Frankly, I wasn't  hopeful.
This grubby collection of  hastily collected
mud-encrusted roots had been drying out in an old torn paper bag
for... gosh... 15 years? More?

I'd planted the madder seeds sometime in the 1990s--
 the sticky leaves and stems scratching bare arms
and clinging to small boy clothing 
when my 28 year old son was
​a significantly smaller person than he is now--
and I remember being so impatient,
first for it to grow,
 then with its unpleasant and voracious character. 
Finally I dug out a few roots,
stuck them in a bag,
and forgot about them.

Still,  I shook off the mud,
broke the big bits apart,
cut them into the smallest chunks I could manage
with my not very sharp secateurs,
and  dumped them into a jar to soak. 
Without a dye-dedicated blender to puree the softened chunks
 the color would not be terribly strong.
But so what?
It was just an experiment.

And since these days
I'm a half-assed, seat-of-the-pants dyer--
and already making a big wet mess--
I might as well dig up some fresh roots
​and try them too.

Now when it comes to fresh madder,
there are two things you're not supposed to do:
1. dig the roots in the spring/ summer in the midst of the growing season
​2. use them right away.

But I am in the mood now
(well I was on Sunday-- two days ago).
The madder plants were encroaching
on the ripening raspberry patch
 and raspberry canes are prickly enough without
having to push one's arms through sticky madder leaves.
 I was ready to hack them back--
and why not make a few exploratory stabs with a shovel
​at the same time?

Fresh and dry cut roots went into separate jars
(and a little dry weld into a third just because). 
After an overnight soak they all went
into a hot water bath to simmer and soften.
Weld is fine being simmered more directly
​ but this double boiler-ish jar method
​ is an easy way to keep the temperature
of the madder from climbing into the 'brown' range.

Meanwhile, back at my work table
I filled just one more Kuchulu spindle with white yarn,
then plied it ​while listening to the A Playful Day podcast
(broadening my natural dye rainbow during Pride),
before alum mordanting my pile
of two ply "tea" skeins

But back to dyeing.

​Photos of mordanting (or mordanted) yarn
are rarely interesting. 
And anyway, I forgot to take them
so have none to bore you with. 
Nor, alas, did I document the dye extraction process.
But both are pretty standard.

Mordant: Alum at 10-12% WOF and Cream of Tarter at 5- 6%

Dye extraction: soak, simmer, pour off, soak, simmer, pour off.
As mentioned, I try to keep the simmer temp about 160 F ish
to avoid brown tones in the red.

Instead, then, you get a foggy photo of jars in a pot
and then-- voila-- red yarn!

I kept the first and second extractions separate:
the skein on the lower right was the first extraction from the dry madder
and is significantly darker even if this photo doesn't really show it.
The other three are the second extraction from the dry madder
and the first and second from the fresh.
There was some variation among these,
but actually less than I expected.

What I also didn't expect,
​was how un-orange the color is. 

I've been dyeing with madder for decades,
always with purchased flakes
or extracts (once they became available)--
everything carefully calculated, weighed and measured--
and there have been some pretty spectacular colors.
How not with this marvelous dye?
But because so much available madder
is R. cordifolia rather than R tinctorium,
the color often leans well into the orange range.

But this yarn does not.
Half-assed, casually measured, fresh or dry,
R. tinctorium is something else again.

 I'm dyeing as I write this,
pausing between sentences
to give things a stir, or a rinse,
 to hang the skeins on the line to drip,
to oooh and aahhhhh,
or take another photo.

Just added the one below:
first skeins and the first exhaust from the same jars.
The main thing I'm noticing? 
The colors on the fresh madder skeins
are brighter, clearer, and slightly less orange
than the dry.
Anyone have thoughts on this​???

Two days ago I was about to start weaving,
and got distracted.
But I guess now I know
what this little four selvedge warp
has been waiting for.

And -- OH WOW --one more photo--
(sorry, there have been a lot)--
two more exhaust skeins casually tossed into the jar with
what I thought were the well-extracted fresh roots.
How gorgeous is THAT????

So how silly is it
​to spend a chunk of the morning
​wandering around the garden, 
looking for the perfect place to pose
(excuse me, to STYLE)
my suddenly expanded collection 
of hand turned tapestry bobbins?

Or maybe silly isn't the word -- 
it's more that I find it interesting to notice
that my desire to do this
​ has become something to notice.
​If you know what I mean.

Not that I don't relish the warm feelings I get
from visually satisfying images.
It's just that after a time one begins to have some judgement.
This photo will do.
That one will not.

