Well, if I hadn't just spent
half the morning
(and a good portion of yesterday evening)
​with my iPad camera 
pointed at this little tapestry,

​I might have gotten
to writing to you
​a while ago.

marveling at the light playing with its facets,
and noticing
how a slight shift of angle
could render it
 statuesque ​from one direction, 

Outside the frame of the camera
it is actually somewhat diminutive--
here is my friend Poppy for scale--
and though I made the darned thing,
the relative power of framing and angle
is still a surprise. 

At any rate,
I had a lovely time weaving this tapestry 
(on a PVC pipe loom as you can see--
one of my all time faves for some weird reason)
 though what I actually made
​turned out to be not at all
what I imagined when I began.

The original point
was to let each facet
explore some color theory idea
​and see what happened.

I planned to
mess around with
hue, saturation, triads,
split compliments,
or relative warmth--
whatever grabbed my fancy.

But as so often happens these days,
after only a few little squares
I was the one that was saturated
and almost unwove
those first busy reddish-orange shapes--
even though I loved them--
as it felt like it was going to be
just too much in no time at all.

But before I could begin undoing though,
I remembered a thing Archie Brennan once said,
about changing your perception of yesterday's red,
by adjusting the colors you weave with today.
Unfortunately, I can't remember the exact quote
(Archie was a supremely quotable fellow
and I'm sure he said it with with perfect pith and pointedness 
so if you read/heard him say it, please let me know his real words),
but the principle was just what I needed.

So on I went.

And now that I think about it,
my variations on a theme of cream
actually has a little analogous/value stuff going on,
so I guess I got in a bit of inadvertent
​color theory practice after all.

At any rate,
since Marjorie asked
for more filter cutting/spinning info
in last week's comments,
​choosing these colors 
gave me a chance to try
to film a few of the steps.

Naturally, I got totally involved in that idea
but not being a video gal,
 had to cut quite a few attempts at filming
before I had something that made sense. 
And then,
even though I deleted a lot of footage,
 realized it would take forever
to upload all the video onto this post
so put them into the
"highlights" of my Instagram page.
You can see them by clicking
the three little circles under my name.
(Start with the circle on the right).
Below are two snippets  to give you an idea
of what I was about.
At the very least, the sound of hte scissors
​is weirdly soothing.

For those who would prefer still photos
this blog post  also has some how-to-cut pix
that cover essentially the same territory.

And now I've gone on and on as usual,
but before I close 
I do once again want to say
how VERY much I appreciate 
your supportive, kind, and heartwarming comments
which are more helpful than you can imagine
in the midst of this double  (or maybe quadruple?)
c-word moment:
cancer/chemo/coronavirus/Covid19.
And to show you that for the time being
we're well protected (after a fashion),
I'll end with a photo of the freshly blocked
Somewhat Slanted  Suit of Armor
I just finished for Dan--
(huge though it is, at 2 sts/in the knitting flew along).
As you might gather,
he's a teensy bit taller than me --like a foot, actually--
but suddenly, I'm thinking
that with slightly shorter arms,
I could sure do with
​ a Somewhat Slanted Dress)

I hope you are well
and staying safe
(at home if you can be there,
at work if you cannot),
and send a silent cheer to you/us  all.

Frankly, 
I haven't the foggiest idea 
​what to write about today.

Not for lack of ideas --
Oh no!  
I've been awash with those.
I mean, 
a paper gansey dress?
a suit of Somewhat Slanted armor?
There is much to talk about
​in the realm of my making existence.
Yet this is actually my third try
at trying to be coherent.

Part of the problem
may have been
that "somehow"
all sorts of non-blog things
have arisen ​to take over my Tuesdays,
and, deciding to be efficient
the first two blogging attempts
were made yesterday.

What a disaster!
Not a single coherent sentence
​ could I write,
and most of the photos
turned out badly lit
or poorly framed-- 
poorly framed, that is,
unless your hearts desire 
is. to see a corner of my
Sarah-Dippity clad butt
and the bra/underwear pile
of my laundry-in-waiting?

Tuesdays, you see
are old lady (and gentleman) day at the Food Coop
(actually member over 55 gets a 10% discount),
and what with the layers of gloves
and careful spacing and all,
it seemed a good idea
to keep grocery-getting
and blog writing
​separate too.

