You know how sometimes
the path ahead
is clear and straight --
and then suddenly
 you find yourself
bare of foot
and knee deep
in snow-- 
 or wildflowers?

Happens pretty regularly for me, actually --
in life, in days, in projects.
Indeed what, really, is a plan?

This linsey woolsey cloth,
for instance,
was definitely destined
​to be another shirt.

And that red roll of cloth--
I was absolutely going to stitch it
to the yellow swathe.

As for this
 four selvedge tapestry--
had it ever  thought of itself
as anything but an independent entity--
much less considered that it would insist upon
being part of a blanket?

And what is with
​the pieced blanket thing anyway?

Linsey-woolsey,
​woolsey-woolsey
woolsey-tapestry
(and even a bit of silky-woolsey),
can't possibly all fit--

much less flow--
or glow--
as one.

Or ---can they?

Well, why not?

As already demonstrated
I'm pretty terrible
at predicting the outcome of things--

To which end
here at the end
and before I become further distracted
by light shining through plain weave
or make the mistake
of attempting to sum up this weirdest of years
​(which, of course, is still a month and a half from being over),
I'm going to close with a list
of things I don't want to forget to mention today: 


1. Fringeless,
the online Four Selvage Tapestry Class
I teach with Rebecca Mezoff ,
is 25% off, now through Fyber Monday (30 November)
with the code  FyberFringe 
(because it is WAY easier to for a tapestry
to be an integral parts of your blanket 
when there are no hems to worry about--
​just saying!)

2. Rebecca's List of  Fantastic new Tapestry Books
is on her blog and totally worth checking out.
Her reviews (linked in the post)
are thorough and compelling--
but then that is true of everything she does.
And---multiple tapestry books?  I mean!

3. A couple of new Natural Dye Resources
have come to my attention
(and I'm sure there are many more):
--Journeys in Natural Dying--
(color without leaving home)
and 
The Maiwa School of Textiles free Classes
(to be followed on 1 December with winter workshop offerings)


4. I'm totally in love with The Tatter Textile Library ,
an intersectional textile portal of goodness,
(with its own line up of compelling classes
and skilled makers),
as well as a spectacular new online journal,
TATTER,
which has engrossed me for the last few days--
each essay/maker profile/feature its own portal to a different kind of
 textile yumptiousness (if that is a word),
​ that I've  just begun to explore.

5.  As a present to myself
I've made the somewhat surprising
(and weirdly delicious) decision
 to stop blogging for the winter--
to give over this time
to other voices/ideas
and my inner Luminist. 

As you might imagine
the latter will take a little practice,
for my inner Storymaker loves to write this blog--
her hand-in-the-air compulsion
 to explain, describe and generally dominate my creative world
a driving force in much of what I do.

Nonetheless, 
and because I don't  know
what is going to happen,
I will attempt to enlist her aid
and (respectfully) request that for this time
she turn her interactive skills
to the important task
of making space
for whatever shows up--
and then refrain from talking about it.
We'll see how it goes...

(Truth be told, and realistically,
she already has a couple of things in the works
that should keep her decently occupied till spring
which may, or may not ease the way for the Luminist). 

So last Tuesday afternoon
​(after writing to you),
I tied on a warp
and began to weave.

It was just what I needed--
the rhythmic elegance
of  balanced plain weave
to soothe my rollicking brain.
​
How is it
that the yarn always knows?

The specs:
  WARP: Targhee/Debouillet spindle spun wool,
-two strands singles (approx 8000 yards per pound)
alternating with
​-two strands two-ply (approx 4000 yards per pound).

My plan had been to combine this cloth
with the entirely hand spun
Linsey-Woolsey swathes
I wove last June.
(at least I think it was June),
assuming that the fine(ish) mill spun weft
would be close enough 
since the warp was similar.

So I passed the shuttle back and forth,
I was also busy uniting the lovely pieces of  fabric
with long rows of imaginary running stitch


Alas, however, it was not to be.
(My plan that is).

The new cloth itself was lovely --
the mill spun was easy to weave
and the hand delicious.
​It's just that the two,
though similar enough,
did not see eye to eye --
(or yarn to yarn)--
and
(amicably and politely, if hastily),
 agreed to disagree 
with my plan for their lives.

At a little bit of a loss,
I could only think
to roll everyone up
and wait for another day.
Ah well.
​The best laid plans....

EXCEPT --
 who should leap out of the storage container
​filled with glee,
but an even earlier linsey-woolsey experiment--
with mill spun yarn in both warp and weft.

"Listen to me," it cried.
​"I have a plan."

Warp: Brown Sheep Fingering​ warp (10/3, approx  2800 yards per pound)
with natural and naturally dyed alternating stripe,
Weft: the same Gist 18/3 linen weft as above.

