Saying Thank You

creating this book has been a passion-filled, laborious, and at times overwhelming process. I could never have done it without the support of family, friends, and colleagues—or, of course, without the trust and generosity of the inspiring makers featured on these pages. I am deeply grateful to all of them.

Liana Allday, a friend and former coworker, was the first person with whom I shared my thoughts on writing a new book, and her encouragement was unwavering from start to finish. Right away, she urged me to pick up a copy of Cooked: A Natural History of Transformation by Michael Pollan, understanding how Pollan’s ideas about cooking—and its relationship to nature, health, tradition, ritual, self-reliance, community, the rhythms of everyday life, and consumerism—directly related to my premise. Later, when I faced a bout of insecurity over the scope of the work I had taken on, Liana came through again with a pep talk and by arranging for a copy of Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear by Elizabeth Gilbert to land on my doorstep. Thanks, Liana, for always being there for me—with kindness, wise words, and literary backup.

Artist and author Kaffe Fassett was another early supporter of my concept. I met Kaffe on a knitting retreat in the Shetland Islands in the 1990s, and many years later, I had the honor of editing some of his books, including his autobiography, Dreaming in Color. Kaffe recommended that I listen to Grayson Perry’s Reith lectures on the BBC (Perry’s commentary on how we think about and experience art and other forms of making in today’s consumer-oriented culture is astute and thought-provoking), and then he kept up his cheerleading in his annual holiday cards and email correspondence in between. Kaffe, had you been at home in England rather than on the other side of the world when I was there doing research and photography for this book, I would have asked you to be part of it. You are an inspiration to me and countless others.

Suzan Mischer and I have been close friends ever since we worked together on her book, Greetings from Knit Café. We have spent countless hours talking, laughing, confiding in each other, and making things together. At the same time that I decided to write Making a Life, she began pursuing an art degree at the Rhode Island School of Design. As I type this, she is most likely in the textile lab at RISD, doing amazing work as she completes her classes. Suzan, your support has been integral to my completing this project and to my finding my way in life in general.

Throughout this process, I was reminded again and again how generous people tend to be when you simply reveal what you need.

Susan Cropper’s help organizing my trip to England—with a side trip to Paris—was invaluable. Spending time at her shop, Loop London, was creatively invigorating and relaxing at the same time. So much beauty in one place!

Early on, my friend the clever, enthusiastic creator Hannah Rogge came to my home for what she thought would be a weekend reprieve from city living and helped me organize my work—and my headspace—for the challenges that lay ahead; artist Sabrina Gschwandtner shared her perspective on the DIY renaissance and gave me lots of leads and a valuable reading list; curator, writer, and historian Glenn Adamson shared his wisdom about “art” versus “craft” in the garden of the Cooper Hewitt museum; and Abby Glassenberg of the While She Naps podcast and the Craft Industry Alliance encouraged me in general—and introduced me to a specific computer application that allowed me to record Skype and Facetime calls, a seemingly small detail that was a huge help and an important stepping-stone. Katharine Daugherty accepted my application for a creative residency at Drop Forge & Tool in Hudson, New York, so I could focus and dig in. Betsan Corkhill, author of Knit for Health & Wellness, talked to me about her research. Eric Mindling, author of Fire and Clay: The Art of Oaxacan Pottery, helped me process my joyous travels to the Mexican state to which I am eager to return. Uppercase magazine publisher Janine Vangool invited me to track my journey researching and writing in the Beginnings column of her magazine (the essays I wrote appear in Issues 30 through 40). And when I needed some support getting back into the writing groove, author, editor, and friend Betty Christiansen was there to nudge me forward.

Julie Weisenberger of Cocoknits introduced me to Lizzie Hulme, who welcomed me at Chateau Dumas; and Ali DeJohn, founder of the Makerie, invited me to attend the Sweet Paul Makerie. While there, I met Elsa Mora, the first person I asked to be a part of this book, and Michelle Kohanzo, who stunned me with an invitation to join her on a trip to India. At the Makerie, I also met many passionate creatives who generously shared their thoughts in response to my query “Why is making by hand important to you?” Their enthusiasm and interest in what I was planning gave me the boost I needed to go forward boldly. Soon after, I posed the same question to a larger community of makers via social media, and Lauren Chang kindly offered to help me organize and analyze the many heartfelt and moving responses I received. Despite his busy schedule, master builder Bobby Convertino said yes when I asked him to teach me how to make a bed swing for my porch, then said yes again when I wanted to rewire a chandelier. Liza Prior Lucy gave me my first lessons in patchwork and quilting during a fun weekend at her house—and lent me years’ worth of her Selvedge magazines to pore over.

Photographer Rinne Allen at work during Camp Heavy Metal in Austin, Texas (see page 158).

Although I used to meet up with Susan Cropper many years ago at National Needlework Association conventions, we had never actually spent time together outside of a convention hall—until I contacted her to ask her for some advice about a trip to England for research. At that point, she immediately offered her help—and accommodations at her London flat.

