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Quote by Alain Mabanckou

“Des mots tordus, des mots décousus, des mots sans queue ni tête, j’écrirais comme les mots me viendraient, je commencerais maladroitement et je finirais maladroitement comme j’avais commencé, je m’en foutrais de la raison pure, de la méthode, de la phonétique, de la prose (...), ça serait alors l’écriture ou la vie. [Verre Cassé, p. 198]”

Quote by Alain Mabanckou

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Alain Mabanckou

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“Je lui ai dit que je laissais l’écriture à ceux qui chantent la joie de vivre, à ceux qui luttent, rêvent sans cesse à l’extension du domaine de la lutte, à ceux qui fabriquent des cérémonies pour danser la polka, à ceux qui peuvent étonner les dieux, à ceux qui pataugent dans la disgrâce, à ceux qui vont avec assurance vers l’âge d’homme, à ceux qui inventent un rêve utile, à ceux qui chantent le pays sans ombre, à ceux qui vivent en transit dans un coin de la terre, à ceux qui regardent le monde à travers une lucarne, à ceux qui, comme mon défunt père, écoutent du jazz en buvant du vin de palme, à ceux qui savent décrire un été africain. [Verre Cassé]”

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Author:Alain Mabanckou
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“A big stash allows me to have a fluid sense of creativity - a looseness that is very much like playing. It opens me up, unlocks things. The creative bit takes all the other pieces - the possibility, the abundance, the connections, and the actual work of making yarn - bundles them, and explodes like a glitter bomb. It gets everywhere, it makes me smile, and a I can't escape it. My stash is the spark. Even if I haven't spun for days or weeks, even when I'm feeling dull-witted or anti-craft, I still spend time with my stash. It pulls on doors that have been locked, slides under the crack and clicks them open from the inside. After an hour tossing my fibers around, I am revitalized for making yarn, yes, but for things well beyond that, too. My sash fees like an extension of me that I sometimes forget about: the part that plays, that connects things that don't seem to go, that experiments and makes things.”

CreativityCraftsFiberKnittingCrochetStash
Book:A Stash of One's Own: Knitters on Loving, Living with, and Letting Go of Yarn
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“He still had his tie on, a knitted tie with a flat bottom. It looked crocheted; it looked like a doily. Our biology master wore ties like that but George was the only boy you'd catch dead in one. He was both the oldest and youngest of us, the most fuddy-duddy and innocent, and I could see that his innocence extended to this question of sardonic intent. His poem, alas, was perfectly serious.”

Private SchoolMixed RaceCrochetAmerican ExperienceVintage Fashion
Book:Old School
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