I am known as a radical knitter. Knitting is a process stereotypically linked to women and the domestic, although much of my work is produced using industrial machinery, which is usually associated with men and masculine labor. Whichever process I choose, the work that I produce always comes off the needles the same way: soft. I am researching, and writing, about softness while simultaneously hand knitting with the softest yarns that I can buy. These are both natural (silk, wool, mohair, cashmere, and alpaca) and man-made (nylon, acrylic, and polyester), plus mixes of the two. The research is underpinned by my ongoing questioning of notions of “normality” and by an embracing of the non-binary: the subtleties and differences that lie between two defined points. I write as I knit, with ideas linking together like stitches on a needle that grow to become a single work. But I am a much more experienced and skillful knitter than I am a writer. Speaking to an artist friend about my struggles to write about knitting, he asked, “Why don’t you knit it?” All of the ideas contained within this written text are also embodied within my textile work, but many people in Western society don’t know how to “read” material objects. As a society we have long privileged sight over all other senses, and generally we value and trust the written word above all else.