I find myself curiously restless this morning --
even tongue-tied. 

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.

Do you get caught up like this too?

BUT
​before I get completely immersed--
​I'm off to vote!

ps --Building pipe looms,
Four Selvedge Warping
and tons of weaving tips
are available in  FRINGELESS
the online class I teach with
Rebecca Mezoff.
To sign up, learn more
(and hear the dulcet tones of this English Concertina)
click HERE! 

There are just so many things to try.

-print making paper cut into a continuous strip
but not yet spun
- sheets of variable annuity semi-annual report
-an iris leaf 
- the silk long underwear shirt
that I wore every day on my backpack trip
and fell apart when i got home
-wool fleece. 

It is, of course,
generally recommended
that the careful dyer
adjust the ph of an indigo bath
for each of these fibers
(or at least each type)
individually,
but this time
I decided not to worry about it.

And as far as I can tell,
it all worked fine.

Well, the Iris leaf was not interested in indigo,
but that may have been a function of
-an exterior water-repellant coating,
-the molecular structure of the actual cells
-that leaf I chose
preferred to remain
its own natural color
thank you very much
-something else entirely.

Of course it could have been
my laziness about the relative alkalinity of the bath
and experiments may ensue on that score.
Or not.
Most  likely I'll let the Iris be Iris
and dye corn husks if I need colored leaves,
since the latter seem thrilled by the world of color.
That one tiny strip of purple in the photo above
survived --even thrived--
in the post-indigo alum and cochineal baths
into which it fell
(or deliberately snuck on the coattails of the wool).

This paper loved the indigo.
(Rives lightweight white from my basement
that I've been using to make my comic diaries).

The variable annuity yarn 
did fine, but only with with VERY short indigo dips.
The coffee filters were  happy as clams.
​
I spun both on the Charkha as shown above.

Each kind of paper has its own personality --
and as a newbie at this business of making Kami-ito
I'm in a constant state of beginner mind,
which means I keep teetering on the edge
of pushing things too far 
(fingers covered with damp shreds of dissolving paper)
or not far enough
​ (pirns wound with great wads of unweavable twine).

But as I wait for Hiroko Karuno's book to arrive:
Kigami and Kami-ito: Japanese Handmade Paper and Paper Thread
(it is being reprinted),
experimentation is my friend--
the ensuing messes and variations,
a good part of the joy.

There are, indeed, any number of experiments 
happening in my studio just now.

Sometimes I'm  working with wool
(with which I have a fair bit of experience)--
adjusting variables  and designing a yarn
that will take months of spindle twirling--
before,
in a year or so,
it starts to become the thing I imagine,
which may require techniques
​ about which I know only a little.

sometimes 
I'm working with materials
with which I have virtually no experience,
adjusting variables and designing yarns,
that I'm going to try out
today
using techniques
​I know very well.

Such a funny, magical old life. 

Resources:
Velma Bolyard (paper maker, spinner,  book and fiber artist) Her work and devotion to using local materials is utterly inspiring
Velma's Blog (most recent post talks about her milkweed harvest)

Aimee Lee (artist, papermaker, writer, and the leading hanji researcher and practitioner in North America) . Hanji is Korean hand made paper, and the things Aimee does with it are mind-blowing.  The dresses! The Knitted books!  The Ducks!
Aimee's Books  (as you can imagine I am in love with the milkweed paper making zine)!

And as I said above, I'm waiting for Kagami and Kami-ito  by Hiroko Karuno

Some day I'll get  A Song of Praise for Shifu by Susan J. Byrd

And of course, 
to learn Four Selvedge Tapestry Warping 
(the technique I'm using for all my experiments
and praise in the quiet of my studio every day),
Click HERE!

The title seemed appropriate  first thing this morning. 

After all, I have been having a grand and interesting time
weaving walnut-dyed coffee filters and zip loc bags
into mountains, rivers, houses and meadows
and I was excited to tell you about it. 
Indeed, I've been taking pics all along the way,
both to remind myself of what I did when,
​and so I could share them here.

But a short while ago
after transferring said photos to my computer,
I discovered that Apple,
in its wisdom
(and endless desire to make our lives easier, don't cha know),
had,
without asking,
converted all my photos to some new
(and oh so efficient),
format
that Weebly,
my website/ blog builder
 cannot read.
(for some reason it left the photo two up as a jpg. Why?  Maybe because it was  out of focus?).