"Well OK," said I.

For sure enough,
though quite different in weight and hand,
(not least due to the presence/absence of singles in the warp),
​the two Gist-linen-weft swathes
did indeed seem to belong together.

I hightailed it across the studio
to the ever ready White Rotary sewing machine--
paused long enough
to admire the magnificence of 
this tool that happily hums along
107 years after patent,
40 of them spent
supporting and encouraging me
as I went from 19 year old cloth-obsessed
 ranch caretaker in the Selway-Bitterroot wilderness,
to  still cloth-obssed nearly 60 year old
with a sedate life in town,
 along the way helping my 
still-sewing-on-vintage-machines son
make innumerable dice bag for D & D--

-- then stitched
cut,
​pinned,
​ hemmed,
stitched some more,
and pressed (with lots of steam).

Until suddenly,
looking up,
there they were together,
a deliciously drapy
Ode ​to Agnest Martin.

Or, perhaps,
part of such a thing?

Hard to say.

None of us are quite sure yet,
truth to tell.

So we're taking  a break--
to breathe
and rest
and admire the light
and be glad.

Well -- sort of rest.
​
Some other swathes 
of slightly mis-matched cloth-mates
​have found each other--

and as you know,
my materials 
know so much more than I--
so, if you'll pardon me
 I'm off ​on another  matchmaking adventure.

Now, where did my thimble go?

Lots of things happened in 2016 --
not least
that I  built 
my first backstrap loom.

Though probably not directly connected,
this elemental tool 
has helped to see me through
some of the other world-rocking
​ events and emotions of the last years--
the reverberations of which,
(as you might have noticed yourself...),
have yet to settle down.

For these years have
 asked-- nay, demanded 
so very much --
​not least
the development of
new levels of fortitude--

-- a massive amount of trust
in some absurdly fragile-appearing 
​threads of connection--

--and even some heart-expanding joy
when the  threads 
​actually hold.

So it is with a peculiar kind of curiosity
that I remembered, just now,
that it has been just over four years
since I first leaned back against 
my needlepoint strap--
and to spend some time thinking about
what has happened to me
​since then.

Of course it was tapestry
that started it--
the desire to begin weaving
with a single word
and follow it, letter by letter,
wherever the unfolding idea chose to go--
a deeply unsettling thing 
for a person given to weaving
from  carefully composed cartoons
(and thus even more worth pursuing).

The idea of plain plain weave, however
never crossed my mind.

Well, not until
the very second warp anyway.

And then --
well then I was a bit of a mess for a time.
A happy mess to be sure--
bounding back and forth
between delicious, weft-faced text
and luminous, drapy, open cloth--
yet also thoroughly confused
and bemused
by my new divided attention.

Luckily, I blogged about it at the time.
​(three 2016 posts: One, Two, Three),
then wrote  Backstrap Dialogues,
in order to dig even deeper
into what felt, in the moment
like uncertain direction.
"Who am I
to enjoy both of these?"

There were days, indeed,
when my head
felt as divided and divisive
as this country--
a place where "and" was not a thing--
my internal state
 as seemingly unreconcilable
(and sometimes downright cruel)
as the national mood.

Four years,
many many many yards of cloth
and more miles of yarn
than I can even begin to count later, 
much has changed--
​and much has not.

 As thrilled as ever
​by the breadth of possibility
inherent in the simple tools,
I now don't think twice about using
un-sized, super fine singles as warp.

And in endless, in-depth conversations,
Luminist and Storymaker--
though sometimes not as polite
as they might be--
have, over time,
come to realize how
interdependent they actually are,
and to make space for
techniques, ideas and materials
one or the other
might once have disdained 
(or, more truly, never even considered:
coffee filters? wedge weave? milkweed?
tapestry book covers? nettle baskets?).

Though not always been a cakewalk 
(as you might imagine),
even my tradition-bound inner Storymaker
has begun to concede
that tales can be told in many ways--
narrative, light and local materials 
coexisting
in a single swathe of cloth.

And​ at least some of the time, 
​in a single human as well.
​
(Or heddle -- Margaret, with her sweet, bemused smile,
is pretty much up for anything--
the more untried, the better).

For I do so hope,
 along with the unmitigated joy,
brought by final ballot counts,
that civility, kindness
​and attempts at being helpful
might be possible 
in our government
and amongst ourselves.

Or, at the very least
that we can remember
that taking turns
is a thing.

there is always tapestry.

And though Rebecca doesn't cover
these materials in her wonderful new book
The Art of Tapestry Weaving,
(officially launching today!)
she does provide instruction
on all  of the techniques I used.
(well, not the clamp and scrap wood support part,
but maybe I"ll talk about that
​some other day on this blog).

Today --

well today--

​all I knew for sure--