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.

It is always amazing to me
how sometimes the simplest shift in technique
can change my whole feeling about a process.
Weaving in the ends in tapestry was like that.
Also, using a plying stick.
And one of the coolest things I learned in August
was  a new way to wind the cop
on a cross-armed spindle.

When I got my first cross-arm 
(a 9 gram Jenkins kuchulu) 
I learned what seems to be the canonical
over two under one, around and around
method of winding on (see photo above).
 It worked beautifully (once I got the hang of it),
and with it I have filled uncountable spindles.
The idea of (or need for), a different approach
 never crossed my mind.

Then in early August on a random Instagram Post
I glimpsed something rather different.
A woman was winding her cop
as though winding a ball by hand:
 a few times around one pair of arms,
 then on to the next pair, around a few times,
and on again to the next. 

No biggie, really,
and yet, for me, huge.

The cop looks quite different 
as it builds up around the shaft:
more of a square with the sides pushed in
than the neat little muffin I was used to.

It's not, however, the look of the thing
that matters to me,
but rather that this way of winding 
somehow adds a layer of comfortable ease
to the whole business of spinning flax
and I now find myself picking up
​ my willow distaff,
almost as readily as wrist distaffs
loaded with wool.

And that is a fine thing.

A fine thing indeed,
 since a truckload of milkweed stems
(potential compost from a native seed farm)
showed up at my house last week.
Once I get a better handle
on how to release the silky white fibers
hiding in that pile of stalks,
there is a good chance
that even more bast fiber spinning practice
is in my future.

But that is a story for another day.

Today, I just want to close
by saying thank you
for the lovely comments last week.
Your kind  words and good wishes 
mean more than I can say.
Spin on!

and also giving time
to the the myriad tempting ideas
that had been tickling my brain.
Luckily, many of those ideas
​had to do with spinning,
(which allows me to read at the same time),
except when I'm spinning flax,
(which means putting down my book),
or learning new tunes,
(which--usually--means 
putting down the spindle),
or sitting quietly in the shade
listening to the birds
with a cup of tea
(which means neither book nor spindle
​but maybe some knitting).
I had hoped to do some sewing
but then I'd have to put down EVERYTHING else!

Looking back at my daily drawings
I can see that holding my shoes 
while running barefoot,
is probably the only way
I managed to avoid the temptation 
of attempting to spin and run
at the same time.

And that it was likewise important
that the juice of the yellow plums
from our tree in the hell strip
is so sweet and sticky
that yarn, concertina,
and the current novel
could not be in the kitchen
while said fruit was prepared
for winter consumption.

Secateurs, too, 
are not yarn friendly--
though the now dry weld
will someday transform
unknown skeins
into spectacular yellows
(or greens with the help of indigo and/or iron).

On the other hand,
if she's sufficiently half-assed
while cleaning the house for visitors,

a gal can sometimes
carve out a moment 
or two
of elemental pleasure. 

​Dust? Whatever.
Water, coffee, salad, spindle and a book
at the same time?
Yes, indeed.

It will surprise none of you--
certainly not long time readers of this blog--
or anyone who has read
the post before this one--
or has happened to click 
on the word Handspinning
in the sidebar to the right--

that given a chance to make yarn
(as slowly as I possibly can),
​​or to make something with that yarn,

So yes --
though I did not get around
to making myself
a new pair of pants*
from those finally-too-worn-to-mend
sides-to-middled linen sheets, 
or learn all the tunes I dreamed of,
it  has been an exquisite
and deliciously yarn-centric August,
 at home on the Palouse.

I'm so glad
I didn't need
​or want
to be 
anywhere else. 

​
*And anyway,
I have plenty of Sarah-Dippity skirts to wear.
Many of this month's comics
indicate that  I wore the short wool ones
as often as the long one I made just for summer!

I plan/hope to wax verbose
in future posts
about the specifics 
of my August explorations
(not least, what feels like an improvement
in my flax spinning),
so stay tuned.

Due to unforeseen vagaries of life, however, 
I may not, for a time
be able to blog quite as consistently
​as I have in the past.
I'll still aim for every Tuesday,
but if  I don't make it
know that I'm probably making yarn,
drawing pictures of whatever is going on,
and will be back to tell you about it.

ps -- Remember, too,
that you can visit the archives
​(links on the right)
if you need more glimpses
​into this yarnish life
because really,
though every inch of yarn feels fresh,
I keep coming back
to the same old elemental bliss.