Tuesdays are also 
my husband's new chemo day
(used to be Monday)
and since I usually try to  do a little tidying
while he's off getting infused,
 I figured if I wrote the blog on Monday
I could take my time
​with the scrubbing,
​the shopping
and the writing.

But Monday,
as I said,
refused to cooperate. 
After a bunch of confusion and angst
it became clear 
that while there are times
and places 
when thinking ahead
and being practical
(wearing  rubber gloves
out in the world etc etc)
is just the thing.

So Monday got to be
the thing it wanted to be,
full of tunes and pink coffee filters,
and I headed out to the Food Coop this morning
where,
be-gloved and bemused,
I had several magical moments of
distant socializing with dear friends--
our plastic coated hands waving madly
from one end of an aisle to another--
and also got to feel
​ a good solid sense of gratitude
for all the beautiful produce
and marvelous, helpful coop stuff
who are keeping us supplied
​for our once-a-week excursions.

And  the cleaning?
Well, I shook out a few rugs
but mostly skipped it entirely,
save for washing
and blocking
the coffee filter Gansey dress
because my imaginary elf self
wanted to wear it
and anyway
I can mop things tomorrow.

But that, the elf comment, reminds me
of what I really wanted to say today,
and why I was trying to take selfies yesterday--

which is that is that my friend Vicki
has designed the coolest hood
for the Somewhat Slanted sweater
and I finally get to tell you about it.
Somehow she managed to combine 
both the utterly practical
(cozy, easy, protective, snuggly),
and the utterly "im"--
(I get to be a wood elf
and a Monty Python Knight
​at the same time),
while making something that is
totally in the "make it as you go" spirit
of the sweater itself. 

Such a favorite, indeed, 
that I'm giving you a second opportunity
to critique my slovenly laundry ways,
my pink Sarah-Dippity butt,
and the polka-dotted apron I forgot I had on,
so you can see the whole thing,
backlit and all.

And speaking of Dan
(though he'd probably rather I didn't)
I do want to say
how VERY much I appreciate 
all your wondrous words and hopes and thoughts
in the comments in last week's post.
I was going to try to answer them all,
but it only made me cry,
and also feel so very grateful
that you are all there,
that we're all in this together
in many different
and many of the same ways, 
and that I get to write to you--
even going on and on
despite thinking I had nothing to say--
and that we can madly wave,
our carefully gloved hands
at one another
from across the world,
and the other side of town,
and feel connected
with our yarn
and our thoughts
and the joy
of the fragile,
​the lovely,
and the absurd.
So, ah,
​thanks.
​
And, onward we go.

Gee Whiz --
is this wild or what?

Everything shifting so much
that it is hard to know
​from moment to moment
what to think--
or even how I feel.

Sometimes,
​happily,
it is all perfectly clear:
when in doubt
​make stuff.

Then five seconds later,
my brain has gone racing off
on unhelpful imaginary voyages of its own--
and in an effort to calm it down
all I can do
(short of panicking about toilet paper),
is to remember how useful it can be

In some ways
I've been in training for this time
all my life.

Decades of making stuff
makes it seem obvious
​to turn to the work of my hands
when things are less than ideal--
as well, of course
​as when they are bloody marvelous.

At the same time
none of it is easy,
as you know,
and can't  tell you how helpful
it has been
these many months
to draw that freaking out person
I sometimes am
(hard to believe, I know, but true ;-)
and to have a place
from which I can look back at myself,
and laugh, or commiserate, or whatever,
​ even while whatever it is
is still happening. 
(Some day, maybe, I'll even share
a few chemo side effect comics...
​ but not today).

it is also wildly wonderful
to have companions along the way
who are also turning 
their prodigious attention
to the making of things
that are perfectly ridiculous.
​
​​And really,
​was there ever a better time?

ps. And now that I'm about to close
I suddenly remember how much 
I also want to thank you
 for all the marvelous comments
in last week's post,
and say that there is not much to 
 these curled wire hangers
beyond that they are made
from 16 gauge wire
I found in the basement,
that I gently unroll
then twist about with my hands
(and sometimes a cheezy pair of pliers for the tight curves),
until the thing balances--
which sometimes takes a while.

pps.  and one  more quick more thought
​on perfectly ridiculous projects --
weaving a bag on box is a prime example --
and also terrific
if you want to try your hand at weaving
and don't have a loom--
but do have a cardboard box!

