After the weaving/knitting  confusion
of last week's post
I was pretty sure that today
I could stick to the point.

The trouble began
when I began to gather 
photos--

for no sooner had I found a few decent pictures 
--of fleece prep and spindle choice,
--of knitting and ripping out and knitting again,
--of the three-needle-side-and-sleeve-seam-bind-off,
--and of the joys of putting a mock turtleneck
on what I had previously considered
a square-necked garment
(making it a square neck that looks round, 
to riff off of Roald Dahl),*
*see chapter 23, Square Candies that Look Round

than I got completely distracted
by the other three (or is it four now?)
sweaters I've knit from this same fleece
(a Targhee/Debouillet from Nancy Ortmann).

What caught me up
was thinking about how,
though I used the same Hepty Spindles
and spun virtually identical singles
I treated the final yarn making process quite differently:

--dyeing and carding the fleece, spinning all the singles, then plying and knitting
vs
--chain plying each spindle full of singles, then dyeing and knitting then all
vs
--chain plying each spindle full and knitting it right away.

Before long I was all bogged down 
with gathering pictures,
covering my computer desk top
with images to explain my choices,
and trying to describe why each approach
suited the mood and project of the moment
(and also getting sucked into inspecting old projects
with the wisdom of hindsight)--

and soon I'd totally forgotten
that your patience for such nonsense
(at least all in one blog post)
would soon be exhausted--
especially when what I REALLY wanted to do
​was talk about the third choice,
the one I used for the most recent two:
-the Somewhat Slanted I'm wearing as I type
-and a Magic Medium 
that I've worn like crazy since July
but don't think I've blogged about
because I hope to revise the magic Medium pattern
and figure it'd be better to talk about it
when I've got the new, more versatile version done
(though of course anyone who has bought it on Ravelry
will get a revised version if/when I get 
a round tooit). ​

So in the name of sticking to the point
I deleted all that historic nonsense
so that I could say
that
​though potentially filled with imperfections
(each skein slightly different
due to my spinning mood
and the weight of the spindle
from one end of the cop to the other)
just-in-time spinning 
 with a plying stick/wand
is my current absolute favorite. 

And here's why:

A gal can even lounge on her bed
and pretend to take a nap
while chaining
if she really needs a break
but can't quite bring herself
to put down the yarn.
​
And what's not to love about that?

ps .  For more about using a plying stick,
check out this blog post:
Cool Tools

pps And sigh.
I still feel compelled
to tuck a few photos of those other two methods
at the bottom
because there they are on my desktop
​and I want to tidy it up
but  will dispense with the descriptions
​as I think I'm almost out of words.

Method One: spin all the singles and mix them up

Method Two: spin and ply, then dye (Henry's Shop Shirt)

And Bonus for reading this far:
​The Proper recipients for both these last two garments:

Last night I cast off the last stitches
of my fourth Somewhat Slanted Sweater.

This morning I gave it a good bath.
I mean.
White fleece?
Spinning, plying and knitting as I go?
For months?
Lots of time on the road?
Talk about a grime magnet.
And who is going to wash her hands
every time she picks up
spindles or needles?
Well, maybe you.
Alas, not me. 

Anyway, it should be dry by tomorrow
so I can try it on all clean and blocked.
​
For some reason,
these somewhat slanted sweaters
fit quite differently before
and after
blocking --
esp the sleeves
which  have a tendency
to
lengthen-- 
(knitter beware...)
so there is not much point in taking photos
until it has finished this growth spurt. 

Sleeve increase aside,
I'm amazed at how individual
each version is--
as individual, indeed, 
as those that I've seen
made by other people.

For there have, by now,
been a fair few made
and I'm super excited
​because the Somewhat Slanted pattern
 and the Sarah-Dippity Skirt
now have their own Ravelry Pages.
so other versions can be linked.

Getting this Ravelry page up
is a thing I've been meaning to do for ages
and can't thank Vicki enough
for helping me make it happen--
and also the wonderful Ravelry team
for linking these two patterns 
to patterns I've produced over the years
 (for other publications).

Because Ravelry is a knitting site, however,
my two weaving PDFs can't go there
(at least as far as I know),
and it may be because of this
that instead of process photos
of the new sweater,
this blog post has been taken over
by a wool and paper conspiracy:

It is a bit  high-handed--
though as you may have noticed 
my materials have no compunctions
about bossing me around,
and a four selvedge warp
can reduce me to a state
of worshipful acquiescence
every time.
But really,
who could resist being seduced
by such yarnish loveliness?