Turns out that delving into the bowels of my settings
I could turn this new feature off for future photos
(though of course the device urged me not to),
which is how I managed to take
the pics you see here.

But all of this has annoyed me more than I can say.
so I think
instead of downloading and learning
 some OTHER new app
that will allow me to transform all my other photos
(the ones they automatically changed),
back into a form I can use,
so I can do what I originally planned--
which was to wax poetic
about the delicate process
of making yarn
from annual reports
​ and coffee filters--
I will go back to the loom
and transform
 dead leaves
into sky. 

Oh, let me me swing,
let me sway
​under starry skies above​,

Don't Stitch me down.

Let me float,
let me fly,
in the morning air I love,

Don’t stitch me down.

Let me twirl by myself in the evening breeze,
Dance with the the trees like the cottonwood leaves,
I’m yours while on the loom-- but then I  ask you please,

​Don’t stitch me down. *

I'm  thrilled
that these seven tapestries
will be part of the
the fall pop-up show
November 3 and 4
at the  Little Pink House Gallery
in Genesee, Idaho

It is a magical spot for local artists,
an inviting destination in the midst of the Palouse,
and a joy to twirl and dance beside
Ellen Vieth's soul stirring oil paintings. 
​
For gallery and sales info,
contact the amazing Ellen Vieth
-on Facebook at the links above
- @ellenvieth on Instagram

For information on how to warp your loom
to weave Four Selvedge Tapestries like these,
check out Fringeless,
the online class I teach with Rebecca Mezoff.

​* With apologies (and thanks) to Cole Porter and Robert Fletcher

Yippeeee!

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.

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.

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.

I'm off and away
to the 100 acre wood--
or will be when you read this.
​
Just now though,
 I'm in full-on
list-crossing,
pile-making
lonely loom mode,
which is not my fave
(to put it mildly),
and yet seems, alas, to be
​ the nature of the beast.

I'm trying to suck it up though--
or at least--
to put it more pleasantly--
to be one with the angst,
which mostly seems to involve
attempting to stop second guessing every moment,
while still packing the things I might need
for mixing my metaphors
in hope that  the interesting idea I had last spring
will have enough nourishment
to bear the as yet unknown fruit
that it will.

​
Till then,
I hope you enjoy
 your opposable thumbs
in whatever way(s)
you like best
(which for me today
apparently means
​ drawing my hands
in such a way
that no thumbs
​ are visible).

There have been a number of questions
about the specifics of making cordage.

It's a pretty elemental process
and as I said last week,
I'm only just beginning
 my research and experiments--
but since you asked,
here a jumping off point for yours.

FYI -- Youtube isn't a bad place for further research.

Thigh spinning videos can be helpful,
and there are also any number of young men
​eager to explain how to make cordage--
usually as part of a general survival strategy
for the next time you happen to find yourself in the wilderness
with nothing but a pocket knife
(and the requisite testosterone).

As it turns out, however,
a person only need her hands--
​
​though a pair of snips can be useful.

Actually the process is so elemental
that it seems absurd
to have 16 photos and a video
to show the process.
But oh well....
​No time for brevity.

Anyway --
Gather some leaves**
and get them nice and damp.
You can do this by dumping a bundle in:
-a handy babbling brook impersonator (see photos above),
-your leftover bath water
-an actual babbling brook.
​
Rolling them in a wet towel also works well, 
as does gathering after a rain.

**Iris are satisfyingly strong
Daylily is fun to say (and the leaves can be long)
Narcissus are fragile, narrow and a lovely color
Corn husks are short, plentiful,  strong and dye beautifully.
Other plants await...

Even when I've soaked them in a creek (real or pretend),
it has been helpful to wrap the leaves in a damp towel
and let them sit for an hour or three
to even out the moisture content.

Then I tear wide leaves into strips
to control the evenness of the cordage.

To begin,
​Fold one strip (or leaf) --
but not in half.

Grab the fold with one hand,
the further strand with the other,
and twist it (the further strand) away from your body.

Cross the twisted far strand over the near strand
making it (the near strand)
the new far one.
Twist the new far strand.
​Cross over.
​Repeat.

​You are now spinning and plying at the same time.