They are not usually
​the point of cloth --
​
​cracks, I mean--

places that light
shines through.

Certainly tapestry weavers
generally work very hard
to make elegant and subtle joins
between shapes
and areas of color.

And at  all cost
we avoid hanging the works
anywhere near direct sun.
Until, ahem,
​we do.

Yesterday I warped a loom--
and began to weave a watery landscape
(complete with lots of hatching and color blending
cuz -- you know-- so many great colors of paper).

Then several inches in
I stopped,
 unwove the entire thing
​ and began again.

The landscape,
lovely though it was,
had no interest in 
(or, it seemed, capacity for)
playing with the light-- 
or, apparently, with me--
too anxious to be done
to enjoy actually weaving. 
​
And who wants to feel like that
about a work in progress?

Yet those plain little squares--
and the slits between them--
are seemingly just the thing.

As fun, just now---
as very plain knitting.

I've been, indeed, a bit bemused
by my equal opportunity entrancement. 

On the one hand--
the ​unpredictable energy
of ​knitted paper.
(Sweater Somewhat Slanted as promised).

On the other,
 the tranquility
of geometric tapestries.

And then I notice,
(yet again),
that what I am embracing 
​is paper and light.

So what can I do
but go with it?

My sister has left, alas,
and our lunchtime knitting-and-gab-fests 
are no longer a thing.
But as she headed home through the skies,
​a slew of unstoppable ideas
for the coffee filter yarn I made during her visit
flew into my brain.
So naturally, I had to try them.

First up was a little vessel.
At least that is what I keep calling it,
though when I look up the word
in the two nearest dictionaries
(as I did a moment ago)
I find that vessel
may not quite suit.

One definition begins like this:
ves.sel n. 1. a. any large boat or ship
esp. one larger than a canoe or rowboat,
designed or equipped  for
conveying passengers, cargo, etc
b. Law. any floating structure.
2. an airship

​​Both go on to talk about canals,
 blood vessels, and woody ducts in trees,
none of which quite apply
to this little object
since transportation of liquids in any form
is not something I foresee
in its  future.

Not that coffee filter yarn,
(cellulose fiber that is), 
isn't perfectly capable
of  sucking up water.
That is, after all, what it was designed to do.
But wet paper, even spun and knit,
is exceptionally tender,
and once immersed,
 the perky little structure
will simply collapse
into a sodden heap of loops.
​
So not, I think, a boat.

She is, however, 
extremely willing 
 to hold light and air,
and is perfectly capable of transporting me
(with a little help from the sun),
into a world of luminous,
shadow-rich
​ rapture.
​
So perhaps a kind of bird?

At any rate,
whatever she is called,
once the little vessel-bird
showed me a little of what she was capable of,
light-wise,
I had to cast on again
for something  larger,
and with bigger holes.

Here she is.

And since I know you're going to ask,
here are a few technical tidbits:
​
Vessel-bird 1 (left, below)
-Melita filters from my kitchen,
-​some dyed with indigo,
-cut with scissors into strips approx 1/4" wide
-spun Z, plied S
-Knit on size 5 (3,75mm) needles

Vessel-bird 2 (above, right and below)
-Commercial Coffee filters 
-collected, unearthed, washed and dried
by my sister Evelyn R. Swett,
-cut with scissors into strips approx 1/8" wide
-spun Z, plied S
-some dyed with indigo
-Knit on size 5 (3,75mm) needles​

Here is a link to a post
 from two weeks ago
which includes a brief comparison
of three coffee filter brands/styles,
 Stay tuned for more experimentation--
though of what sort, I cannot, alas, predict.

And that, my friend,
is all I know so far.

But happily,
​these light-filled objects,
speak for themselves--

as, indeed,
​can we all--
 given time,
attention
and a moment in the sun. 

ps. And speaking of moments in the sun,
my recent coffee filter experiments,
received a lovely mention in Episode 18
of the marvelous podcast
Mrs. M's Curiosity Cabinet.
Meg's experiments with nylon-free sock yarn,
growing her own luffa gourds
and more, are always a treat.
​ I highly recommend a listen --
to all the episodes

What a treat it has been--

my sister here for ten days--
 a lovely  time-out-of-time--
almost a retreat for us both--
each immersed in her own obsession.

