You know how sometimes
an idea just flies into your head?

Often as not
such distractions show up
at awkward moments,
and they need to be filed away.
But not always.

This one came when I was sitting on the toilet --
the quintessential location for such notions--
and though I quickly relegated it to the 'later' category,
it demanded instant action.
What can you do?

Those of you familiar with 
four selvedge warping with a jig
and/or are in the Fringeless class,
will see what is going on here--
two sets of bars on one jig,
warp wound around both to different heights,
and supplemental warps to meet each section.

NOTE: having the middle set  of bars slightly smaller than the  top and bottom
 seemed like it'd  be a problem,
but tape kept the smaller central ones
from falling out of the holes during the initial winding,
and in the long run the size difference was helpful
as it made the box bottom
more proportional to the sides.


A structural problem I didn't foresee
might also be visible from the photo above:
 the outside warps of the bottom section are split 
because the bottom and top loops are offset,
so when weaving that bottom section
the edge warps are 'half loops'.
The selvedge warps on that bottom section
thus had a short, tight shed,
the extra short one on the right
needing special handling and a very small bobbin.

 I think this is an unavoidable issue overall,
but the right side could be as long as the left
if, when beginning to wind the last section
(the right wing as it were),
I brought the yarn down from the top
rather than up from the bottom.

On another structural note,
the photo above makes it look like
there is a lot of draw-in on the bottom section
but that is actually not the case.

The side warps just got a little scrunched
as my hands manipulated those funky edge bits,
and a few passes all the way across on the middle section
allowed all the warps to fall into alignment,
so the shed was its lovely
four selvedge/ supplemental warp self 
from there to the top. 

Split warp and spacing issues  solved,
the rest of the tapestry was a piece of cake.
(well, I still don't like the feel
of seine twine warp on my hands
but that is another story).

Knowing that each face of the box
would present as its own thing
gave me freedom to mess around --
a few lines here, 
some weird weft there,
the ubiquitous  house somewhere else. 
note: The two-ply ziplock bag yarn is a new favorite,
though its stretchiness required a gentle hand.

At the top of each facet
the warp loops are individually locked into place
as per the four selvedge system,
and when I released the whole thing from the loom,
I just needed to fold up the edges,

and sew the corners closed.

I love the peek-a-boo  nature of the plastic bag yarn.

But might it be worth weaving
a couple of solid strands across another such window
to make square/ rectangular panes?
Always something to try.

But there it is--
a five second idea,
days of interesting weaving,
 myriad possibilities for the future--
split warp issues and all.
Happily, having learned what I needed to know for now
(including how much I love the three dimensional structure),
I can now let the idea sit 
while I go prove a few other concepts
that are loudly demanding attention. 

If this form interests you,
I hope these vague instructions are enough
as it is all I have time to write just now.
You fringeless/ four selvedge friends
should be able to figure it out though, eh?

Or,
if you're hankering for 3-D fringeless tapestry, 
 the good old Bag-On-A-Box approach 
will achieve the exact same end
without having to sew the corners,
and all on the ultimate portable, recyclable loom.
​
Seasonal travel?
Gift boxes?
Wrapping paper for yarn and cordage?
Oh dear, oh dear...

It's time for a new comic diary.

Number 19 is almost full --
only a few blank pages at the back,
and they will probably be all mucked up
​with ink, paint, angst and ideas,
some time next week.

These moments of  transition
between the one I'm  about to start
about the one I'm about to finish
make me both proud and wistful:
proud that, despite myriad days in which there is nothing to say,
something usually, amazingly, still shows up;
 wistful in that once a book is put 'on the shelf
I rather miss the comics I've done.
(plus it's harder to flip back to check when I last washed the sheets).

​Not that every comic is precious,
​or even particularly good.
​They are just there.
And what is precious, at least to me,
is the simple usefulness
of seeing my thoughts
reflected back
​ in the moment
Golly, is that really how I feel?
I had no idea. 
and
Gee -- I had such a hard time learning that tune --
and now, finally, here it is under my fingers!
Or maybe not. 

At least I think it is--
though I'm not a particularly good book binder.
Adequate at best.
But truth to tell, 
my limited skills suit me down to the ground. 
The last thing I want
is for these diaries to feel precious
​ before I use them.
If they got too fancy, I might be intimidated. 
Accidentally tear a piece of paper the wrong direction?
Put it in somewhere.
Head off backpacking
with a single-signature sketchbook?
Stitch it in when I get home. 

I started this habit
in a Moleskine I got an an airport 
on the way to a teaching gig 
about which I had a lot of feelings,
(travel is not my thing).
For a long time, the practice
felt so fragile that I was loathe to do anything
(like use nicer paper)
that might cause me to pause,
so I stuck with the Moleskins till I had ten filled up. 

Draw something, anything,
was my  motto.
​So what if you only have three minutes.

These first drawings were in pencil, 
and for a long time I insisted that the pages
 have something else already on them --
lines, or dots or squares --
as though the drawings were mere accidents.
If I spent too much time on them
I feared I'd develop expectations,
freak out
and stop. 

