My brother is in town visiting so we went to see The Pitmen Painters at the National Theatre last night. Great play based on a true story. About a group of miners (pitmen) who start an art appreciation group in the 1930s through the WEA (Workers' Educational Association). They are uneducated and most have never seen a real painting before, and although they want to understand art and be able to know the meaning of a painting, they lack any sort of real experience. Their tutor decides to have them start painting to understand art (not technique, but the feeling you get when creating). There were so many times I thought about knitting and the act of creating something. One of the characters talks about what it feels like to actually create something, even if it isn't technically good, it's that he made it himself and he put himself into it. He describes how he worked a full shift in the mines, came home to paint and before he knew it, he was finished... just as the sun was coming up. He'd painted through the night and was exhilarated. Sound familiar? This is based on a true story and they have some of the Pitmen Painters' pieces in the Tate, among other places, and they had an exhibit at the National Theatre, mostly of Oliver Kilbourn, the main character in the play.
Took my knitting. Noticed a little blip about five rows down that no one, not even a good knitter would notice from more than two inches away, but I knew it was there. Tried to just fix it, but made a mess of things and had to frog down to that point. Should have left well enough alone. Really, had I made a certain side the inside, there wasn't even a mistake. What was I thinking? Spent the intermission putting stitches back on the needle.