  Rough Copy (in progress); wool, natural dye ©Sarah C Swett |  Rough Copy 2: The Sketchbook; hand woven tapestry; 70" x 36"; wool, natural dyes ©Sarah C. Swett 2009 |
 So a funny thing happened. Well not funny exactly -- more-- mind expanding? I dunno. It was cool though-- at least-- eventually. At first -- not so much.  As you may recall, last week on the blog post I was blissing out about my recent Milkweed immersion-- feeling, I can now say, just a teensy bit smug. "Yay! Look at me with my newly fashioned minimalist distaff and cross arm spindle making all kinds of super nice yarn out of Milkweed garden waste! I love it soooo much. It's almost like Flax!" Well, smug and thrilled. At any rate, practically the moment I pushed 'send' on the newsletter to let you know that the post was ready (assuming you're on my mailing list), I grabbed my beloved tools and raced outside-- --only for the Milkweed to... ah... well, I'll let it speak for itself.  Just so you know, it said as my spindle fell to the ground for the third time in a row, I'm not Flax. "Huh?" said I-- picking up the spindle and checking for cracks.  Oh, I have nothing against the stuff -- it continued without pause. It's great! Super strong -- soft-- agreeable-- a distant cousin of mine. Slightly more uniform since you all have been manipulating for centuries (or maybe it, you), to suit your belief in efficiency and production. I mean -- all those precise tools with their satisfying names: rippling combs, flax breaks, scutching knives, hackles and such, that keep everyone in line. It's just -- I'm not it. Now, I can see why you might think it reasonable to think of me as such-- and maybe even believe it is a compliment. I mean -- I am a bast fiber and you have been doing your best I'm sure, what with your strick and your combing and your carding of 'waste'--  your plying and measuring, your calculation of yards per pound, your dreaming of ends per inch, and interior assignment of relative 'goodness' influencing plans for sizing the strands to 'tame' the stray ends that stick out of the skeins. And you've got to admit I've been pretty agreeable. As I said, I am bast and a certain kind of order works with my nature. So don't think I don't appreciate the attention and effort.  It's just -- well -- doesn't smooth, creamy cordage, twisted an inch at a time, without tension, (yours or mine), suit us both much better?  Well, doesn't it? It's not just the pace-- (though really, what IS the hurry- after all the fun we've had playing hide and seek amidst my stalks and outer bark, getting to know each other a strand at a time, do you really want to be done so soon?)  Nor is it entirely my ego-- though I have to admit I like my every fiber to be admired and used-- no matter its length--  --even when you are 'zooming' or 'telephoning' with your friends.  It's -- well-- I was kind of hoping you might see that "productive plant" thinking, is not always the last word. I mean we all know you homo sapiens with your big old brains, are champion tool makers -- efficient and clever and all that-- and I'm sure your spindles and what have you have enhanced your life no end--  --but is it necessary to PROVE it all the time? To worship control? To make sure every plant is named and categorized, and succumbs to your will by giving up its whole, diverse community and all its marvelous friends only to exist henceforward in rows with other genetically identical plants as if only then will it have validity--- and, dare I say it, use? Or, conversely, to relegate wild plants to fairy tales as though a relationship with one is not an everyday sort of pleasure to be enjoyed, but rather a thing associated with excessive female power and curses and thus, once more a thing to be subdued or eliminated (not that one doesn't relish the plant power of cousin Nettle I mean -- who wouldn't)?  Must you, continued the strands draped across my lap, perhaps forgetting that I was even there, tame all the wild places and cut back every prickly being so you don't get scratched by the thorns that are there to create little privacy-- and maybe keep you out of ki's business for five seconds?  Or are you capable only of listening to (and believing) the chatter in your own big brain (equally good, it seems at making you feel like a total loser and the cleverest of all), while hardly noticing the odd bit of wisdom a little plant that is not flax, might have? Just saying. Something to consider. "Thanks," said I. "I will-- consider, that is."  And while we're at it, added the loquacious fiber, not quite as an afterthought, how about taking a big old breath of hot summer air-- and having a sip of tea-- for life is short, and here we are, together, listening to the wind and relishing the miracle of your opposable thumb.  "Ok," said I