But somehow I didn't.
And the practice evolved
until suddenly,
between one day 
and the next,
I added color.
This might have been because there were no lines on the pages,
or because my friend Jodi had just sent me
the worlds' most adorable handmade watercolor paint set.
​Or both.
Whatever the reason, I didn't dare to question it,
But within a few months, 
INK!
ZOUNDS! How brave.

But really, how long does it take
​to trust a new habit?

Jessica Abel recently wrote a wonderful blog post
about the power of Small Habits .
As a creature of habit myself
it resonated strongly, and made me so grateful
that somehow, over time, 
I've  managed to carve out bits of time
in which to add new things into my life.

Not all at once of course.
Indeed, NEVER all at once.
But slowly, gently,  in teensy bite sized portions.

Spinning Yarn, beginning in 1982 --
at 4 AM mind you, before barn-building began for the day
(or cooking for the hunters, or haying, or whatever).
Tapestry Weaving  in 1989
(an hour a day, max, while my infant slept),
Running in 1995
(again -- early morning ).
Four Selvedge Tapestry -- gosh, can't remember the year
but my kid was definitely in school for part, or most of the day.
Barefoot Running--2010
(my son sent a Youtube link, I was intrigued,
but made sure not a soul could see me take my shoes off that first time)
Comic Diary --November 2012
Color and INK -- October 2016
Color and Ink AND Coptic Sketchbook -- August 2017
(a baby habit still -- but the thicker pages fill up fast so it looks like a lot)

Geez. 36 years and that's all I've learned?
Well no.
We all learn stuff all the time--
sometimes to please other people,
sometimes to survive in the world, 
sometimes to write a blog post when the program has changed,
sometimes  because there will be a test
(after which one can often forget it completely). 

But 36 years of choosing  to learn things
that no one else gives a damn about?
That feels good.

It is just occurring to me as I write
that the things that have stuck
have involved a gentle sort of learning:
inner permission be curious--
to start small--
to keep it private --
to take whatever time it takes--
to figure out which techniques and processes suit me--
to stick with those for a while--
(what it is about that material or technique
that makes it compelling and/or pleasurable--
since they don't always go together)--
to refine skills over time as needed.

Really, if no one else gives a damn,
how you learn
​ is no one's business
but yours. 

At the end of the Webinar with Rebecca Mezoff, 
we were asked how a gal could make time for tapestry.
I blathered on then about something or other -
but what I meant to say,
was that the only way
to make something happen
(even when it is hard
​ and scary),
is to begin
whatever it is
in whatever way
​you can.
No fanfare needed.
Just curiosity.
​And Kindness. 

ps .  for more comic diary and sketchbook posts
check out the  sketchbook tab
on the archive list on the right
(or underneath this on a phone).

pps.  also, Anne Lamott,  Bird by Bird. 

To blend, or not to blend -- that is the question.

At least it was the question a few weeks ago, 
when, all of a sudden (isn't always like that?)
this marvelous collection of 
Polworth, Cormo, Merino, Debouillet and, I think, Targhee.
from the Ortmann's  flock in Wolf Point, Montana,
​demanded attention. 

(These eastern Montana range sheep cope with extreme weather and wild winter winds, 
by growing amazingly soft, dense fleece--and the Ortmann's have bred for color.
 I'd put in a link if I could find a website...Nancy???)

But back to blending.
I didn't have a plan at first--
just a strong desire to work with the fleece--
and with only a few hand fulls of each value,
 teasing and carding each separately 
seemed a good starting point. 

While I was at it, 
(and since I didn't know how I wanted to proceed)
I also carded the few ounces of 
light brown something-or-other --
(not quite as fine but lovely and bouncy)
that a friend had given me a few weeks before.

Also, why not add to the pile
by turning some white fleece 
(Targhee/Debouillet also from the Ortmanns)
​a kind of periwinkle blue?
​I had an indigo pot going after all.

And as I dyed and carded
an idea began to  form --
a new kind of idea,
an idea that,​ once acted upon,
could not be undone.
Was it worth the risk?

Since Discretion is the better part of valor
and caution preferable to rash bravery (sometimes anyway),
I reserved a small selection of all the greys, 
blended one batt of the periwinkle with white
(to create another value range),
and set the whole works aside as a separate project
before doing anything drastic with the bulk of the batts.

But what did those batts want?
​Once upon a time,
I would have spun each 
into its own yarn
for weaving into tapestry.
This was, indeed, why I wanted
​the collection of fleece in the first place,
for value has always been elemental to my tapestry practice

But ideas change,
and between spring and fall
this new (or maybe very old) idea--
charming, complicated and irresistible--
had wormed its way in.
What I now wanted was: 
-fine, bouncy, heathery purple/grey yarn 
-to weave on my backstrap loom,
-into yards of warm, flexible fabric
-with an easy drape,
-that I could stitch into next winter's jacket.
Really? 
Well yeah -- really.

But clothing?  Sheesh.
I haven't woven cloth for clothing
since... well...
since  I wove my wedding dress fabric in 1989.

