Yesterday, I  mailed a tapestry to New Zealand.

Stitched to a piece of cardboard,
 stamped and addressed,
it is now somewhere
​between there and here,
​hopefully having a swell time
with all the other mail.

 Here and There is the name
of the exhibition for which I wove it --
an international tapestry post card exchange
organized by the American Tapestry Alliance.
​
Sue, my post card pal 
(we were randomly paired)
 lives in New Zealand
so my tapestry will live its life
on the other side of the globe
where upside down is right side up,
and there is here with a t.
Or here is there, without one.

After months of immersion
in the sartorial and cellulosic,
it was delightfully familiar
to wind a wool warp
onto a tapestry loom--
(or four selvedge jig as per the photo below).
​
Indeed, weaving a little tapestry 
proved to be its own sort of vacation--
 a great way to recover from recent actual travel!

Weaving this post card
using the Four Selvedge technique
was not even a question--
--in part because four selvedge is my fave
-- in part because of the clean edge finish.

My hands also relished 
the ease of tapping yummy strands
of wool weft into place
 and weaving in the ends.

Weaving in the ends
is incredibly satisfying to me--
both as I do it
​and after it is done.
It also makes for a smooth back,
so the tapestry nestles flush against the cardboard
and the whole thing is smooth and even.

Sometimes it is actually hard
to tell the front from the back.
Other times, it turns out
that the back actually is the front,
rendering irrelevent,
some of our tapestry angst
about which way to work. 

At any rate,
after releasing the tapestry from the loom
I stitched the side walls of the houses
and the edges of many of the letters.
Zooming across the world
in a box full of mail,
is not a thing I have experienced in this life,
but I worried a bit about
its fellow travelers
getting caught in open slits.

Then came a hot soapy bath
​(what's not to love about that),

a good press with a steamy iron,
and the final stitching onto the cardboard
as per the instructions on the ATA website .

Stamp
air mail sticker,
an address, 
and a brief message
came last of all.

​Then we biked to the Post Office
made our last farewells.
​and off it went.

Lucky tapestry
going to New Zealand.

Lucky me,
​staying home.

Flinging my body through the sky
from one side of this continent
​to the other,
is not a thing I enjoy. 

 Along with despair at its environmental aggression,
air travel induces in me
a kind of foggy spiritual disconnect--
as though, while my sleep deprived body
is slurping Dunkin Donuts coffee in Boston,
my self  is scrambling across eastern Montana
crying, "WAIT FOR MEEEEEEE,"
only to begin the long trudge back to Idaho
(without even catching a glimpse of the Dakotas),
when my disconnected carcass
is suddenly
 dumped back home.

As a weird wort of compensation however,
or perhaps a way to place myself,
travel does induce a kind of intent noticing
that can help remind me
that I once was whole --
​and will be again.

The richness of my mother's
chair-side table for instance,
is a source of such joy,
with its books, computer,
seed and course catalogues,
pencils, pads, newspaper articles
and (because I was there and she's a supportive Mum),
​her evolving Somewhat Slanted Sweater.

It was also a delight to feel
the sense of comfort and belonging
induced (at least in my heart and hands)
by tiny, yarn-filled rooms,
and the welcoming enthusiasm of Lily, 
at Norwich Knits,
the new yarn shop in Norwich, Vermont
where we bought my mother's yarn.

Nor, indeed, could I fail to notice
the beatific inner glow 
induced by a blissed out tour
of the Green Mountain Spinnery
in Putney, Vermont,
where I got to watch (and hear)
some of ​their venerable machinery in action.

The walls of yarn were fabulous too.
And oh....
the smell...
of lanolin and sheep
and yarn in the raw.

I also noticed (with surprise), 
how the wool/organic cotton
skeins grabbed my attention. 
It's not a blend I am likely to create or spin myself,
but I hadn't yet knit a Somewhat Slanted 
in this weight yarn, and I look forward to wearing it.
So far, I know that it is really nice to knit,
the drape of the first square is fantastic
and that there is enough wool in the blend
to easily spit-splice when joining skeins
or knitting stripes.
(Hard, later, not to be aware that my minimalist travel bag
was significantly more difficult to buckle up).