And since Photography is not my gig,
I'm a little bit annoyed
that I might consider avoiding an idea for a blog post
because I don't have good enough photos.

So I don't.
Avoid it, that is.
Indeed, as most of you know
I usually do show my work
(and tools, and face)
in  less than perfect conditions:
sprawled across an old piece of cardboard,
​in active use,
 neither well lit nor artfully arranged
so probably you're not even here for photographic eye candy.

Or that though I meant to take more pics once I began to warp,
the process sucked me in,
​and photos were not taken.
Having the perfect tool for a job is so distracting.

And who could pause for a moment
when a second package arrived:
a collection of Skinny Minnies
​(with and without brass tips)
made by Milissa Dewey of Bobbin Boy?
​Not me. 
Those too were put right to work.

But this morning
​ ​I really wanted to try to show them off
in all their luscious, hand turned,
hardwood glory--

even if that meant getting my feet wet
and taking photos
​in a place where they will ​rarely, if ever, be used. 

But so what?
A small attempt at bobbin porn never hurt anyone.
​Least of all me.
And vicarious pleasure is most definitely a thing.

Then again,
given a choice between styling exquisite tools
and actually using them, 
I usually choose the latter.

Which I guess is one of the many ways
you can tell 
that I am a weaver
and not a photographer. 
For which I am a little bit sorry --
but not all that much.
Because weaving is the BEST,
​don't you think?

Sometimes
doing two things at once
is a handy way
to avoid making decisions.

These tapestries began as a
a regular four selvedge warp--

but quickly evolved into parallel dwellings
separated and connected
​by a single warp.

I fully intended to cut them apart,

but  somehow
​just couldn't.

There's an awful lot of real estate in my world these days.

Good thing the houses are so easy to clean.

Not sure why sitting on the floor 
using my ever available  'knee swift'  to wind a skein
​is so comfy and satisfying.
But I guess I don't need to understand.
I can simply do it.

I do, however, know that these 'bones'
(bobbins for Aubusson low warp tapestry weaving 
which have been sitting unused for decades), 
make fabulous holders for hand spun linen warp.

I also noticed  yesterday (for the bazillionth time)
how much I love building little pipe looms,
even ones I've built dozens of times before,
and how pieces of cardboard
from the backs of sketchpads
make excellent
(if not the most photogenic),
work surfaces.

Weaving little tapestries is a good thing for me to do right now--

​not only because they are endless compelling, 
​filled with questions and answers
​and ever ready for some experiment or other 
(here I've used some flour paste sizing to tame my less than smooth hand spun linen),
note: size = flour and water mixed to the consistency of cream and applied with my fingers

but also because they keep me in one spot
for large chunks of time
which means the old dog
can keep track of me
without moving too much.
And moving can be hard
when you are 117 years old (17 1/2 +).

Anyway, for these reasons and more
tapestry weaving pleases us both.
So I guess I'll try another.
Today -- back to  wool warp
(only 1  1/2" square four selvedge)
​But what weft?

Now that I've begun to mix wool and linen in the same work
and have noticed that despite my apprehension
I quite like it,
there are ever more things to try. 
Which pleases both me and the old dog.
Guess I'll have to stop typing,
sit back down on the floor,
​wind a bobbin,
​and keep exploring. 

ps. Work on the Four Selvedge Class continues.
You can find out the latest  here: Fringeless

pps. The photos and videos that Rebecca took for this class are amazing.
They sure make me notice and appreciate
the difference between my ipad pics
and those from a serious camera.
  Golly. 
I think I'll go make some pictures with yarn.

What's not to love
about a mahogany Hepty
or a handmade mast  
awaiting its boat's new deck ?

How not to salivate
over spring greens
​ flourishing in buckets of compost?

 Yet another flax distaff

works just fine--
​ as long as I spin with the proper tool.

And experimental linen yarn

doesn't seem to mind
the precise sett  and high tension 
of a plastic loom.

What's not to love
about coming to know
when precision matters,

and when the half-assed
is simply
​perfect. 

Standing desks are apparently quite the rage these days, 
so I,
as a contrary sort of gal
have  moved my operation (and my butt) to the ground.

It wasn't a carefully thought up plan,
but rather a happy accident 
that resulted from ​a sudden urge
to clear out the seemingly endless binders 
of expensive and carefully collected slides 
from back in those pre-digital image days
when the last step of tapestry completion 
was a trip to the photographer 
and subsequent filing and storage of 
the resulting 4x5 transparencies
and sheets and sheets of images in their little plastic cases
that exhibitions and publications demanded.

