Elizabeth (Liz) Maltby
Biography Expect the Unexpected was the motto for my crochet work, which has been featured in Women’s Wear Daily, Family Circle, and Woman’s Day magazines. A touch of whimsy was the key element in my designs.
I learned to crochet as a child — a little hat. My mother knit, but knitting was too slow for me. She didn’t know how to crochet, so she found someone to teach me. Mom was a stay-at-home person, and my father was a pharmacist with a drugstore in Fall River and another in New Bedford with a small hearing clinic. Pharmacies then were mixing things with mortar and pestle. It wasn’t entertaining to go to his store; there was no soda fountain. The most fun things in the store were stars-and-stripes Band-Aids. But it was nice. We had a nice life.
When I was in college, back in the 60s, my roommate and I crocheted hats for almost everybody in the dorm who wanted a hat. We made them out of Aunt Lydia’s Rug Yarn and sold them for five dollars. I graduated from the College (now University) of Mount Saint Vincent with a BA in Fine Arts, and was a visiting student for advanced Art History at NYU, with more grad work at Hunter College. My first job was at the Metropolitan Museum. I realized that working at the MET would mean I had to go to school for the rest of my life. I thought, “I’ve got to get out of here. It’s boring. I’m not going to make much money, and I’m done with school.” I hadn’t crocheted for years until it became popular again in the late 1970s, when I started up again. I was out of work, took a risk, and went to Family Circle. I saw Nora O’Leary. She was intrigued with the piece I’d brought her and said, “I’d like to feature that.” I thought, “Oh, wow, I can do this.” I had a good relationship with her.
She would say, “Bring me whatever you’re working on. Or she would give me yarns that were promotional gifts from wholesalers and say, “Come up with something,” which would be mostly hats and scarves and accessories. I was in Family Circle pretty much every month, and it was fun.
Flossie, a friend of mine, who sold her Lap Naps (oversized napkins) to Bendel’s said, “Oh, Liz, why don’t you go see them? Every Friday, they have an open call. See if you can get something in there.” So, I made this little kids’ sweater with a little pocket with a Teddy Bear in it.
Hover cursor over sweater to see enlargement of the crochet work.
Hover cursor images to enlarge.
Well, they bought it, and then there were recurring orders — it became a staple item at Bendel’s, always a solid color with colored piping. She’d say, “Do some yellow with green. Do some blue with orange.” I had a steady business with that little sweater. Then I got on this kick to take my work to other stores. There was Bergdorf Goodman. I sold to Bonwits, Barneys, and Bloomingdales — basically all the “B” stores. I contacted a friend of mine from Island Park, who I grew up with, who I knew was a great crocheter. She was a stay-at-home kind of mom, so I said, “Cathy, do you want to make some sweaters for me?”
I would send her cones of yarn, and she would make the sweaters. It was a small business, but not what you could live on. Nora O’Leary sent me yarn from Conshohocken Cotton Company in Conshohocken, Pennsylvania. They were trying to promote their yarn, so I also made these little face cloths, wash mitts, and other accessories.
It was a fun time. Then I had to get to work and make some real money.
I knew somebody in New York’s Garment Center whom I asked, “You got a job?” That person was from Rhode Island, Max Grossman, who owned Lebanon Knitting Mills in Pawtucket.
Max ran the New York office; Stanley ran the mill. They made double knit fabrics when double knit was popular. Since I was from Rhode Island, Max and I had a bond. He said, “Come on over. Meet my designers, see what’s what.” I worked there as a designer under the department head and stayed in textiles for a number of years. My father said, “Did we really need to send you to college? With all the mills there are in Fall River and Providence, why did you have to go to New York? We spent all that money when you end up in the rag trade anyway.”
I saw an ad for a hosiery company looking for a sock designer. I said, “Oh, I can do this.” By this time, I had worked for WestPoint Pepperell in knitting. I knew how to graph, and I knew the technological things. They didn’t have people who knew how to do graphing. So, I got into Highpoint Knitting, which made everything overseas, not in North Carolina. Within three weeks, the head designer left, and I was immediately promoted.