dipping my fingers in a dish of coolish water and adding a long white strand to the ever-growing puddle of cordage in my lap. "All right."  So I had an idea a few days ago --  --one of those un-ignorable "must try this RIGHT NOW" kind of ideas.  Can you guess what I was after?  It was not, I have to say, the coracle it apparently turned out to be.  No, I was going for something a touch more practical-- something apropos to the world in which we now live. Cuz everyone needs a face mask, eh? Clearly, the idea didn't work. At least as an object. As a concept though.... maybe.  Pulled warp is something I messed around with back in about 2003 when I was developing projects for my book Kids Weaving. The book includes several projects for weaving on cardboard looms including the Rag Doll Warrior you see here, and I thought pulled warp would be interesting and unexpected (the turtle was adorable), Unfortunately, it involved adding another warping method, so fell by the wayside.  What joy, then, to suddenly remember the existence of that long ago sketch while chatting (via Zoom, as usual), about the making of face masks with some dear friends. Would the idea be workable?  Not that I expected it to actually function, or be a substitute for the 'real thing' (whatever that is; opinions, you've probably noticed, vary widely--if perhaps not this widely).  Certainly choosing to weave my prototype with used coffee filter yarn-- probably not the most virus-proof material out there even if spun from a material with the word 'filter' in its name and designed to have boiling water poured through it -- did not earmark it to have a life in the real world  But I am a weaver, and pulled warp is a thing, (check out Susan Iverson and Sue Weil ), and I had a a PVC loom put together, so why not try?  Wanting it to be a dense fabric (viruses etc -- even if I wasn't planning to actually use it), I wove it on the PVC loom because I could work at 8 epi vs. the 4 of a cardboard loom. Otherwise, cutting out the template and using the cut out bits as spacers was the same as in the original.  It also tickled my fancy to use the PVC loom since I'd developed it specifically for Kids Weaving-- (cuz really a subversive Adult book) The loom, as I've said before, is based on Archie Brennan's Copper Pipe design, and skips all the hard parts, like cutting (and mining) copper, drilling, braising, and using threaded rod. It is also totally functional for tapestry. And did I say cheap?  Anyway, the weaving went quite fast since I just made stripes. It seemed counterproductive to put slits into the fabric, though it has occurred to me since that a series of little slits all around the edge would make it easy to thread a ribbon for head attachment. I made the mistake of using rather wimpy cotton yarn for warp so had/have to be super careful pulling it into shape and can't do the kind of fine tuning that might actually make the thing a little more useful. Seine Twine would be MUCH better Because...nose shaping, anyone?  I also made it too tall for my face though the width (aprox 9"), is about right. Right, that is, if one were going to make one for real-- perhaps with a lining for security and indigo dyed yarn for the extra bit of magic and some clever way to attatch it-- none of which I'm actually going to do.  No, what I'm going to do, when I have to leave my house (which I hope is almost never), is continue to wear one of the elegant pleated cloth masks sewn by my dear friend Nicole,  let this lovely creature use my experiment for her boat (because a gal really does need a coracle),  then return my attention to the ever increasing light in the Northern Hemisphere, and the making of the perfectly useless and entrancing objects.  I do have a sneaking hope that someone will take the pulled warp face mask idea, do something really wonderful with it, so if you do, please let us all know! Otherwise, if you want to make something else, since this seems to be a project-based post and because Kids Weaving is now out of print (link is to ABE books where you can find used copies since I don't make a penny from sales anyway-- never did, truth to tell), I'm going to attach some pics of the Rag Doll Warrior project just in case you need them, and end this super long post and ridiculously long sentence. Be well, stay home if you can, be careful if you can't, smile as often as possible, cuz it helps. xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo       --aka: three projects to keep my holiday angst in check.  1. a twined basket made with dead leaf cordage (iris, daylily, cornhusk) and coffee filter yarn  photographed on yet another hand spun coffee filter experiment.   that arrived in Idaho soaking wet,  its wrinkled pages stuck together, and binding falling apart,  roughly but satisfyingly mended with a lopsided eggbeater drill,  some hand spun linen, and a couple of needles,  now the middle of being read with enormous enjoyment (extra powerful since it is once again sturdy)-- and with particular joy because Kate's first chapter is on mending....  3. a lopsided willow object intended to hold gifts (you know -- roll it around and open the present that falls out the hole...)  that turned out to be too big to fit through any doors in my house  but which nevertheless makes a fine blind  for photographing the rare and non-migratory ten foot pink flamingo.  Life's grand and absurd, eh?