 And if, in the meantime,
you too want to feel
the four selvedge magic,
​(and are willing to take the risk of life take-overs)
Rebecca Mezoff and I
are having an unprecedented one day sale
on our online four selvedge warping class FRINGELESS.
The class will be 25% off on Monday, December 2nd, 2019.
The code is: AllFourSides
(fyi- Rebecca's other amazing classes are  15% off that day only
with the codeword: FyberMonday).

ps -- AND LOOK!
It's now Tuesday,
the sweater got dry,
and amidst all the things that I thought would keep me from blogging today
(why I wrote most of this yesterday),
I had time for a quick snap!

Mock Turtle Somewhat Slanted
+ a sliver of (one of my many)  Sarah-Dippity skirts
= a  warm and comfy outfit
for a busy day.
Yum.

Do you ever find
 at the end of a medium-big project
that your mind is particularly vulnerable
to the enticement other ideas?

Well, that's how it was for me anyway,
As I finished weaving
the Digestive Biscuit Tapestry last week,
the pile of multi-hued coffee filters
my friend Jodi had collected
in the process of making
her amazing watercolors--
a pile of luscious color
that​ I had carefully stored in a cupboard
to avoid just this problem--
would not stop calling to me.

Clearly, 
the out-of-sight-out-of-mind strategy
is only temporarily effective.
Ignore them though I did
as I cut the tapestry from the loom,
no sooner had I set down the scissors,
than I put the tapestry aside to rest,
dismantled the loom,
and made a tiny indigo pot.

And why not?
The sun was shining,
the chickadees were chirping,
and I could take the drips outside
(wearing two sweaters and an apron),
to turn some of those
yellows (from rabbit brush),
pinks (from Cochineal),
and vaguely off-white ones (from coffee???)
into a range of greens, purples and blues. 

Then I thought --
"The tapestry 
 surely would like
​to rest a little longer--
which leaves me time
to cut a few of these into strips
and add some twist."

It  was kind of like ​creating
​my own box of crayons--
unsurprisingly addictive.

It was also,
I noticed,
​ a great way to avoid
the inevitable finish work
 on this fringed tapestry 
(my first in a couple of years
that was  not warped
using the four selvedge technique).

As I twisted the linen warp ends
​and sewed slits,
​I wondered how long
I could I gaze upon
those freshly spun coffee filters...

For not only did I want to see
that amazing color
neatly tapped into 
weft-faced splendor,

I also wanted to examine--
on a tactile level--
whatever it was that had led me 
to make the mid-tapestry leap
from linen to wool
a few weeks ago.

Alas, this was not a large enough experiment
to come to any great conclusions,
so more experiments will hopefully ensue. 

Here's, however,  what I did note:

1. that weaving with wool
is familiar, forgiving,
elementally comfortable
and I LOVE it beyond words
(and in the midst of weaving words).

2. that I'm still super  interested
in my ongoing cellulosic adventures--
in pursuing materials that come my way
friendly, familiar,
and easy to weave
​​or not.

​3. That weaving tapestries
in whatever material
is an amazing thing
to get to do.

This
is the flushing mechanism
on the tank of  our toilet.

And this (below)
is our toilet.

Or perhaps I should say --
 our former toilet.

For despite the unutterable aesthetic pleasure
of a wooden toilet tank with a copper liner,
a brass flushing mechanism,
and the ability to control the water volume
by how long you push 
on said brass button,
we replaced the whole thing last Saturday.

We were sad to see it go,
but after 30 years with us
(the tank itself is from the 1930s/40s),
aesthetics were not enough
to overcome an aged mechanism
and the extra water used
when flushing with a bucket
to actually get things 
 down the pipe.

Short of digging a hole and building an outhouse
(still illegal in town, alas), 
our new toilet is grand.
It meets all the low flush standards
for our aquifer-sucking region
and the wooden seat
helps it feel like the old one
(now at the local building recyclers 
where they are sure someone will want it
for a non-functional restoration--
wooden tank? Copper liner? Brass flusher?
what's not to love?) 

So all is Grand -- 

Except---


​--for the dreaded
PACKING DETRITUS!!!!!!

The cardboard boxes
in which the toilet was shipped
are at least recyclable.
But the protective foam?
Not likely.
And how horrible
to stuff our garbage/landfill
with plastic-encased air.

Also, how to throw away
something that is kind of interesting
in and of itself:
interlocking sections that can lie flat
or be folded into the edges and corners
that protected the toilet
from chips and cracks
during transport--
thus preventing more waste.
A person could make something --

But arghghghghg--
why fill the house
with pieces of foam I don't need.?

Also arghghghghg---
how to avoid buying  things
that inadvertently
generate trash in my name?

