plus, I have a coupla' more reasons to add to my gazillion reasons for living: I can now travel to Colorado and visit Jon, and I can take my friend, the charismatic, handsome and unstoppably creative Bernard Bruce, to the Point for a knit (I won't have dessert. I've never had a real sweet-tooth, and I'm a messy eater).

Home, Is Where My Needles Are...Today

I am SO GLAD, that I don't have any outside obligations today. Or, this evening rather, which means uninterrupted work at home. Thank you. On the other hand, it's been a fabulous week.

I love evening outdoor events–they're ideally suited for the portability of needlework. Additionally, if you attend with a non-needle working acquaintance, there's enough external stimulation for them, so your lack of eye contact doesn't come off as inattentive.

Well imagine my felicity, of knitting away on Sweet pea, in the company of two beautiful sisters, both of who are accomplished needle-workers. They were (congas please)–the energetically ubiquitous Michelle Bishop (pictured here crocheting, no less), and cosmically surrendered fiber artist, Zenobia Bailey.

Ms. Bishop informed me that one of her quilts in the exhibition sold, acquired by the Head of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. YOU GO, GIRL. Strike one up for diasporan modernity in quilting.

Standards of technique are not raised, and younger members of society do not find it encouraging to participate in a craft, that is constantly being heralded in antiquity, by cultural anthropologists and historians. Moreover, improvisation is a finely honed skill, that doesn't necessarily arise from poverty, cleverness or caprice. Ya'll know what I'm talkin' 'bout.

Zenobia was crocheting on a circular floor piece (gasp! it was huge. That woman has some strong hands) for her exhibit and talk this Saturday.

The event that brought us together was Wattstax, a seminal movie in terms of the event itself, and the macramed web of emotions surrounding it, the people, the entertainers, the times, and–the vibe.

My friend Adam would have enjoyed the movie considering, that Wednesday night's party at Movida could have used that kind of energy earlier on rather than late. Kids, ya' need to stop drinking so much and dance more. You're in New York City now, not a bar crawl back home. Try again next week.

I sorely wished that Tiyee saw the movie. Taking into account, her youth, musicianship, and opinions on that era, I'm sure she would have found it historically entertaining.

She was fiercely entertaining on Wednesday night, at the Cutting Room. Her song "Time" was off the needle. Most notably, her versatility in handling an assortment of genres will launch her into popularity with a array of audiences. A sampling of that cross-section of the populace was representing, at the club. Ms. T, I am going to design an outfit for you yet!

Albeit, not right now.

The swatch that ate my brain increased to this, before I realized I needed to do one last step. Cotton knits can grow and I need to know how much, before I wear it. That said, I pinned the now post-shrunk swatch
(10" W x 9.625" L) to my photo wall and waited 24 hours to see what happened. Well, only .25" longer–one row. This doesn't take into account humidity, as the heat wave had already broken. The influence it has on garment length, is the reason why I wash my lighter cotton hand-knits in hot water and throw them in the dryer. They shrink back to the original length. Now I can press on to the armhole. Wow! the thought of a sleeveless shirt (sorry, dead batteries, spec pic later) and a baby-doll beaded tank in the same month is exhilarating!

Folks, don't be afraid of Cotton. It's good for you. It's a better hypo-allergenic alternative than Acrylic (which I'm allergic to). If you make a good swatch and treat it honestly, it won't lie to you. A wonderful explanation on the principles of knitting with cotton and, on proper swatching is given in the following articles (The Taunton Press): Designing with Spring and Summer Yarns by Deborah Newton, in Threads Magazine, Feb./Mar. 1991 (NO. 33), and An Accurate Knitting Gauge Made Easy by June Hemmonms Hiatt, also in Threads Magazine Feb./Mar. 1994. You may have to search, because I doubt if they are in print any longer. Don't let that stop you, nonetheless.

 

Dreaming Wide Awake-Lizz Wright

On the beam-fashion alert, and specialty hat-knitter Ms. Deb Minnuni got together with yours truly earlier this evening, to check her progress on the hat she is knitting for me. T'is major, as someone is actually making ME something. May the Ancestors bless you Deb. Live long and prosper.

Footin' it nevertheless, from the train to Century 21 Department Store to meet her, made me recall how anarchal that place could be. So we swiftly did the bird, heading over to the World Financial Center Plaza to fulfill our true mission; knitting while listening to the luxurious voice of the superbly gifted Lizz Wright, today's headlining performer at the Hudson River Festival. Gratis. The sun was f**kin' blazing from the unrelenting heat wave, and I thought of how my Catholic-charismatic mom used to say that "the devil was testing the furnace." S**t. I mentally reminded myself to have some bottles of Poland Spring® placed in my casket, along with the needles, hooks and cotton yarn.

You know, being stuck up in the suburbs to work, I forget how piquant the city can be in the summer. Arriving at the plaza a little before the show, we settled ourselves, and dined on cinnamon buns (I forget where Deb got them from, but that's a good thing–I'm working out these days), light Cheddar cheese and radishes. It was lovely, but when my melanin wanted to be paid time and a half for double-duty in that sun–we took our seats for the set.

Indeed. Folks came outta nowhere, and the seats were suddenly filled.  Teddy Thompson, paving a road for himself, while still keepin' it in the family, opened for Ms. W.  Teddy, you got it goin' on!                                                                 

Lizz turned it out. Her contralto voice singing rhythmic ballads she had written, particularly songs from her new CD "Dreaming Wide Awake", provided a fabulous soundtrack to accompany the postcard sunset on the Hudson, furnished by Mama Nature.  As Deb and I knitted away, I decided that free outdoor concerts will be the ticket for me, for working on summer projects.

Peace,

SB