Since I didn't exactly intend to tackle this project,
I just plunked down on the floor and began.
​
But of course the sorting took hours
and was somewhat distracting
as somehow
between 1990 (when I wove my first tapestry),
and 2007 (when digital images took over completely),
I managed to do a lot of weft faced plain weave.

And what an unexpected  pleasure
to come upon projects long forgotten
(Scarface was such a great dog,
​that carpet bag-on-a-box project was pure fun).

But even more delightful
was standing up afterwards
and noticing the absolute absence
of a nagging hamstring pain
to which I've grown so used 
that its absence was more noticeable than its presence.

So not only did I manage to get rid of pounds and pounds of slides 
(still have one fat binder for  posterity and/or my son to toss after my demise,
but NO discards for future Pinterest-worthy window covering projects),
​but was also was moved to remove
​the work table in the middle of my studio.

In other news --
​spring is definitely here,
and the new insta-desk (board on books) 
has coincided with comic diary #18
to which I added a few sheets of  Reeves lightweight
that I had in the basement.
So far this paper is more satisfying to draw and paint on
than the lovely-to-look-at-but-hard-to-use
handmade Mexican paper in the last book
(visible in the running drawing above,
and on the right in the slide sorting comic at the top).
But as with so many things (image storage etc),
only time will reveal the efficacy
​of one's  seemingly sensible decisions.

Speaking of which...
version four of the knitting project
proceeds apace,
in all its fat stockinette glory. 

​Never a dull moment around here.

Can you see it?
It's right there--
in the wrinkled, raveled remains

of the last best idea
that wasn't quite right.
Sigh.
But such a relief. 

For the last couple of days
I've caught myself  wondering
​what the yarn would 'really' become
even as I knit on.

​I was, it seemed,  in love the idea of  the sweater,
more than the garment itself. 

Also, I'd put a graft in it, which I was reluctant to undo.
(I quite like grafting, but un-grafting is just not as pleasurable as pure unraveling).

Do you ever have this experience--
 continuing to knit 
occasionally muttering,
"it'll be all right,"
knowing all the while 
​that it is not?

If so, you'll understand my delight
when finally,
this morning,
I realized that I loved the yarn too much
to 'waste' it on a clever concept
 I would never wear. 

The yarn is a 5 ply Cormo:
 local grey and white fleeces
blended in various ways,
spindle spun over time,
and collected as singles on toilet paper tubes
(not archival but never intended to be).

By the time I brought the whole works to my cabin a few weeks ago.
I had a fat pound waiting to be plied.

Unlike the sweater I just decided to reject, 
Plying 5 strands with the Charkha was an experiment that worked, 
but only when I turned it into a two step process
like when plying with a spindle:
​
1. wind the singles together without twisting
​​2. add twist.

While I wouldn't take this extra step with a treadle wheel
where both hands are available,
with the Charkha, the extra step was worth every second
 because there I only have one free hand
many strands to manage
and no tensioned lazy Kate 
 (though my makeshift multi-mug system pictured above was ideal).

At any rate,  I used the Charkha for both steps,
 covering the spindle shaft with paper purns (rolled up squares)
that I could hold in one hand as I turned the crank with the other.

The weather that week was very April --
nice enough to be outside whenever  it stopped raining,
but cool enough to make the cookstove a constant necessity
 for cups of tea
and to dry the yarn after blocking.

You might notice that the drying skeins twist a little --
this is because the yarn sat so long as singles
that the warm water released the stored twist energy
rather than relaxing it has happens when you wet the yarn
closer to the time it is actually spun. 
Kathryn Alexander of Entrelac and Energized Yarn fame.
first brought this phenomenon to my attention.
Check out her work. 
It truly is beyond anything.

At any rate, the finished yarn was/is YUMMY --
squishy and super soft--
and I started knitting with it
the moment it was dry,
used double no less
with gargantuan needles --
​size 9 I think. 

Alas, whatever I had in mind then wasn't quite right--
​or anyway another idea,
the one I decided against this very morning,
took hold and wouldn't let go
until today.

​But the yarn is still waiting--
so yummy I can hardly wait to cast on with it again.

And see --
​there it is--
the new idea--
waiting.

"as to myself, my guiding-star always is,
'Get hold of portable property.'"
(John Wemmick; Great Expectations (24.41)

I can't help but agree--
it's nice to have one's treasures at hand.

With no restrictive or fragile mounting devices, 
dreams can be carried about, and ​fondled.