Susan owns Loop London, which is now one of my favorite yarn shops in the world. I have included photos of Susan and Loop (opposite) because how could I not? I was so enchanted by her treasure chest of a boutique on Camden Passage in Islington that I couldn’t imagine not recording it. While in London, I also had the pleasure of meeting Polly Leonard, founder of the beautiful Selvedge, at her office and shop, where we talked about her mission to support makers and their work and to promote textile knowledge, and also about our cultures’ reckless “love of stuff.”

Photographer Rinne Allen signed on to this project early, believing in my mission before I knew exactly who, what, or where we would be photographing. We met in person for the first time on our first shoot—in Berea, Kentucky. Over the course of the next year, we spent many days and nights traveling together, getting to know each other and learning how to collaborate effectively. Her elegant, sensitive photographs are integral to this book, and I am forever grateful to her for her commitment to excellence and for her patience during the long process.

I must also thank Laurence Mouton and Tiina Tahvanainen, who took the photographs at Chateau Dumas and on Åland, respectively.

Traveling so extensively meant sleeping in a lot of different beds—in homes, hotels, and Airbnbs. I must thank Jenny Hallengren, who put me up in Stockholm in the days before I set sail for Åland; my brother, Jeff Falick, and sister-in-law, Gina Telcocci, who put Rinne and me up in Oakland; Mary Jane Mucklestone and Susan Osberg and Winston Roeth, who welcomed me into their homes in Maine; Martha Hopkins and John Fulmer, who lent me a room (and a car!) in Austin; and Heather Ross, who invited me to escape with her to beautiful Merriewold to write.

I also wrote at the Penland School of Craft during their winter residency. Surrounded by makers in the books studio, I found a new way to approach the inevitable lulls in ideas and energy that my process involves. Whenever I felt tired or stuck, I would switch to either papercutting or painting (borrowing supplies from my generous studio mates—paper-cutter Annie Howe and multimedia artist Jon Verney), letting my mind rest and my hand follow whatever path the blade or paintbrush led me down. By allowing my creativity to flow freely and wordlessly, without any expectations of a particular result, I was able to play and, in turn, refresh myself. The discovery of this creative portal continues to serve me to this day, as does my (admittedly on-again, off-again but still meaningful and helpful) meditation practice. While writing this book, I regularly turned to Oprah Winfrey and Deepak Chopra’s guided meditation series as well as to Giovanni Dienstmann’s clear, powerful writings on meditation and peace of mind on LiveandDare.com.

My first two books, Knitting in America and Kids Knitting, were published by Artisan in 1996 and 1998, respectively, and I am pleased to be back to my first home as an author.

Selvedge magazine founder Polly Leonard and me sharing our enthusiasm for textiles in her London office.

Although Artisan has grown and changed a lot over these many years, it maintains the commitment to quality that drew me there in the first place. Publisher Lia Ronnen made me feel comfortable and valued. Editor Bridget Monroe Itkin was patient, supportive, and wise throughout all the ups and downs, decisions, researching, picture-puzzling, and wordsmithing that making a book entails. After being an editor myself for so many years, it felt good to be on the other side of the equation and in such competent hands. I was lucky enough to work with the extraordinary creative director Michelle Ishay-Cohen at another publishing house, and I was thrilled to be on a mission together again at Artisan. Graphic designer Nina Simoneaux immediately connected with the subject matter, developing, with Michelle, an elegant design language to frame the words and images and then, with great care, composing what you see on each and every page. Michelle and Nina also worked with lettering artist June Park, who found a poetic way to communicate the themes of each chapter with simple pencil strokes. Production editor Sibylle Kazeroid and her team worked with impressive rigor and precision. Production director Nancy Murray and the publicity and marketing team led by Allison McGeehon took great care every step of the way, reassuring me that the attention to detail that is so important to me and that is sometimes sacrificed in these fast-paced times lives on at Artisan.

This book is dedicated to my family because they have always believed in me and supported me, even when I have chosen uncertain and unconventional paths. While I was growing up, my father, Howard Falick, made a living teaching architecture and engineering but loved working with his hands and made doing so a priority, seemingly gifted at everything he set his mind to: drawing, painting, landscaping, gardening, sculpture, ceramics. He was also a great appreciator of the handwork of others and always encouraged my brother and me to respect fine workmanship and aesthetics. My mother, Diana Falick, sewed many of my clothes when I was very young and also altered clothing for others in our community to make extra money until she established her career as first a high school history and psychology teacher and then a psychotherapist. Since then, she has joined me in many handmaking adventures, from sewing to knitting to shoemaking, and has become a devoted oil painter. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for raising me to understand the value and pleasure of making by hand and also for encouraging me to be curious.

In a way, I started writing Making a Life for my son, Ben Whipple, who for years kept asking me when I was going to write another book. Here you go, Ben. Thank you for believing in my potential with the same kind of intensity with which I believe in yours.

Finally, I must thank my husband, Chris Whipple, who has supported my wanderlust and independence for the last three decades—and counting. Je t’aime.