Needless to say,
​ I didn't sleep terribly well--
because in the middle of the night
​I had an idea.

And first thing in the morning
I put it to the test.

It's not pretty to be sure,
but a piece of fabric tossed over the top
helps with the aesthetics.

And amazingly
​- it's  actually great:
firm-- yet squishy, 
stable--yet wobbly enough
to keep my hips moving gently as I weave--
like those giant exercise balls you can sit upon
without the rolling issues. 

Also, the height is easily adjustable
in 1 1/4 " increments
which makes it a super simple way
to deal with some of the ​pipe loom ergonomic issues
I raised last week.

This morning,
needing the tuffet to be slightly taller
than the double width allowed
I experimented
​with the two solutions below.
Both are the same height.

Who knew?


ps.
It turns out that a standard pillowcase
is exactly two blocks wide by three blocks long
and I'm currently sitting crosslegged 
on a foam block/pillowcase raft
firmly yet comfortably insulated
from my cold floor.

Maybe if I put the tapestry tower
on top of the raft ...
​

My favorite way to weave
is to sit on the floor
with a bit of old camping foam mat under my butt, 
tools, teacups and yarn within reach,
​and a growing tapestry in front of my nose.

To work comfortably and ergonomically
on a fixed* warp on a pipe loom, however
(at least if the tapestry in progress
is more than a few inches tall),
regular height adjustments are necessary --
both of the loom and of my seat.

The seat is easiest to change.

Beginning on the floor, 
I perch on progressively taller 'tuffets'
until the wooden box in the images above,
is upright -- its tallest dimension.

When that is no longer comfortable
​ I shorten the loom legs.

With the loom laid flat
I twist off the feet  and legs

then choose the length I'll use next.

If I make the loom too short,
I'll be uncomfortably hunched over
when I begin weaving again.
If not short enough,
 I don't get to sit on the floor.

This time, I went for the shortest legs I had--
hardly a piece of pipe at all,
​but just the thing
for getting back
to my funky blue mat.

The fell is now  a few inches above
where it was in these photos
and I am once again
climbing the tuffets--
hoping to be back on the box
weaving the words "whole wheat"
​before too terribly long.

But there still many ingredients
between me and all those 'w's.
 and today I'm going for
"1 t baking powder".
So far, I have the  "1 t b"
Back to it, then!

*A Fixed Warp
 has the warp anchored to the top and bottom of the loom.
To change position (as shown in the photos above)
the weaver must move herself
in relation to the fell. 

A Continuous Warp, 
can be rotated around the loom,
allowing the weaver to stay in the same position,
and move the fell to suit her body.

Both have advantages and disadvantages --
--the first allows the weaver to see the entire tapestry the entire time
which makes spontaneous design decisions much easier,
(at least for me).
It also, potentially,  has less loom waste.

--the second allows one to weave a long/tall tapestry on a relatively short loom,
and to always sit/ stand in whatever way is  most comfortable.

Me -- I like both.
How lucky is that?

ps. as ever, to see other posts about pipe looms and various warping systems,
use  the search bar at the top of the page and see what comes up

When last we saw this tapestry,
half of  it had been transformed
from woven cloth
into fragments of flax
(now settled into my compost pile
amidst cabbage leaves
and other garden tailings).

Since then,
the warp has sprouted
a couple of tiny houses
​and the beginnings of a recipe.

My original intent
(with the now composting linen)
was to mimic the paper
on which the recipe was written--
a thing I've done before,
so version 2.0 presented a dilemma.
If no longer repeating something I know how to do,
what?
The same thing again only with wool?
A different piece of paper?
Forget the paper idea
and let my hands choose
 yarn and direction?

Needless to say,
the latter felt the most delicious
even when,
given that my long-time
​and oft-stated preference
is to work with two strands of singles,
my hands chose the small ball
of  mill spun
two ply Harrisville Flywheel
left over from from 
the long Sarah-Dippity Skirt
I wove last winter
(which just happens to be
what I am wearing today).

Geez.
Give my hands a choice
and anything could happen.
 But since I'd rejected coolness and relevance as a guiding principle
 it did seem like a good idea
to go for the feeling first,
and let the 'concept' follow
(or not)
​as it would.

So -- with the dark (stonewall)
woolen-spun Flywheel
for most of hte letters
and two strands of hand spun 
 madderroot-dyed Targhee/Debouillet
for the RED letters
(cuz of the red roof on the little house),
 I marched the few blocks to my LYS
The Yarn Underground,
came home
with more of the Harrisville 
in a slightly lighter value 
(driftwood, a warm-hued woolen cousin
of the hand spun linen
at the bottom of hte tapestry),
and dove in again.