So, when I sent the charts over to Taipei, the factory people were like, “Oh, my God. We don’t have to do this [the graphing],” because I was doing it. They just sent me the specs for the machines. I became an expert graph person. I didn’t crochet too much after that. That was my career — my successful career where I made money and traveled to Asia on their dime. I loved the hosiery business, but now it’s not so interesting. Computers do everything.
1970, Elizabeth Ouellette (Liz Maltby)
I had gone to college in New York, as I said. Tom graduated from St. Lawrence, upstate. He came down to the city to work in the advertising business, we met, and it was, like, we never went home again, although it was a long time before we were married. Eventually, after many years in Manhattan and the Adirondacks, Tom and I moved to Providence. I pretty much hadn’t picked up a paintbrush or pencil since I left college in 1970. When we moved here, I resurrected my drawings from college just to put something on the walls.
Upon moving to Rhode Island, I became a docent at Blithewold Manor & Gardens. After Tom died, I took up drawing classes there with Joanne Murrman and my creative juices kicked in. I was looking for even more activities and discovered the opera class at Hamilton House, which was discontinued during Covid, and a watercolor class taught by Ann Wert. There I shifted from designing into painting, and still attend her class.
I didn’t know what the hell I was doing; I still made the same mistakes I had made in college. My drawings didn’t look anything like the inspiration did. I began colored-pencil drawing, then watercolor at Hamilton House, again with Ann Wert. Now I love it. I don’t know what I’d do without that class.
I also keep a studio on West Fountain Street. It’s a very small room where I store all of my creative inspirations, and it’s where I do my sculptures — my “assemblages.”
The assemblages started as a way to use up a lot of stuff of my mother’s and grandmother’s that nobody had any need for. One thing led to another so that now I go to Savers, or collect objects from the street or anywhere else.
This is the first piece I did. It began as a vase that broke. I filled in the missing pieces with objects from my travels in Asia and the Philippines, things I had no use for. I used to collect dolls, and these [points at assemblage] were some Thai women, dolls with baskets of fruit on their heads. That’s where the fruit came from. When I’m cleaning at home and come across stuff I don’t need anymore, it comes over here to my studio.
My brother sometimes asks me, “What do you want for Christmas?” And I say, “Glue. Tape,” which he finds bizarre. Nevertheless, for Christmas, I got a brand-new glue gun, much sturdier than the one I had, with a bunch of glue sticks. I do the assemblages here because it’s a messy process. It’s a nice space to work that’s nearby, and it lets me do my artistic whatever without messing up my apartment.
The assemblages, you might say, are exuberant. Or unexpected, even for me. They kind of just happen. But I can remember where all the elements come from. One candlestick, for instance, has a watch on it that I received from an aunt at Christmas. I really do like the watch, but it doesn’t work anymore and can’t be fixed. Thusly, it became part of an assemblage. I never know what I’ll be doing. I’ll kind of look around and say, “That might work.” And once it’s done, it’s done. There’s no going back.
That brightly colored piece is my ode to Memphis Style.
Have you heard of the art movement Memphis Style? It was very popular in the 80s. There was a big exhibit at the Cooper Hewitt Museum in New York. In my hosiery career, we even did a whole line of Memphis-influenced socks. If you look at this really closely, you’ll see it’s made entirely of food containers from the supermarket.
Assemblage photographs by Liz Maltby
Very few people have seen this stuff. I would sell them, but I don’t put myself out there, and that’s the only way you’re going to sell anything. I’ve given a few things away, but they are mostly all here. If somebody really likes something, “It’s yours. Keep it.” I’m at this stage of my life to enjoy myself, express myself, and pass the time.
This interview was recorded and edited by John Harkey
I first became aware of The Village Common of Rhode Island through my neighbors at Regency Plaza who apprised me of all the benefits that joining Providence Village could bring me. I have been driven to and from the train station many times. Volunteers from the Tech Team have been very helpful with my computer issues. Excursions to the Craft Museum, New Bedford’s Whaling Museum, and the Essex Peabody in Salem were most enjoyable, so I hope there are more of these trips. I look forward every month to lunch at the Providence Art Club. The all-member summer party on Narragansett Bay unfailingly falls on a perfect summer day. I am very grateful to our volunteers who provide a positive and very enjoyable experience!
Liz Maltby