Might as well let the good times roll on (even when the gifts inside are invisible).  Flinging my body through the sky from one side of this continent to the other, is not a thing I enjoy.  Along with despair at its environmental aggression, air travel induces in me a kind of foggy spiritual disconnect-- as though, while my sleep deprived body is slurping Dunkin Donuts coffee in Boston, my self is scrambling across eastern Montana crying, "WAIT FOR MEEEEEEE," only to begin the long trudge back to Idaho (without even catching a glimpse of the Dakotas), when my disconnected carcass is suddenly dumped back home.  As a weird wort of compensation however, or perhaps a way to place myself, travel does induce a kind of intent noticing that can help remind me that I once was whole -- and will be again. The richness of my mother's chair-side table for instance, is a source of such joy, with its books, computer, seed and course catalogues, pencils, pads, newspaper articles and (because I was there and she's a supportive Mum), her evolving Somewhat Slanted Sweater.  It was also a delight to feel the sense of comfort and belonging induced (at least in my heart and hands) by tiny, yarn-filled rooms, and the welcoming enthusiasm of Lily, at Norwich Knits, the new yarn shop in Norwich, Vermont where we bought my mother's yarn.  Nor, indeed, could I fail to notice the beatific inner glow induced by a blissed out tour of the Green Mountain Spinnery in Putney, Vermont, where I got to watch (and hear) some of their venerable machinery in action.  The walls of yarn were fabulous too. And oh.... the smell... of lanolin and sheep and yarn in the raw.  I also noticed (with surprise), how the wool/organic cotton skeins grabbed my attention. It's not a blend I am likely to create or spin myself, but I hadn't yet knit a Somewhat Slanted in this weight yarn, and I look forward to wearing it. So far, I know that it is really nice to knit, the drape of the first square is fantastic and that there is enough wool in the blend to easily spit-splice when joining skeins or knitting stripes. (Hard, later, not to be aware that my minimalist travel bag was significantly more difficult to buckle up).  Noticing these morels was an unexpected and delicious treat.  Somewhat less beguiling was noticing the ticks sneaking up my legs after the woodsy walk wherein the morels appeared, though I was able to note-- with something approaching pleasure-- that my white hemp pants made the little blood suckers easy to spot.
Also, all the things I chose to bring with me were blue, grey, brown or white, so mixed and matched very well. They are also all extremely comfortable, perfectly practical (white hemp aside), sources of psychological well being. and almost entirely hand made. The photos above include: the aforementioned hemp pants, my recently made linen shirt, (which I tried not to wear every single day), and an old favorite ankle-length blue cotton skirt, that my friend Lodi once gave me after she'd cut out the pattern pieces, but before sewing.  The blue sweater ( knit last summer and dunked in indigo a few days before my trip), and the indigo Sarah-Dippity had all the comfort, stretch, practicality and general travel clothing perfection I could have desired. I also love how the indigo in both my garments connects with the blue on the pocket of my sister Lyn's patched and embroidered jacket as we try to remember a long-ago clapping pattern before I catch the bus to Boston.  Noticing Mount Rainier was a nice reminder that I was about to land in Seattle, though I fervently hope my long term views  closer to the ground: a steady supply of linsey-woolsey on the loom, patched pants,   In the meantime, the mug of mint/lemon balm tea is quietly cooling and the fog beginning to clear.   Artistic turmoil --what a thing.  It seemed to be a thing I HAD to do-- yet it bugged me even as I worked on it.  The materials were a delight to be sure-- I mean what's not to love about dead leaves and used coffee filters?  And it was great fun to shift back and forth between a sett of 4 and 8. But the tapestry itself didn't satisfy-- indeed, once I got beyond a certain point, every photo I took was out of focus.  But perhaps the whole idea was out of focus -- more of an itch I had to scratch than a compelling path. I don't know.  But then you rarely know until you try-- at least I don't. And though unsatisfactory projects are NOT my fave, I'm pretty used to making things I don't much care for-- It's just another part of this making life.  Ideally, if I can bring myself to pay attention to the way different aspects of the process and the thing make me feel, (rather than just tossing idea, object and regret straight into the compost pile, pretending they never existed and moving on), such projects are sometimes more valuable than those that make me sigh with satisfaction,  In the case of the leaf/paper tapestry, here are three things I noticed: 1. Coffee Filter yarn and dead leaves are beautiful together  2. It would have been better had I included the tiny house I refused to weave (you've no idea how hard it is to NOT weave a tiny house but I was trying -- well, just that.)  3. The dry leaves I'd put outside to take advantage of the April showers, still wanted to be used.  Happily, This last I could act on immediately (while wearing my new skirt!)  Audible Sigh