Dan's Digestive Biscuits 2.0
here I come!

Weaving tapestry with knitting yarn
presents many challenges:
stretchiness, packability etc
(type "weft yarn"  or "tapestry weft"
into the search box at the top of the page,
and/or on Rebecca Mezoff's blog,
for more info on this topic),
and I find myself enjoying it immensely.
Not only is this the perfect weight
for my sett (10 epi),
but it is also kind of fun
to contrast it with the red hand spun.
Sometimes one seems easier to work with,
sometimes the other. 
Who knew? 

But there we go again --
assumptions
--for food
for tapestries,
for how one's days unfold--
are merely a starting place,
don't you think?
What joy
to mess around with yarn
change my mind
and adapt.

Also -- a gal can buy some really nice yarn.
It surprises me every time.

ps -- speaking of changing/trusting one's mind,
there were a few questions/comments on last week's post
about ripping out, making the decision to do so,
and​ how to have/develop confidence in one's choices.
Rebecca M wrote a great post about this
(with a video!), which I highly recommend.
The link is HERE.

You know how it goes.

​Of course you do:
it's a NEW PROJECT
alive with the thrill
​of beginning.

You do a bit of sampling--
(but not much).

After all,
​you've worked with these materials before--
(on a much smaller scale).

You know what's what--
(mostly). 
​
For sure they are
wonderful materials:
interesting, elemental,
and related ​to everything
​ you've been talking about
for months and months.

The hand spun linen is lovely,
though you're not positive you love
working with two strands.

-tap, tap, tap--

The warp-weft relationship
could be a little... different.

-tap, tap, tap--

You'll get used to it.

-tap, tap, tap--

Who is ever sure of anything?

-tap, tap, tap--

​This work could be
relevant,
and important.

-tap, tap, tap--

Besides,
it looks wonderful.

-tap, tap, tap--

Except,
that two strands 
of  white mill spun linen
is less pleasant
than the hand spun.  

-tap, tap, tap--

And  the half-assed attempt
to repeat the tape thing
you've done before?

-tap, tap, tap--

And oh,
there is a lot
of empty warp
up ahead.

-tap, tap, tap--

Now HUSH.
--tap--
You made a decision.
-tap--
It'll be SO COOL.
-tap--
​It'll BE FINE.
​-tap--

It'll be fine?

Did you hear that? 

Oh no
.
It'll be fine
is the kiss of death.

Does that mean you have to rip it out?
Nah.

-tap, tap, tap--

Really,
who wants to decide what to do
all over again?

It WILL  be fine.

-tap, tap, tap--

You go away for a week.
Come home. 
Weave a little more.

Sure is nice sitting at a loom.
If only...

Never mind that.
Go for a run.
Take off your shoes.
Wade through some muddy puddles.

Oh my, does this feel good.

Oh.
Right.

But I've woven so much.
And I LOVE how it looks.
And the waste.
And....

--SNIP, SNIP SNIP--

Yesterday, I made a new comic diary --

The front cover 
is a four selvedge tapestry
(woven hand spun coffee filters),
and the back,
a scrap of stiff cardboard
(it is nice to have something to lean on).

The paper inside
is Rives Lightweight printing paper.
It's got an odd texture for drawing
and is hard to erase thoroughly,
but I love that it is both thin
(I can get lots of pages in one book)
and highly absorbent
(I can slop watercolors and black ink
on both sides of every page
without any show through). 

This time, as the drawing says,
I decided to use a four needle
Coptic binding --
well actually it is a two needle technique
(one needle on each end
of each piece of waxed linen thread),
and I did it twice.
​Here is a link to the instructions
(thanks for the link Velma!),
which are wonderfully clear and easy to follow.

Not that I'm all that wedded
to binding perfection
(as you can see from the pics),
but it is fun to mess around.
Maybe next time.

I do try to draw in these diaries every day,
and with the decrease in size
of these last two books
(from 5" x 4 1/4" to 3" x 2 3/4"),
it's amazingly easy to fill four to six pages 
without even really noticing
(rather than than one or two as before),
so if I keep this up
"next time" could come fairly soon--
even with the extra signatures
I added onto this new version.

For comparison,
the big diary on the bottom 
lasted for almost four months,
while the one in the middle
won't even make a month and a half.

It could also be
that the smaller pages
have influenced my style.

Or maybe its the influence
of the tiny houses--
​though I'm not quite sure how.

What I am sure of
is that the portability of the smaller format--
now enhanced by the extreme portability
of this teensy pocket palette
filled with handmade watercolors
created by K. Jodi Gear--
makes it extra easy
to have my materials with me
no matter where I am,

or what I am doing.

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.