I have been trying to think of a way to describe what I call 'stream of consciousness' knitting.

I first used the term to describe the way I was knitting the abstract uterus which eventually became one of the soft sculptures in 'All the babies I might have had':

Knitted uterus, 2011, wool

Work in progress

The knitted web was 165cm in diameter at it's widest point

Knitted uterus, 2011, detail

I used double pointed needles and knitted a series of holes radiating out from the central point. Knitting with only one colour emphasised the process and made me very aware of what I was doing; I had no pattern, a few rules, made decisions as I knitted and the design developed as the piece grew. The structure mirrored the process and was organic, cellular, reminding me of binary fission.

Knitted uterus, 2011, wool

The knitting was 165cm in diameter at it's widest point before felting.

Another important aspect of the 'stream of consciousness' for me is where I knit.

Because I like to create large pieces, I knit wherever and whenever I can; in pubs and cafes, in queues, on the beach, on buses and trains, at festivals and concerts and even on the ski slope! The response to my public knitting is astonishing and provokes many conversations.

The fact that this particular piece is web like in structure is pertinent. I have researched the work of other artists and ideas around the memory of cloth and I like to think of my knitting as a ‘memory catcher’, with those encounters and conversations somehow becoming part of its fabric. Knitting a uterus in public as a response to issues around infertility is inevitably very poignant.

I am also interested in the links with women in mythology and textile processes -The Fates spinning the thread of life, Penelope weaving by day and unravelling by night etc- and the power that those processes bring.

All the babies I might have had, June 2011, detail

Diptych of 2 soft sculptures

Hand knitted, felted abstract uterus suspended in front of a canvas pregnant torso

I realise in retrospect that I have knitted as a stream of consciousness for many years. Knitting is very repetitive, stitch by stitch and row by row, and without the constraints of a pattern I find that I very quickly become absorbed in the flow of the piece. I have just this week discovered Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi and his studies of happiness and creativity and feel that what he describes as flow resonates strongly with my 'stream of consciousness' knitting.