When you get close to the end of a leaf strip,
or they start becoming too thin,
add a new strip 
by tucking it into the V 
(you can leave a bit sticking out and snip it off later).
Twist the new strip with whichever strip it is joining/replacing.
​
​Here is a Video -- I hope.
Please pardon the bathtub drain sounds --
the brook impersonator by where I was working
is about to be dismantled for winter so is missing its babbilator.

So with the same materials
you can make something
fine enough for a fishing net,
or  a rope on which you can cross a bottomless chasm. 
​Not bad for a few dead leaves. 

Of course I haven't tried either of these things as yet,
and expect there are a few nuances I'm missing,
but do let me know if you try them
and how they work.

Back in the studio,
where the bottomless chasms are metaphors
and I am fortunate enough to have a variety of cutting tools,
I usually lop off the sticky outey bits as i go.

Then,
when I run out of leaves
 or time
or energy
or the cordage is just perfect,
​I stop. 

Obsessions.
​They happen.

 I call this one "material inquiry"
when I want to impress myself --
or use the other elegant phrases
I tried to conjure last week--
but while in its midst,
this infatuation mostly feels like joy.​

Except,
 I am learning as I go
so my information has gaping holes 
about which I know nothing,
and the things I do know
are somewhat situation specific.

Water, for instance.
Here in Idaho it is very dry right now
so I've found it necessary to soak the dry leaves
before splitting or twisting them into cordage
to prevent the strands from breaking.

A tub of water for a few hours works pretty well,
as does rolling in a wet towel overnight,
depending on character of the material.
A good soaking rain is great
(we had one once),
as the brown leaves around the edges of 
iris and daylily plants can be twisted immediately. 

Freshly made cordage (everything still damp),
is easy to weave with.
It packs in best
when going through a small section
of the open shed before packing
(one or two warps at a time instead of five or six
or, heaven forbid,
traveling selvedge to selvedge before packing).

If the cordage has had time to dry, however, 
(about five seconds around here right now),
it needs to be soaked till pliable enough
​ to bend smoothly around the warp.

If, however, a gal happens to soak her cordage
for too long in extra warm water
(cuz...tea... hot water in the kettle...),
said cordage may become over-saturated
and this may lead:
first  --to lovely, easy weaving
second --to shrinkage as the cordage dries,

third --to undesired needle weaving
and a revision of her original vision 
if she happens to have woven other elements
over the too wet cordage
using techniques/ materials that do not
want to slide down the warp
at the same rate as the cordage.

and fourth-- to a bit of house wrecking
when trying to force things
in an attempt to avoid needle weaving
and vision adjustment
.
Luckily, I kinda like the wrecked house
and its new island location
so decided not to repair it.

Of course I (that mystery gal),
likes all of it enough
to try other aqueous experiments,
for instance tossing a couple of rings of cordage
into a linen scouring bath
(linen skeins and washing soda
simmered for an hour+).

Astonishingly,
the cordage did not fall apart.

What it did do was grow plumply darker (dying itself?)
and develop a new character.
Wet, it felt a bit like holding
a string of dark brown pearls
and was lovely to weave--
when damp but no longer wet, that is.
Some lessons stick.

One person said the photo above looked like woven coffee beans.

After drying completely though,
the pearl/ coffee bean effect went away.
The cordage stayed quite dark,
and didn't exactly shrink as a whole,
but the character of the individual strands 
ended up different from any cordage I've used so far,
wet or dry,
and the bit with which I didn't weave
went boing.

No chance to try weaving with this weird stuff yet,
but rest assured that soon enough 
​it'll be damp once again
to see how it behaves, both off and on a loom.

Finding things out is  addictive, don't you think?

Part of me wishes that I knew
what I don't yet know,
so I could figure out how
to learn whatever those things are
in an organized way.
​
But then again...
The mystery is better.

At least until I do learn a thing,
whereupon I'm sure to write about here
because
duh
I'm blabby that way
even when apparently speechless with delight.

SO FAR:
-dead leaves,
-stuff that's in the studio,
-weird results
-four selvedge tapestry,

-all of you.

What a plus to know
you're here with me.
​Thanks.

Daylily cordage--
​ a restful break from weaving tapestry--

a girl who knew that there was a way
to transform fistfuls of dead leaves​
into houses for fairies--

and magic carpets,

and potions for flight--

if only she understood
exactly
​ how it was to be done.

What joy, then--

to learn --

What I clearly don't know --
and perhaps never will--
is where bits of idle curiosity will lead. ​