Just yesterday, for instance, I walked into a little studio in Rustico and politely asked whether the “hooker was home.” (A gentleman had greeted me.) Almost midquestion I realized what I was asking, but completed it anyway and then clarified, with a smile, “the rug hooker.”
He turned out to be one of the rug hookers, so I was guilty of gender profiling too. Sigh.
I had forgotten how much I love certain primitive hooked rugs—and how much I want to make some.
I’m particular: I don’t like anything kountry or cute or touristy or self-consciously arty. Like, if someone hooked this photograph, I wouldn’t want it (wrong medium; I do think the large photo is fabulous).
But I do very much like maritime scenes, if they’re done intelligently.
My favorite maritime rug-hooking artist is Deanne Fitzpatrick, who fashions the most wonderful skies. They remind me of fabric (the paisleys) or knits (Kaffe Fassett’s) or Van Gogh’s starry nights.
And I love how the houses dance, as if their pointy rooftops can’t resist swaying in the ocean wind.