Well, maybe it's time.
And it's not like I'd have have to
buy, or even borrow,  a loom.

And thank goodness I wrote the comic!

Not only did I rely on it
​to make sure I wound my warp correctly,
but I also needed the tale
of  Luminist and Storymaker,
to remind me that trusting the yarn is a thing--
even if it is a messy thing,
with no clear outcome. 

Right now, 
the spindle awaits. 
​And oh golly, is this stuff nice to spin. 

​It was a big deal to learn about computers then--
something my professors thought no one in their right mind would do unless forced,
(nearly as essential as the endocrine interactions of newly pregnant ewes),
and I have to admit that without the nudge,
I would never have done it. 
Spreadsheets? Computers?  Bah.

I took the class because I was interested
in sheep, wool, and yarn,
and also because I was hoping
​ to become a Veterinarian--
a path I didn't ultimately pursue.
(Though I did not mind shoving up arm up a cow's rectum
while lying on a frosty, windy hillside,
I did mind that such calls would keep me
from knitting and spinning
as much as I might like).

But Back to Lotus 1, 2, 3.
Yarn-centric nerd that I was even then,
I designed a knitting calculation spreadsheet
that would shift the stitch numbers from
those for the gauge given in a pattern
to stitch numbers for the gauge chosen by a knitter
for the yarn she had (ideally hand spun).

My professors thought it most original. 
I thought it pretty basic and silly--
a thing I could have done with pencil and paper in half the time.  
But I was a diligent student
out for the A's I needed to get into Vet school,
so didn't say so.

A couple of years (and many science classes later),
I strayed to a different end of campus,
wandering into a room
on the third floor of the home economics building,
where light streamed through big windows
and fell upon row up on row of floor looms
and all thoughts of veterinarianism flew away.

I quit calculus,
​learned to warp,
and devoted myself
​ to a grid of a different sort.

Time passed, as it does.

I wove -- quite a bit.
Lotus 1, 2, 3, went out of fashion.
Fonts became a thing. 
Spreadsheet programs began to be called  'apps.' 
Lives were devoted to creating them.
Other lives were devoted changing them.
Soon these apps
were filled with bells and whistles
many as silly as my spreadsheet
but which force us,
on an almost daily basis,
 to relearn things we thought we already knew,
or devote  hours, days, weeks
to finding that one little thing that has to be clicked
to accomplish the thing we did yesterday
with no trouble at all.
Bah.

As far as I know
endocrine paths of pregnant ewes
remains much as it always has.
We love our computers
and rely on them,
but the blankety-blank learning curve
never seems to flatten out.

Over under, over, over, over under. 

There are skills to be learned, of course--
tension, selvedge control, warping techniques,
how to spin grocery receipts into yarn--
and these can feel momentous
if you've never done them,
the learning curve very steep.

I'm actually all in favor of learning stuff.
Indeed,  learning hard stuff
is what we humans do best,
and for many of us
person to person learning
is still easiest -- 
using arms and hands and voices

Once upon at time,
(even before computer text was green)
we might  have lived in the same village.
where we could slowly and easily
share weaving thoughts
as we spun our yarn 
and picked pebbles out of our bean seed.
We could wave our arms around
and describe that slick little maneuver
for getting the warp tension just so,
(or how to save a file to dropbox),
then show you after lunch.

It's the thing Elizabeth Wayland Barber
called "the courtyard sisterhood"
in her life changing book
Women's Work: The First 20,000 years

Sometimes we still get to do that
but with weavers separated, rare
and all over the world,
we now rely on  our marvelous
confusing, confounding,
 and ever-changing devices
to write blogs,
to shoot video 
to create WEBINARS,
in an attempt to mimic 
what we once accepted as normal.

They are miraculous, these devices.
After all, here I sit,
​ writing to you this very morning
while my laundry dries outside
 and my tea gets cold--
and it is almost like being together.

The trouble is that sometimes
the devices don't work as planned,
and those of us who know a lot about weaving,
are thrilled to BITS to ponder
esoteric, yarn-centric questions,
and to share what we know the best we can,
while you cook supper,
do not always have the latest
​digital technical minutiae 
at our fingertips. ​

Luckily, thanks to another techno-miracle
THERE is a recording of the whole thing,
waving arms and all.
that anyone can watch.
(Indeed, if you do, you will soon see
that I have some learning to do
when it comes to my interaction with the screen
for I seem to make a habit of
pointing at something amazing
as though you are next to me,
which it feels like you are
when, in truth,
all you get
is my finger jabbing your nose).
​
I don't know if it feels different, not being live,
but it is there,
and you can pause us at will.
​And one of these days, we'll try again.

This Four Selvedge Warping business
 is just so thrilling,
so useful in myriad ways,
that, learning curves and all,
we're going to keep talking about it. 

We have The Fringeless Class
to explain all the details,
(Rebecca, the most patient of teachers,
is brilliant at finding just those tricky bits
that need a tiny, slow motion video to make them clear
as anyone who has taken her other tapestry classes knows).

And we now have the free Webinar
 to share more of the possibilities
when enthusiasm boils over.

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.