Well in my world,
​it depends...

On what?
-- accuracy of my eye
--length of the warp
--current level of focus
--relative stretchiness of the weft
--attachment to selvedge straightness
​--mood of the moment
(in other words: does Sarah give a shit today?)

Generally I do.
Give a shit, that is.
Unless my selvedges are to be deliberately wonky
I like them to be as straight as I can get them
without making myself crazy.
(clearly a personal thing).
And like even spacing
and adjustable tension,
guide strings provide
a kind of invisible support
that makes this easier,
leaving me free
to sink into that amazing zone
that shape-building with yarn
​invariable demands.

Tapestry weaver or not
you're probably familiar with this state:
well trained hands working on autopilot 
active brain engaged in minute decision making.
It is a particular kind of bliss
that is most accessible for me
when other parts of the business
do not require regular attention.
​
My zone, in other words
​ is not a place for multi-tasking.

Say, for instance
a gal is writing a blog post
while scouring linen--
typing away-- 
focused on the words--
assuming
 she is fully aware
of the simmering pot--
except clearly not
because the flax
is now boiling over.
EEEEK!

Ok. All better.

ANYWAY,
​ when I'm thinking thoughts like this:

"If I use three warps to weave the r,
it will probably touch the i --
unless I move the i one warp to the right,
but then it will them bump into the stem
of the n --unless that is a little taller..."

I also don't necessarily have the wherewithal
to notice that the side is drawing in.
Guide strings help me to notice
​without really paying attention.

In the photo below, then,
can you see how that the gap
between selvedge and string
begins to grow larger
right below the word "min?"

It's not much in the great scheme of things --
a matter of about 1/16 of an inch or so--
but it IS visible, and if not caught
could easily have kept going.

Check out the ruler below:
in the middle of the photo
the selvedge edge is directly on,
or slightly to the left
of the 1/4 inch vertical red line.
At the top and bottom
the selvedge edge
is slightly to the right of that line.

It is a subtle thing to be sure,
hard to see when looking at the entire tapestry,
yet if you watch the string 
as you move down the photo below
you might see the selvedge
​dip to the left
and then go back out to the right
as you scroll by.

That little dip
(at least in my world),
was not enough to warrant unweaving,
but it was also not to be ignored,
and I was able to fix the problem
(slowly, over inches),
by making sure a little more weft
went into each bobbin pass.
Without the guide strings,
I might not have noticed
until the gap was wider,
and that would have bugged me
for a long time.

When I first heard about guide strings
(it may have been Archie Brennan who brought them up)
I recall feeling a little shocked--
maybe even dismissive--
"I should be able to keep my selvedges straight
without that sort of thing."
And on a tiny tapestry, 
I pretty much can
so I don't usually use them
on anything smaller than 5" tall.

The rest of the time though,
like practicing my concertina with a metronome,
guide strings provide the kind of invisible support
that make the ultimate work,
(tune or tapestry),
so much more satisfying.

ps . Linsey-Woolsey Tapestry Specs:
 warp -- Linen from Gist yarn and Fiber
sett: 9 epi
warping technique: Fringeless: four selvedge
 galvanized pipe loom (1/2")
weft--hand spun flax (strick from Taproot Fibre)*
--hand spun wool (spindle)
--indigo

*Just noticed when setting up the flax link that Taproot Fibre
is selling linsey-woolsey blends for spinning.
  Haven't tried them so have no idea what it'd be like,
but if you give them a try, do let me know.
Yet another approach to the combination of these fibers.

Last winter I wrote an article
for the Autumn issue of Ply Magazine

And now,
it is out in the world --
Hurrah!
​
As often happens,
while writing words,
I was also pursuing
(or following -- never quite sure),
an elusive idea
​that was ever dancing
just out of reach.

Reader of this blog that you are,
there is a good chance
that now, months later,
you will put two and two together,
and give the name linsey-woolsey
to the un-namable and mysterious idea 
 flitting ahead back then.
But of course the path winds ever on
(to paraphrase Bilbo),
and on the heels of my
post-article June and July
Linsey-woolsey weaving
and an August experiment 
with striped L-W yardage pictured above,
a Four Selvedge Linsey Woolsey tapestry
has begun growing on my loom.

(note: the utterly heavenly shuttle in the photo above
is from Bluster Bay Woodworks,
I found it at Blue Flag HandWeaving  in Sandpoint Idaho --
sometimes a tool is so utterly pleasurable
that it's impossible not to share...) 

Luckily,
just as I began to think
(as I often do)
that all these ideas
and permutations of ideas
were JUST TOO MUCH
I found
upon opening my copy of Ply
 an article  by the magnificent Judith MacKenzie
on the astonishing William Morris.
(yes, adjectives galore -- and well deserved, both).

There is so much to remark upon
about the wonders of William Morris
that I'm glad I don't have to
as Judith already wrote about him,
so I will confine myself 
to a couple of long sentences, 
about how his open-minded curiosity
and willingness to try just about anything that caught his interest
(often as not teaching himself seemingly archaic skills
as the rest of the Victorian world
went zooming forward on its capitalist,
industrial and mechanized way),
never ceases to thrill and inspire me.
Embroidery, natural dyeing, worker's rights,
block printing, fiction writing, architecture,
stained glass, font design,
socialism, fabric design, book printing,
hand woven tapestry,
the Icelandic language (so he could read the sagas
and then travel there)--
well I'm already breathless--
and there is still more--
but I'll let you find that out for yourself
(assuming you're not already a fan),
while I end this sentence
by saying  that somehow,
when my own curiosity
and the siren song of an idea just ahead 
seem JUST TOO MUCH 
(for heaven's sake Sarah, 
milkweed? A woven recipe? shirts? Comics?),
I think of Morris, 
who, I believe, would have no problem 
with any of it--
and certainly not the combination
of fiction, tapestry, hand spinning and natural dyes,
as happened the Rough Copy series I wove a few years go.