Every day
 Lyn went to a local coffee shop
to write about compost,
while I focused my research
on the pile of coffee filters
she had collected from said compost,
washed and brought with her.

What could be better than new material?

On my end, I found that​
the commercial filters 
are bigger in diameter
and ever so slightly thicker
than those I'd been using,
and that they required careful handling while cutting
lest the layers get off-kilter in my hand.
The extra diameter, of course
added yardage:
approx. 10 yards vs 7 yards
for every filter cut.

They are also a different color:
 evenly brown from center to edge
which leads to an evenly hued yarn,
in contrast to the heathery variegation
I get from Jodi's domestic filters
which shift from brown at the center
to creamy white at the edges
(unless they have been filtering pigments of course,
in which case they are every color of the rainbow).

 That Jodi washes her filters indivudally
as they are used
and the commercial filters
are dumped in a bucket
to absorb the color from the
rest of that day's spent filters and grounds,
as they wait for Lyn to collect them for her compost,
probably accounts for this difference.

Needless to say,
my work will happily accommodate--
indeed is better for--
having both.

Anyway,
​after a morning of immersion
in our respective explorations,
Lyn and I met for lunch:
needles clicking
as we chewed on ideas,
raw carrots,
my husband's fresh sourdough bread,
and other such delights.

That Lyn was knitting
was particularly thrilling for me
as, though she had not picked up needles for years,
she decided to break her fast
with my Somewhat Slanted Sweater pattern--
which she later said
had a particularly easy point of entry.

Well, those may not be exactly the words she used
but since the pattern starts with a single stitch
and forms a pointed triangle to begin,
I couldn't resist the pun.

​At any rate, 
it was a huge treat
 to walk into the Yarn Underground (my LYS)
and say,
"Pick some yarn,
any yarn, any weight
(lace to super bulky),
in a color you want to wear,
no gauge swatch necessary,"
and watch her go almost instantly
to a warm reddish pink
reminiscent of sweaters ​knit for her
​ by our mother and grandmother
​when she was a little girl,
​and watch her take off.

And now I'm all agog with ideas
so might have to use some of the yarn
from the coffee filters she delivered
to knit a paper Somewhat Slanted
for myself --just because.
Think it'll work?

It's hard to know what to say
about these little open warp
gridded paper tapestries.

I like making them?
The colors are pretty?
The grid is weirdly satisfying?
Love leaving room for the light?
Symmetry -- who knew?
All of the above?

I'm definitely feeling the influence  
of the marvelous material
in Rebecca Mezoff's new Design Class,
the second module of which
focuses on using line in tapestry.
Working with,
(and doing my best to defy)
the elemental structure of tapestry
has been a thing in my work for years,
​and it is fun to revisit it so directly.
note: I apologize for bringing up this class as registration is now closed  for the season,
but you can watch the trailer HERE,
--spoiler warning--includes a couple of clips of my dulcet tones going on about the joys of tapestry--
and do note that the non-interactive version
opens for registration in June so you can put that on your calendar --
and/or make sure to sign up for season two next year.

The paper yarn itself
most definitely exerts 
an enormous amount
​of power over my choices.

Beautiful as it is,
​how not to try to find a way
to let it shine 
free from the distraction
of image of imposed narrative?

And it's not just about color.
The look, feel, texture and behavior
of plain, coffee-stained paper
is irresistible to me.
And what joy, few days ago,
to receive ​a veritable bonanza
of new material.

First:  a lovely big stack of
extra large round filters
that my amazing sister 
fished from the grounds
during her twice a week
coffee-shop-compost-collection,
then washed,
dried by draping all around her kitchen
and carried with her
when coming to visit me--
what better present could there be,
on both counts?

(If you scroll down the post in the link above--
though not too fast cuz her photos
are marvelous along the way--
you can see the buckets
of  spent coffee grounds
as they come to her).

These filters,
though larger in diameter,
are of a similar thickness and feel
to the round ones I get from Jodi--
the source of all that color above. 
Like the colored ones
I use scissors to cut them into
 one continuous spiraling strand.
(pics of this in the post linked above).

