Sunday, January 28, 2018

The Passing of the Blog

Did you see this weekend's article in The Washington Post, "How the Mom Internet became a sponsored, spotless void"? The article's focus is on how "gritty blogs have given way to staged Instagram photos". The author, Sarah Pulliam Bailey, is writing about parenting blogs, but she could have been writing about knitting blogs, or maybe blogs in general, because the trend is obvious. You may have noticed that my own blogging has been dwindling in frequency. Good blogs are more than just collections of photos. They are mini-essays. Essay writing takes time and effort, which could be spent on doing the actual thing one is blogging about in the first place. Kate Davies is a good example of a knit designer who blogs less now that she is running a wildly successful knitting design and yarn business. While I always enjoy her thoughtful and well-researched posts, I have to admit that I derived more pleasure from her earlier, seemingly more spontaneous style. I still look forward to the Yarn Harlot's thoughts on knitting and life, but even she posts at most once a week and frequently less nowadays (admittedly she has sustained a stressful year). And it should be noted that the Harlot is a perfect example of a blogger who very successfully walks the difficult line between her public and private life.
Today, some of the most successful blogs have a completely different character from blogs of five years ago. Take Karen Templer's Fringe Association, which is published early in the morning every weekday. It's an example of the new, "influencer" style of blogging, full of highly "curated" (such an overused word!) photos and links to other websites on the subjects of knitting and handmade, sustainable clothing. Make no mistake; I find Fringe Association an incredibly useful resource. It keeps me up to date with all the latest trends. But blogs like it, albeit useful and beautiful, have a certain sanitized feel. They don't offer up the little slice of real life that was present in earlier blog writing. That personal connection to the writer was what brought me to blog reading in the first place. As to why I started writing my own blog, it was more or less required by the first magazine publisher interested in my work.
So, where is my own blog headed? It's hanging around, although I've definitely jumped on the Instagram bandwagon. Instagram is so simple. Just pick up your phone, click a photo, post it, and almost instantly you have customers looking up your Ravelry shop. Social media are constantly changing the marketplace. Ten years ago, the way to get noticed was to publish with an online magazine. Then, Ravelry became the way to go (and it still is a critical marketing tool). But now it's Instagram's moment in the sun. Who knows what's next.
In the meantime, expect to continue to see less frequent blog posts here. I plan to reserve the blog for important announcements, detailed explanations of technique, and anything else that I think needs putting into words, as opposed to pictures. Not that I don't love good blog photos. Here are a few from the past month.

Bellevue House, down the street from my place.

Close-up of the "tower" at Bellevue House.

The Tett Centre (left) and the Isabel Bader Centre for the Performing Arts (right) with ice fog on Lake Ontario.

Launching into a new design, with inspiration from snips in my notebook from "Egg Clothing".

Pale hues intended for a couple of new cowls.
So, even if you don't see a lot of blog action, there's a lot going on. Click on the link in the sidebar to my Instagram account to stay abreast of developments. How many weeks (months) to spring?
P.S. I am frequently asked about Facebook. FYI, I do not have a Facebook account. Maybe I'm the only person left on the planet without one, but there you are.
Postscript (Nov. 26, 2018): With the purchase of Instagram by Facebook, followed by the departure of Instagram's founders and all the news about Facebook's ethical/moral transgressions, I decided this past weekend to delete my Instagram account. It means I will be a little less connected with the world, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. Knitting, designing, and life will still proceed...