(of satisfaction).  Usually it happens in the middle of winter --  But there was a lot of snow this year. And it was cold.  So the urge to tromp across field and marsh, gather willow and red osier dogwood, fill my studio with multi colored sticks, and twist, twine and weave them into something, didn't show up until a few days ago. (same link as above--an old blog post about willow projects over the years, so no need to click it twice)  Funny how such ideas appear-- the sudden irresistible need to make a thing I hadn't even imagined ten seconds before. Does this ever happen to you?  This one may have come upon me because the snow was mostly gone, or because the sky was blue or because there was no tromping to be done-- merely a short meander into our slowly greening back yard.  It may also have shown up because my industrious family was hard at work,  and I had to do my part.  As often happens with such projects, I had/have no idea how to weave an orb.  so I made something up.  The willow wands and grape vines were long and satisfyingly resilient. The Pear shoots not so much, but they are pretty, and since Ana was cutting them, it was less trouble to weave with them than to put them in a pile.  I ended up making two largish, round(ish) objects.  An heir and a spare for the flamingo, perhaps?  Guess, I'm done for now, though.  Except, perhaps,
for taking another stab at removing the grass stains from the knees of my pants. Or not.  Nope -- not the burn carbon, catch a cold on the airplane on the way to someplace else kind of holiday. That sun is shining into my very own studio.  Though I did go somewhere -- me and my big black rubber boots strolled through the slush to The Yarn Underground (my local yarn store), where I was dazzled by the abundance and walked home with 8 skeins of Harrisville flywheel yarn. So did you know about this? That you can buy yarn that has already been carded and spun? It's a little weird. But AMAZING. (One of the great things about spending most of my time in the studio is that am a cheap date -- dazzled and overwhelmed by the local downtown shops. Of course I'm also dazzled by dead leaves which is slightly less helpful to the local economy....).  But no matter how you look at it, this feels like a mighty quick turnaround-- from a mad desire for a long, dark grey Sarah-Dippity skirt, to yarn in hand. (if not exactly fast fashion, at least less glacial than my usual approach).  Backstrap loom parts. Said mad desire was initially generated by a vision of the thing I wanted to wear that day, the realization that I had the knowledge and technology to make it, and a teensy bit of project envy generated by slipping Backstrap Dialogues zines into envelopes and mailing them to Sweden and Germany, Califorina and Kentucky as Sarah-Dippity instructions are downloaded to computers around the world.  At any rate, it felt (and still feels), rather marvelous to take a mid winter break from my cellulosic adventures, and start winding a warp almost before shucking off the rubber boots. Alas, my starry-eyed haste also led to a teensy bit of of a miscalculation -- this mill spun yarn is NOT as much like mine as I thought.  I stormed about a bit and felt like an idiot for making assumptions, and for not weaving a sample -- or at least doing a yarn wrap. But drawing this comic gave me an idea (you might note that the little "but maybe if..." thought bubble was written in with a different pen), so I clipped together a ten dent rigid heddle from four Schacht Variable Dent Rigid Heddle sections, scribbled a new sketch for the skirt and away I went. (10 epi vs 12 epi meant weaving two narrower swaths of cloth since I did not want to buy more equipment, which leads to the skirt being made of four or maybe five 8" wide panels instead of three 12" ones-- though I don't have to decide for sure till later since the design is flexible and the final shaping and fitting is in the knitting).  The broken threader was another bummer, but this paper clip worked just fine-- indeed, maybe better than the diz threader I've been using for the last couple of years. Golly, I love makeshift solutions. And I really love this loom.     The last few inches of the first warp turned into cloth just before I started to write this morning. And there's a good chance I'll start winding the second warp shortly after I hit "post."  Perhaps next week I'll be knitting the skirt wedges and my holiday will be done. zoom zoom zoom! But so restful. And then back to real life. If that is what this is. 
