Alone - Corii Liau

What he did when he was alone was not something that any of them would have ever guessed. She and their friends assumed that he spent his time making things, but in truth, he did these activities in the relative openness of his studio, drenched in light from the skylight. When he was sculpting, people would often wander in and lay around, snacking on whatever fruit or crackers he’d not finished from lunch, and eyeing his models. She often came into to talk to him when he was at the loom weaving, watching the shuttle go back and forth hypnotically, sometimes falling asleep mid-self-involved-sentence. His collaging sessions became group activities where everyone would come over and drink wine without being invited to and glue sparkles, shells, or feathers to his carefully constructed pieces. They were always respectful and asked him before adding anything to his art, but even so, he was remarkably tolerant to these intrusions.

But what he did alone in the quiet hours flowing like radio static and the buzz on telephone wires between midnight and dawn was to operate his short wave radio and read his knitting patterns in his deep voice. He wrote all of his knitting patterns down in a black notebook, and sometimes played a little music on the turntable in the background, or rang a bell at the end of each “repeat.” He read his patterns using a dim lamp next to his broadcasting equipment, with a mug of hot tea. “CO 157. P1, K2 until end. K15, *k2tog* to last 15 sts, k15 with MC. Work 3 inches in Garter stitch with MC then BO all stitches,” he started off one evening, wondering if anyone was listening, and if they were, if they were knitting along, or writing everything down to translate later into yarn.