I bring these tapestries up right now
in this breathless and wordy way
 because of William Morris,
because I am once again weaving words,
and also because three of the 13 tapestries in the series:

Numbers  4, 5 and 12 pictured here,

will be in Aptos California
at The Cabrillo College Art Gallery
from 30 September through 25 October 2019,
and I wanted you to know
so that if you're in the area,
(and in the mood),
you could pay them a visit.

 I'll not be able to get there myself,
and the tapestries themselves
tend to be annoyingly close-mouthed
(or perhaps merely bashful)
 when they return from such outings,
(unless someone buys them
in which case I never ever know),
so I rely on the kindness of others
​to hear how it went.

In the meantime,
 it is time for me
to slow down this verbosity
and weave the word
Salt.

​It'll take all afternoon.

It is always amazing to me
how sometimes the simplest shift in technique
can change my whole feeling about a process.
Weaving in the ends in tapestry was like that.
Also, using a plying stick.
And one of the coolest things I learned in August
was  a new way to wind the cop
on a cross-armed spindle.

When I got my first cross-arm 
(a 9 gram Jenkins kuchulu) 
I learned what seems to be the canonical
over two under one, around and around
method of winding on (see photo above).
 It worked beautifully (once I got the hang of it),
and with it I have filled uncountable spindles.
The idea of (or need for), a different approach
 never crossed my mind.

Then in early August on a random Instagram Post
I glimpsed something rather different.
A woman was winding her cop
as though winding a ball by hand:
 a few times around one pair of arms,
 then on to the next pair, around a few times,
and on again to the next. 

No biggie, really,
and yet, for me, huge.

The cop looks quite different 
as it builds up around the shaft:
more of a square with the sides pushed in
than the neat little muffin I was used to.

It's not, however, the look of the thing
that matters to me,
but rather that this way of winding 
somehow adds a layer of comfortable ease
to the whole business of spinning flax
and I now find myself picking up
​ my willow distaff,
almost as readily as wrist distaffs
loaded with wool.

And that is a fine thing.

A fine thing indeed,
 since a truckload of milkweed stems
(potential compost from a native seed farm)
showed up at my house last week.
Once I get a better handle
on how to release the silky white fibers
hiding in that pile of stalks,
there is a good chance
that even more bast fiber spinning practice
is in my future.

But that is a story for another day.

Today, I just want to close
by saying thank you
for the lovely comments last week.
Your kind  words and good wishes 
mean more than I can say.
Spin on!

and also giving time
to the the myriad tempting ideas
that had been tickling my brain.
Luckily, many of those ideas
​had to do with spinning,
(which allows me to read at the same time),
except when I'm spinning flax,
(which means putting down my book),
or learning new tunes,
(which--usually--means 
putting down the spindle),
or sitting quietly in the shade
listening to the birds
with a cup of tea
(which means neither book nor spindle
​but maybe some knitting).
I had hoped to do some sewing
but then I'd have to put down EVERYTHING else!

Looking back at my daily drawings
I can see that holding my shoes 
while running barefoot,
is probably the only way
I managed to avoid the temptation 
of attempting to spin and run
at the same time.

And that it was likewise important
that the juice of the yellow plums
from our tree in the hell strip
is so sweet and sticky
that yarn, concertina,
and the current novel
could not be in the kitchen
while said fruit was prepared
for winter consumption.

Secateurs, too, 
are not yarn friendly--
though the now dry weld
will someday transform
unknown skeins
into spectacular yellows
(or greens with the help of indigo and/or iron).

On the other hand,
if she's sufficiently half-assed
while cleaning the house for visitors,

a gal can sometimes
carve out a moment 
or two
of elemental pleasure. 

​Dust? Whatever.
Water, coffee, salad, spindle and a book
at the same time?
Yes, indeed.

It will surprise none of you--
certainly not long time readers of this blog--
or anyone who has read
the post before this one--
or has happened to click 
on the word Handspinning
in the sidebar to the right--

that given a chance to make yarn
(as slowly as I possibly can),
​​or to make something with that yarn,

So yes --
though I did not get around
to making myself
a new pair of pants*
from those finally-too-worn-to-mend
sides-to-middled linen sheets, 
or learn all the tunes I dreamed of,
it  has been an exquisite
and deliciously yarn-centric August,
 at home on the Palouse.

I'm so glad
I didn't need
​or want
to be 
anywhere else. 

​
*And anyway,
I have plenty of Sarah-Dippity skirts to wear.
Many of this month's comics
indicate that  I wore the short wool ones
as often as the long one I made just for summer!

I plan/hope to wax verbose
in future posts
about the specifics 
of my August explorations
(not least, what feels like an improvement
in my flax spinning),
so stay tuned.

Due to unforeseen vagaries of life, however, 
I may not, for a time
be able to blog quite as consistently
​as I have in the past.
I'll still aim for every Tuesday,
but if  I don't make it
know that I'm probably making yarn,
drawing pictures of whatever is going on,
and will be back to tell you about it.

ps -- Remember, too,
that you can visit the archives
​(links on the right)
if you need more glimpses
​into this yarnish life
because really,
though every inch of yarn feels fresh,
I keep coming back
to the same old elemental bliss.