 I find myself curiously restless this morning -- even tongue-tied.  Filled with ideas of what to write, I still hop up every few minutes, to make a cup of tea, twirl my spindle in front of the stove,  or wander around the studio admiring the morning light on my messes. What, I wonder, will people see-- what will you see if you've signed up-- when Rebecca Mezoff and I have our live webinar on Thursday? (That's Thursday, 15 November at 10 AM Mountain Time).  I'll be sitting here in my studio, right about where I'm sitting now (though I'll have to do a little re-arranging to avoid screen glare and so on), and I wonder if my working messes (un-styled), are fit for company. Probably not. But then, so what? It's tapestry we're going to be talking about, and Rebecca and I have such love and enthusiasm for this medium -- are so entranced by all that it can do, that sharing work in progress is half the point, right? We had such a fantastic time creating and filming the Fringeless Class, that I'm really looking forward to this spontaneous conversation. Indeed, it thrills me to bits to think of you joining us. (It's free and everything -- I think I"m supposed to say that)  But of course, as Mrs. Ariadne Oliver said to Hercule Poirot, "You never know what is going to happen" when doing a live chat on the interwebs-- and that makes everything extra thrilling.  It also makes everything slightly odd--- at least in these days before we start-- because I'm talking a great deal about this talk, (or at least writing about it on various platforms), yet not actually doing it.  Of course that is the nature of plans -- travels and parties and events and certainly tapestries-- never turn out as a gal imagines.  And who would want that anyway? The reality of the moment is the point. But I"m overflowing ideas of things you might want to hear about (not least these cuffs/ bangles and bracelets I've been making), even as I know that some fabulous question you're burning to have answered will change everything!  So perhaps it would be best to stop second guessing you (much less myself) and to go back to the loom, nestle another green oval, amidst the warm charcoal fuzz of shetland yarn, and see if this cuff can be released from the loom to wear on Thursday. See you then! ps -- If you are interested in hearing our conversation, (or asking a question ahead of time) but can't make it to the actual webinar, it will be recorded, If you register, the 'bonuses' will still be available. At least I think that is how it works! pps -- I've had quite a time with faulty links and such in the last couple of days, so if for some reason the other links don't work you can get to the registration page via Rebecca's BLOG and click the big black button about half way down.   Yippeeee!  Another hour + of driving from this point till we donned our packs. Well, right now I'm home in my studio, but last week I was tromping through a chunk of country that was once my home-- or at least the place I lived from the age of nineteen till I was nearly twenty-six.  spindle kit with fiber (left); mini sketchbook and mending (right) I left the woods in the fall of 1985 (in large part because there wasn't enough time to knit or spin), but last week I filled my pack with essentials and went back to check it out.  I have to admit that I embarked on the trip hoping to come to some big old conclusions. You know -- stuff about the past and present, about time and change, about life, the universe, the wilderness and everything.  But though my feet knew how to walk on the trail, and the smells were familiar and lovely, and I didn't get any blisters, big conclusions were elusive. Duh.  This Instagram Post says most of what I know so far, and perhaps more conclusions will show up in time. Or not? Who knows.  Bear Creek Bridge I do know it was a great trip.  Even in the rain.  Or maybe especially in the rain?  And I also know that plastic and wool make excellent backcountry companions,
and that I am everlastingly grateful to my motley collection of supplies,  and for the tiny miracles of fire, friendship, feet and all.  |
Sarah C Swett
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