The Importance of Colour
A Month of Colour: Week 1

Colour is often the first thing we notice.

Before we think too much about fibre, gauge, pattern or project, we usually respond to colour. A skein catches our eye because of the way the shades shift or a design draws us in because of the colour used in the sample. Colour has a way of grabbing our attention.

It can make a project feel soft, joyful, dramatic, calm, nostalgic, fresh or completely new. It can turn a simple sweater into something we reach for constantly, or make a familiar shawl pattern feel entirely different from the last time we knitted it.

Sometimes we choose colour very deliberately. We think about what we wear often, or what will compliment our wardrobe. Other times, colour is more instinctive. We are drawn to a shade without quite knowing why. A soft grey that reminds us of winter or a warm pink that feels gentle and familiar.

Colour and feeling

One of the lovely things about knitting is that colour stays with us for a long time. We do not just choose it once and move on. We spend hours with it in our hands. We watch it move across the needles, row by row. We see how it changes in different light, how it gathers texture, how it shifts as the fabric grows. Because of this, colour can shape the whole experience of making.

A soft tonal yarn can make a simple project feel calm and meditative. A bright colour can bring energy to a small accessory. A deep, moody shade can make even plain stockinette stitch feel rich and atmospheric.

The same pattern can feel completely different depending on the colour chosen. A cardigan knitted in pale oatmeal will have a very different feeling from the same cardigan worked in deep forest green, warm rust or soft rose. None is more correct than the other. they simply tell a different story.

This is part of what makes colour so powerful. It does not just decorate a project. It changes the mood of it.

The colours we notice

The colours we are drawn to often come from the world around us.

They might come from the landscape, the season, a favourite piece of clothing, a painting, a flower, a room, a memory, or the light at a certain time of day. We might not always notice the connection straight away, but colour often has roots in what we love to look at.

Some people return again and again to soft, muted shades. Others love clear brights, deep earthy tones, delicate pastels, or dark atmospheric colours. Some knitters have a very defined palette; others choose according to mood, season or project.  Colour is very personal in this way.  There is no single right way to choose colour.  What matters is learning to notice what draws you in.

Which colours do you keep saving, buying, wearing or photographing? Which shades feel easy to imagine in your everyday life? Which ones make you feel excited to cast on? Which ones feel beautiful in the skein, but less like something you would actually use?

That kind of noticing can be very helpful. Over time, it gives you a clearer sense of your own colour language.

Colour as a starting point

Sometimes we begin with a pattern and then choose the yarn.  But often, we begin with colour. A skein sits in the stash because we loved it before we knew what it would become. There is something very creative about starting this way.  Instead of asking only, "What do I want to make?" we might ask, "What does this colour want to become?"

A soft, subtle colour might lend itself beautifully to a textured sweater or simple shawl. A speckled or variegated yarn might shine in a plain stitch pattern. A rich semi-solid shade might bring depth to cables, lace or ribbing. A group of colours might suggest stripes, colourwork, a fade, or a playful contrast edging.

Colour can be the first clue. It can help us imagine the feeling of the finished piece before all the details are decided.

Choosing colour with intention

Although colour is emotional and instinctive, it can also be chosen with care.

A little intention can help us choose colours that feel beautiful not only in the skein, but in the finished project. It can be useful to think about the kind of mood we want the project to have.

Do we want something soft and restful? Something bright and cheerful? Something rich and dramatic? Something subtle and easy to wear? Something playful? Something grounding?

It can also help to think about contrast, especially for colourwork, stripes or multi-colour projects. Colours that look beautiful side by side in the skein may behave differently once knitted together. Some combinations create a soft, blended effect. Others create crisp definition. Both can be lovely, but they give very different results. This is where colour becomes both feeling and decision-making. We might begin with instinct, then gently refine the choice by thinking about the project itself.

Returning to colour

Over time, many of us begin to recognise the colours we return to.

There may be shades that appear again and again in our knitting. Colours that feel like home. Colours that suit the way we dress, the climate we live in, or the kinds of projects we love to make.

There may also be colours we admire from a distance. Colours we love in a photograph or on someone else, but rarely choose for ourselves. That can be useful to notice, too.

Colour does not have to be fixed. Our tastes shift with seasons, life, mood and experience. A colour we once avoided might suddenly feel exactly right. A palette we used to love might slowly give way to something softer, deeper, brighter or more restrained. That is part of the pleasure of making.

Every project gives us another chance to explore what colour can do.

A month of colour

This June on the Journal, we'll be spending the month with colour.

We'll be looking at how colour changes the feeling of a project, how to build palettes for multi-colour knitting, and why certain shades keep drawing us back. We'll explore colour in a way that is practical, thoughtful and inspiring, not as a set of strict rules, but as a way of noticing more clearly what we love.

Because colour is often where a project begins.  

A single shade. A small spark of possibility. The feeling that this yarn, in this colour, could become something special.