Noticing these morels 
was an unexpected
​and delicious treat.

Somewhat less beguiling
was noticing the ticks sneaking up my legs
after the woodsy walk wherein the morels appeared,
though I was able to note--
with something approaching pleasure--
that my white hemp pants
made the little blood suckers
easy to spot. 

Also, all the things I chose to bring with me
were blue, grey, brown or white,
so mixed and matched very well.
They are also all extremely comfortable,
perfectly practical (white hemp aside),
sources of psychological well being.
and almost entirely hand made.

The photos above include:
the aforementioned hemp pants,
my recently made linen shirt,
(which I tried not to wear every single day),
and an old favorite ankle-length blue cotton skirt,
that my friend Lodi once gave me 
 after she'd cut out the pattern pieces,
but before  sewing.

The blue sweater ( knit last summer 
and dunked in indigo a few days before my trip),
and the indigo Sarah-Dippity 
had all the comfort, stretch, practicality
and general travel clothing perfection
I could have desired.
I also love how the indigo in both my garments connects
with the blue on the pocket of my sister Lyn's
 patched and embroidered jacket
as we try to remember a long-ago clapping pattern
before I catch the bus to Boston.

Noticing Mount Rainier
was a nice reminder 
that I was about to land in Seattle,
though I fervently hope my
long term views

 closer to the ground:
a steady supply of
linsey-woolsey on the loom,
patched pants,

and tapestry --
wool, flax, coptic, and/or  four selvedge --
​will be just fine.

In the meantime,
the mug of mint/lemon balm tea
​ is quietly cooling
and the fog beginning to clear.

A few months ago
my aunt had her hip replaced.
Happily, all went well
and she is once again
meandering in the woods with her dog.

Though totally surprised 
(I'm kind of weird about gifts),
I  was nonetheless thrilled
and knew exactly
what I was going to do.
The wall devoted to 
Harrisville Hydro Turbine
had caught my eye last winter
when I bought the yarn
​ for the Long Sarah-Dippity,
and for all my hand spinning ways,
I know yummy yarn when I see it.

No matter that bulky yarn season
should have been ending right around then --
these round and airy skeins
​seemed destined to become a heftier version 
of the  Summer Six Pack Sweater--
 a comfortable and versatile favorite for the last three years.

How fluffy Turbine yarn
would behave within the bias structure
remained to be seen--
​certainly it would be quite different 
than​ the collection of hand spun odds and ends
that made up the earlier striped garment.
And the not knowing made it extra compelling.

Luckily this sweater does not need
a gauge swatch before starting,
so I could cast on for the actual sweater
the moment I got home from the yarn store,
and start finding out.

 When I first blogged about The Six Pack Sweater
several people asked for a pattern
(or at least some kind of guide
 beyond  the vague thing I wrote on the post),
but somehow it didn't happen--
at least back then.
This spring, however,
​the versatility of the idea,
gave me the extra impetus to start drawing.

Alas, it is one thing knit
and design as you go,
and quite another to write a helpful guide
that other people can use
to knit a garment they love,
​ in the size of their choice,
with yarn they have, or want to try,
at  whatever gauge makes both yarn and knitter happy.
​
So it has taken me longer than I thought.

Plus ... ah...
​ I have been spinning
the odd yard of flax.

Today, however,
​I am now thrilled to announce that
A Sweater -- Somewhat Slanted
is now available in the store
as a PDF download.

Like my other zines and PDFs 
this is a guide booklet
for creating your own adventure
(not a pre-calculated set of instructions).
This means that 
some straightforward math
​ (formulas provided),
is part of the thrill.
Aren't you excited?

Somehow, I kind of think you actually are.
There is just so much pleasure
in making decisions--
even hard ones--
when it mean we will end up
with a personal and magical garment
we will actually wear and use.
(And somehow, I don't think armhole depth
will be the biggest decision you'll ever make).