They can be pinned temporarily to a wall,

then tucked in a place where it is possible to
see and feel them on a regular basis--
where they might bring delight to an otherwise
​ pedestrian transaction--

or even serve
as a reminder of relative value.
​
Where DO I want my money to go?

It is hard to describe the pleasure I find in these tiny works
and I'd love for you to get to hold them too.

To that end,
I've just put ten tiny tapestries in the now open store! 
(button in the menu at the top of the page
and hope everything works--
turns out I was not quite as close as I thought last week.).

 I'll leave them there for two weeks
with free shipping
to celebrate what feels like 
a ridiculously mammoth accomplishment.

Then hopefully I'll get back to making some more --
even as I work on handouts
and Rebecca edits video
for our upcoming class for her school:
Fringeless: Four Selvedge Tapestry with Sarah C. Swett
which we hope will be ready by the end of June (double yippee)!
making it possible for some of you
​ to weave your own magic
into pieces of portable property
​to tuck in your purse. 

And once again, I cannot thank everyone enough
 for the wonderful support and heartwarming encouragement
in last week's comments.
​It's all so much fun with you there.

On 24 April, 2014
I took a deep breath,
gritted my teeth
and pressed "post"
on an image of a tapestry house by the sea. 

It was my very first blog entry
on a brand new website,
and it was terrifying.

You'd think I'd be used to such things
as my work  has been in cyberspace since the mid 1990s.
My husband-- code writer and web builder--
had thought it'd be a good idea.

"WHY would I want such a weird and public thing?"
I cried.
"And anyway, who would ever look?"
After all, I only checked my email every couple of weeks.

By 2014, however,
web construction (and my attitude) had changed just a tad,
It was time to tackle the newest iteration on my own.

My wonderful web-savvy sister
pointed me toward  Weebly
(a relatively friendly website builder),
and after a few shitty first drafts
and much angst,
the thing came together-- 
though committing to a blog took a little longer.
​
"What is the point?"
"Will I be able to sustain it?"
"Will I be able to stop if I want to?"
"Will I have anything to say?" 
"Won't the stuff I do seem boring and repetitive?" 
"Will it change my relationship to the work if I talk about process?"
"Will the ideas get shy and stay away?"

Well yes, it has changed my relationship to my work --
at least I think so.
Having taken the blogging path
I can't exactly do the experiment of what would have been happening had I chosen the other.

And NO, there has been a shortage of ideas. ​

Or maybe I just easily amused
​ since four years on, 
not only am I still entranced by weaving tiny tapestry houses, 
but I also seem to have had something or other to say
about my boring, repetitive and oh-so-satisfying work
almost every Tuesday since.
​
 I learn something every time I write--
and if not always from the actual words,
then absolutely from the bliss of all of you coming to read,
and from your shared thoughts and experiences.

The last three blog-o-versary's 
have slipped right by me.
I guess it's  hard to notice the big picture when I write every week.
​
But this year I noticed 
and thought it would be a grand time  to try something new,
something I've been meaning to do since I started selling 
 "How To Weave A Bag On A Box" comic instruction zines on Etsy.
It was time to move the store
RIGHT HERE!

Alas, however, I am still just as much of a scaredy cat
about new web-based enterprises
as I was four years ago.

Apparently, I'll tackle a new tune,
a new fiber,
a new pair of shoes,
refurbish an old spinning tool,
make paint,
tackle an unfamiliar comic-diary-binding-method
embrace a plastic spindle,
 embark a giant secret project that I'll tell you a little bit about in my next newsletter,
and even do the laundry--
rather than commit to pushing that 'publish' button.

But I'm getting closer.  REALLY.
And if you think of it,
​you might check back later in the week,
because honestly,
I have  both physical and PDF versions of my comic instructions
(How to Weave a Bag on a Box and Backstrap Dialogues for now),
all loaded up
and once I know how the system works
I plan to also make a tapestry gallery too
(need a tiny house anyone? a large colorful tapestry?),
and my plan is to have free shipping to celebrate.
​So stay tuned! 

Indeed, I  feel myself getting braver by the minute.
​
But maybe some lunch first.
And a little weaving in the sun.
OH yes, but first I'll push the "POST" button.

Gotta have ‘em!

Fabric store ‘eco-felt’ (from plastic bottles apparently),
that has been languishing in my shoe experiment stash,
plus a scrap of nylon something-or-other
​from a failed waterproof shoe experiment,

and the not-quite-worn-out soles
​ from the now-disintegrating yellow ones,

equals a relatively swift,
and somewhat half-assed,
pair of minimalist running shoes.

Function has an elegance all its own.

Or, as wise women have said,
“​Done is better than perfect.”