Then: my friend Robin
delivered a second collection 
of big square chemex filters--
individually ​rinsed and dried
over days and days.

As well a being square,
the paper in these
is significantly thicker than
the round ones,
so I cut them using what I believe
 is the more traditional approach:
slicing into narrow strips with a sharp blade
before releasing into a continuous strand
that zig zags back and forth.

Robin also included
a few small cone-shaped Melita filters, 
the paper of which I've worked with before.
Similar in weight/ texture
to the chemex above,
I nevertheless cut them with scissors
to get the most out of their curved shape.

The different materials make surprisingly different yarn,
and I'm just beginning to get a sense
of what I like best, when. 

As ever, I'm learning as I go,
every day an experiment--
and if you are also interested in meandering 
down this particular rabbit hole
 I highly recommend some internet searches

Great sources of info:
Kigami and Kami-ito:
Japanese Handmade paper and paper /thread
by Hiroko Karuno,
Velma Bolyard's site/ blog
Pinterest
My posts under the "coffee filter yarn" tag on the right

At any rate,
as well as  broadening my filter horizons, 
I've also been comparing
my two charkhas for spinning and plying:
the book charkha above 
(ratio about 100/1)
and the Ashford Charkha below
(ratio about 10/1)

Plusses and minuses to both--
Book:
- the speed of the book charkha is phenomenal
and makes paper spinning fast and pleasant.
-the thin shaft makes a paper pirn kind of a hassle
so singles have to be rewound for storage and use
Ashford:
-the slow speed is restful
(and annoying -- depending on the day and the material)
-spinning directly onto a paper pirn is great.

If a gal happens to be blessed with two charkhas, then,
it is pretty slick to use one for spinning singles
and the other for plying and winding purns.

I'm still experimenting
with the singles vs plied thing too.
So far, I prefer to weave with singles
and knit with plied paper,
(the tapestry at the top of the post,
which uses both, notwithstanding).

My preference is  based on: 
-warp/weft/sett relationships 
-the look of singles vs plied yarn when woven
-my casual paper-yarn-making skills/approach
-my insistence on using fragile materials
​fished from the compost
​ rather than  lokta,
strong, flexible washi,
or exquisite  hanji 
(which maybe some day I'll be fortunate enough to experience first hand).

All this will undoubtedly evolve,
Things usually do.
And in the meantime,
I'll just try to notice
the moments
​of delight.

 Thanks for your company.

That about says it all, doesn't it?

Much more fun to draw my butt--

Because wearable, these are.
​I think I made three
before Shelley of The Yarn Underground
and The Palouse Yarn Company
nudged me to write up the pattern 
so others could enjoy it too--
and then she hosted it on her Ravelry page
until I got around to making my own a few weeks ago.

After that I knit another three or four more
in different yarns/gauges
and these (eventually) led to the changes in this revision --
but not before I'd thoroughly tested each one.
(note: these are my clothes you're looking at,
not pattern samples
​ so please pardon their imperfections).

And really, what is not to love
about a lightweight wool  shirt?
Cool when warm, warm when cool,
hypoallergenic, carbon-positive,
renewable, non-stinky, 
and endlessly stretchy without 
the saggy spots of dead lycra --
such a garment is
(unless you are vegan),
a freakin miracle.

Indeed, apparently a bunch of big outdoor companies
have finally figured this out and are using it for lots of stuff.
Wool is the technical fabric of the future!
Who knew?

Well  they they act like they just invented it if they have to,
as long as they keep working with it.

In the meantime,
we can go ahead and make
whatever we want for ourselves.
Because we already know how.
And living as we do
​on the cutting edge of technical achievement,
the right garment has always been a thing. 
Nothing says focus and physical accomplishment
 like weaving, spinning, knitting, reading
​and hanging out with dogs,

But gosh,
for all my messing about
with paper and linen,
I don't need to extoll
the virtues of wool to you.
What I really want to do
is  go on and on
about one of the most important features of this garment
which is that (assuming you are so inclined),
since most of it is knit in stockinette in the round,
the literarily-inclined knitter
can scale the heights
 of two of these massively important activities
at the same time. 

And no commercially made garment
will ever provide a pleasure
to equal that. 