If you give it a try,
will you let me know how it goes?

One of the great things about comics

I only wish I could draw a picture
that could describe the weight and texture 

of these two swaths of cloth
(each 104" x 8.25" after washing/light fulling)

The sett issue of last week
really did end up working in my favor
as, not only did I get another two days of blissed-out weaving,
(this kind of cloth-making is super fast compared with knitting),

but I also have nearly 70 inches of fabric left--
enough to make a second 
(if decidedly shorter) skirt.​

The extra yardage also meant
another expedition downtown
(all of five blocks away),
to buy some more yarn
​for the knitting parts of this project.
Fresh from weaving yummy yardage
I just happened to notice
that there are quite a few possibilities
for future Sarah-Dippity skirts
in that store.

While there, deep in a discussion
of how mill spun yarn is finished
​and why I find the knitting experience
so much more pleasurable
​if I wash such yarn before knitting
(if not for weaving),
we conjured an experiment,
​the results of which you can see above and below.
The yarn is not only fluffier and shorter,
it is also distinctly softer.
Why wait till after the knitting is done?

At any rate, after several swatches
I'm now deep in the knitting portion of this skirt show,
where, given the length of the woven panels I just cut,
​ I am likely to remain for a while.

But that is no hardship. 
I do love to knit.
And it'll provide balance to the other enticing
(but less pictorially sharable), thing I'm working on:
​an article for the autumn 2019 issue of Ply magazine!
​Wheeeeee!

Indeed, I seem to be having an extra delicious magazine moment,
as I drew a cartoon for the new issue of Spin Off
which should be showing up at any moment.
I haven't seen it 'in paper' yet,
but am most excited. 
Has anyone received their copy?

I sure do love to be part of this yarnish world
and treasure absolutely everyone in it. 

​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.

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.

Sometimes I forget
 the impact new things can have.
In the endorphin rush of a thrilling idea,
pausing to sit with it ​for more than a moment or two
rarely enters my head.
As a friend once said to me, 
"Must you do everything 500%?"

Apparently I must.
(Well, I'm pretty half-assed about many things,
but it's generally an enthusiastic kind of half-assed).

But given that reality,
it's amazing that it was a full two years
between the time my running partner Nancy, and I
first took off our shoes (for half a block),
until we were barefoot/minimalist running full time-- 
two years that included 
a crazy shoe-juggling period
where every run included three or four changes:
from 'conventional running shoes,'
to minimalist running shoes, 
to bare skin,
and back.

It was hassle to be sure,
​but worth the trouble:
to build calluses,
to strengthen all the new muscles
to NOT injure the bajillion little bones in our feet,
and  to get over my slight embarrassment
at being seen doing this crazy-seeming thing that felt so good.
(Not that many people are out and about at 5:30 AM, but still)

Anyway, thanks, 49 year old Sarah,
​ for giving it a try,
and for giving it time.

But even as I am grateful for whatever foresight we had,
I still forget that other body parts:
 eyes
nerves
ears
and hearts,
are as in need as feet, 
​and that too much of anything, 
​ too quickly,
can have a bigger effect than one might expect.
​Even  color.

Indeed, so overwhelmed was I
by that tiny red tapestry
that I hid all the freshly dyed skeins
in the bottom of my palette box,
turning with relief to some soft, safe, blue/greens.

Which was great except
that apparently it wasn't so much the intensity of the red
as the quantity.
For​ my freshly awakened rods and cones
 demanded that I include the wisp of purple
I'd hidden in the bottom of the box
after an over-reaction
to my last dalliance with super bright color.

Again though, I leapt before I thought --
and had to go find a paint color for my comic about the new piece 
for there was nothing in my lovely limited palette
that came close to describing that bright dot of purple
that dazzled and overwhelmed me at once.

And when I added said color (not quite right, but close enough) 
I was overwhelmed once again--
that bright hue
sucked up all the air in the page.

