GG Walsh

Aoife Walsh knits the heavy cabled sweaters her grandmother knitted, in wool that still smells faintly of the sheep, and a single one takes her most of a month. She plays with the work in her lap. The needles go the whole way through a match, put down only to move and picked straight back up, and anybody who has played her on a video call reports the sound as the most unsettling part of the experience. She is not being rude. It is simply that sitting with empty hands has never once felt to her like a reasonable way to spend an evening. Her granddaughter has asked her to stop knitting on camera and been told, gently, that the alternative is not playing.