By Genevieve Chornenki
When I sat down in the salon chair at a recent appointment, my stylist was all smiles.
“I’ve got a compliment for you,” he said.
“A compliment? “
“Yes. From a recent house guest.”
“Huh?”
“Remember your mermaid?”
“Of course I do,” I said.
“Well, last weekend, we had a friend over—he’s into drag—and when he picked the mermaid up off the back of the sofa, he couldn’t stop laughing and saying what fun it was.
“Seriously? You’ve still got the mermaid?”
“Peter won’t part with it,” he said.
We were talking about an item that I’d concocted with needle and yarn at least ten years ago. My hair stylist commissioned a man-sized mermaid for his husband, Peter, who does costuming in the film industry. Peter was raised in northern England by the sea, and when he was little, he and his friends played on the shore and pretended they were mermaids. So, of course he needed one now in wintery Canada, and why not a hand knit one? Did I mention that Peter is very fussy about fibre and only ever wears cashmere sweaters of the highest quality and choicest colours. That meant I couldn’t rely on remaindered chunky acrylic yarn to knit the creature. No problem; unlike others who’ve asked me to knit for them, my hairstylist understands that quality materials cost money and that there’s value to human labour.
I’m no designer, and the only math that I perform is applied arithmetic needed for knitting. I don’t remember the details of making the mermaid, but I must have computed the dimensions and (perhaps) did a gauge swatch. What I do remember is that it took me at least ten minutes to knit from one side of the garment to the other, and that I had to figure out how to taper the bottom and invent a tail. This was not to be a wall hanging—the mermaid was intended for use as a blanket, so she also had to open part way up.
Just before heading out of country on business the other day, Peter posed for a quick photo. Take a look, and see what you think.