Oh yes --OOPS.
One more thing.
The Pattern for the magic medium pullover 
can be found both on my Ravelry site
and my web store 
depending on your preference.
​
(Alas, the two are not linked, so the choice is up to you
but if you have already downloaded the pattern
from The Palouse Yarn Company site on Ravelry,
​you should, by now, have already received the pattern revision
so need to worry about any of it).

Now, what was I doing?

​Coffee Filter yarn.

Again.

Well yes--
again.

But different.

This time
 a knitting experiment--
something I wanted to try
while waiting for the soy milk ​to cure.

And so far,
​I kind of like it.

Over the last few months
I've written again and again
about the bliss of making 
​(and using)
coffee filter yarn.
NOTE: To explore these posts, click the  coffee filter yarn, cellulosic experiments or tapestry buttons in the sidebar

The filters, as I've mentioned,
​ come from my friend Jodi,
 the colors from her process 
of turning plants and minerals
into pigments,
that she then transforms
​into watercolors.

Most of my coffee filter yarn posts
include links to her Instagram
​and if you want to know more 
about lake pigments (pictured above)
and mineral pigments (pictured below),
​I highly recommend you click and scroll
for she has generously shared
a great deal of information on her feed.

On my end though,
for all the photos of cutting,
 adding twist,
and weaving
what I have not talked about
is how the colors
 stick to the filters
​ in the first place.
​
And the reason for this 
is that they don't. 

Unlike dyes,
which chemically bond with a fiber or a mordant,
or watercolors (and other paints),
where the finished pigment is mixed with a binder,
the particles of color on the filters
are essentially resting in place,
a bit like stains,
and are thus both fragile and potentially fugitive.

At first I didn't care about this--
didn't, in fact, even think about it. 
I just wanted to learn and play.
They were just coffee filters for goodness sake,
fished from Jodi's garbage can.
But as I spun more of them,
 wove paper tapestries,
and made the tapestries into books,
I couldn't help but notice
the occasional bit of color
​ coming off on my hands.

Not, I hasten to say,
the stuff from the grocery store,
but rather the white milky liquid
you get when 
a handful of soybeans,
has been
soaked,
rinsed,
crushed,
thoroughly masticated with water,
(faster with a blender than a suribachi 
if not as photogenic),
then filtered
​and
diluted.

At its most elemental,
it works like this:
when applied to fibers,
the proteins in the soy
(long chain polymers),
literally grab both the pigment particles
and the particles of paper
(or fiber if that is what you are using),
and hold on
in a kind of ever-tightening group hug
that won't let go,
the bond growing stronger over time
as the soy cures.

The process is called polymerization.
(explanation seriously oversimplified, of course).

There is info on using soy milk for dyeing
around the world and across the web,
but since I learned about it
many years ago
from the amazing John Marshall
I will send you straight to 
-his recipe for making soy milk,
-his book, Salvation Through Soy,
and hope that while you are there
you check out more of his website
for his work in all areas
(katazome, fresh indigo dyeing, historic Japanese textiles....)
is fascinating and comprehensive.
He is also a generous and lovely person
and puts on a damned fine workshop.

At any rate,
one of the ways that John uses soy milk
is as a "post sizing"--
a kind of fabric finish
that protects the cloth as well as binding the pigment
and that is the way I have been using it--
as though the filters were finished cloth.
Ideally,
I would have dipped
all of the colored filters in soy milk
the moment they arrived from Jodi
so they could have been curing
during the months I was working on other things.
Buy since I did not think about it then,
I've now been using it in three ways:

1.  dipping the remaining uncut filters and letting them dry

2. winding the paper yarn onto my willow distaffs,
painting the strands (as in the photo above),
then re-winding onto paper purns when dry.

3. painting the soy milk onto finished tapestries.

And that is where I am now.

The first batch of yarn and uncut filters
has been curing for about a month,
and though it is probably a little early,
I may soon cut and spin a few
and try some rub tests,
just to see.

I'll also probably continue
to treat the finished tapestries with soy milk--
not only to keep the pigments in place
but also for the long term protection
(what John has called the 'natural scotch-guard' effect),
provided the cured polymer--
especially those tapestries that will  go on
to have a working life.

I'll keep you posted as I learn more,
and in the meantime,
feel free to use the comments
to share your own information
and experiences 
with all of us.
Thanks!
​Now, back to it.