Who knew what DRAMA
there was to be found
in a few square millimeters?

But it's an interesting kind of drama.
In the right mood
​it is downright entertaining to notice
 how the simplest shifts
 change the tone of everything--
a  color
or fiber
or technique
bringing the familiar
into crazy new territory.
​ 
But what use are those wild leaps
if they are accompanied by so much extra information 
that it is  difficult to tell 
to what one is actually reacting? 

Indeed it could be that the color RED
was so overwhelming
only amidst the other things in my life at the moment,
not least the thrill that
​ Fringeless,
(the online four selvedge warping class
Rebecca Mezoff and I have been putting together),
is nearly out in the world.

It might even be  that this last
is a bright red four selvedge tapestry
​ all by itself. ​

The trailers are live, 
 Rebecca is finalizing the videos as I type, 
most of my drawings are in her hands,
​and early bird registration opens -- um-- TODAY  (June 25).

The actual class will become available July 9th,
and I can hardly wait to see what wonderful and dramatic things
 you weavers (and soon to be weavers)
will create once you are free
from hems, edge finishing and  thrums.

 I've never done anything like this before
yet I believe the class will be great
(if, occasionally, a little goofy).
Rebecca's firm and experienced hand on the camera
and on the video editor ensures that the information
is clear, thorough and lighthearted. 
And unlike an in-person workshop
where one or the other of us throws information at you
willy nilly for days (at least that's my exhausting approach),
 this workshop allows you to learn at your own pace,
watching the same videos again and again if you want
till each step makes sense.

But this going live business
is also quite nerve-jangling for me
because pretty soon
anyone at all
will be able to hear me play the concertina
in a venue I couldn't possibly have imagined
back when I swore to my first teacher,
that I'd NEVER, not ever,
EVER play in public.

Not that you actually see me playing.
All the video footage is about warping
and weaving
and yarn
and looms
and goofy textile joy.
 (Rebecca and I have both
 devoted our lives to tapestry
and take it so seriously,
that we can joke about it endlessly). 

But I was an adult beginner musician,
and am just a teensy bit fragile
about the way I play the tunes I love so well.
To be sure I've worked hard for the past decade,
and I practice daily,
but it's a private thing.
​Or it was.

Then again,
 a couple of years ago
my diary comics were a private thing too.
And now the fact
​that I didn't wait for my face to dry
before painting my hat,
doesn't stop me for a second from putting it here.
And I do love those tunes.

So here is to us all being brave--
to trying things out:
 tapestry, tunes,
color, comics,
or being ourselves.
​
But perhaps just one of these
(or two),
at a time.

"as to myself, my guiding-star always is,
'Get hold of portable property.'"
(John Wemmick; Great Expectations (24.41)

I can't help but agree--
it's nice to have one's treasures at hand.

With no restrictive or fragile mounting devices, 
dreams can be carried about, and ​fondled.

They can be pinned temporarily to a wall,

then tucked in a place where it is possible to
see and feel them on a regular basis--
where they might bring delight to an otherwise
​ pedestrian transaction--

or even serve
as a reminder of relative value.
​
Where DO I want my money to go?

It is hard to describe the pleasure I find in these tiny works
and I'd love for you to get to hold them too.

To that end,
I've just put ten tiny tapestries in the now open store! 
(button in the menu at the top of the page
and hope everything works--
turns out I was not quite as close as I thought last week.).

 I'll leave them there for two weeks
with free shipping
to celebrate what feels like 
a ridiculously mammoth accomplishment.

Then hopefully I'll get back to making some more --
even as I work on handouts
and Rebecca edits video
for our upcoming class for her school:
Fringeless: Four Selvedge Tapestry with Sarah C. Swett
which we hope will be ready by the end of June (double yippee)!
making it possible for some of you
​ to weave your own magic
into pieces of portable property
​to tuck in your purse. 

And once again, I cannot thank everyone enough
 for the wonderful support and heartwarming encouragement
in last week's comments.
​It's all so much fun with you there.