Milkweed fiber (gathered green); winter squash shell
When I was 12 or 13
I learned to sew clothing.
It was a bribe from my mother--
"If you do such-and-such
without complaining any more
you can also take that class
at the fabric store."
I learned to sew clothing.
It was a bribe from my mother--
"If you do such-and-such
without complaining any more
you can also take that class
at the fabric store."
Naturally, I totally went for it.
I mean, I was longing to sew properly:
--to master zippers and waist bands,
the matching of plaids,
the smooth fitting of sleeves and facings,
the interpretation and adjustment of patterns
--to have real projects
and a proper reason
to work with the sewing machine
--to understand the fabric itself
and know intuitively
how to make the perfect choices
--to make the garments of my dreams
I mean, I was longing to sew properly:
--to master zippers and waist bands,
the matching of plaids,
the smooth fitting of sleeves and facings,
the interpretation and adjustment of patterns
--to have real projects
and a proper reason
to work with the sewing machine
--to understand the fabric itself
and know intuitively
how to make the perfect choices
--to make the garments of my dreams
As for the other half of the bribe--
(the thing I was being bribed to do),
well, I was a kid and well used to
enduring things I disliked
while looking attentive
and absorbing the necessary
to regurgitate later
in an acceptable form--
all while truly focusing
on the pile of possibility
waiting at home
on the card table
by the sewing machine.
(the thing I was being bribed to do),
well, I was a kid and well used to
enduring things I disliked
while looking attentive
and absorbing the necessary
to regurgitate later
in an acceptable form--
all while truly focusing
on the pile of possibility
waiting at home
on the card table
by the sewing machine.
dogbane cordage; milkweed cordage; indigo
It is a useful skill--
pretending to be attentive I mean--
if not nearly as useful,
as the one that came
from the sewing class.
pretending to be attentive I mean--
if not nearly as useful,
as the one that came
from the sewing class.
Milkweed cordage four selvedge (Fringeless) warp
I say "the one"
because though I went on to make
many many garments over
the next few years,'
my sewing skills
never grew beyond the serviceable.
Indeed, though I continue to
make, wear and mend
a large portion of my current wardrobe,
the shaping of my favorite fitting garments
is accomplished with knitting needles
rather than darts.
And matching plaids?
Maybe in my next life.
(And really, who but a thirteen year old
would think that she could
totally understand sewing
after six lessons
in which she made
one lopsided
if beloved
skirt?)
And as a reader of this blog,
you'll know well
that true understanding of cloth
is as elusive for me as ever --
thank goodness.
because though I went on to make
many many garments over
the next few years,'
my sewing skills
never grew beyond the serviceable.
Indeed, though I continue to
make, wear and mend
a large portion of my current wardrobe,
the shaping of my favorite fitting garments
is accomplished with knitting needles
rather than darts.
And matching plaids?
Maybe in my next life.
(And really, who but a thirteen year old
would think that she could
totally understand sewing
after six lessons
in which she made
one lopsided
if beloved
skirt?)
And as a reader of this blog,
you'll know well
that true understanding of cloth
is as elusive for me as ever --
thank goodness.
Milkweed cordage for warp and weft
No, the skill I revere--
the one I rely on
more than any other,
find myself using,
and (hopefully) honing
every
single
day--
the one I rely on
more than any other,
find myself using,
and (hopefully) honing
every
single
day--
Milkweed cordage (white); untwisted willow bark (green); boiled willow bark cordage (brown)
is noticing:
--the light on my laundry
--that empty winter squash shell
(baked and scooped)
sitting by the compost bucket
--the rhythm of the first half
of this sentence (if not the second),
--the glint of a strand of fiber
lifting from a drooping stalk
--the gut-settling satisfaction
of said strand twisting
almost of its own accord
then settling into a warp
--the awkward feel (and lovely look)
of untwisted willow bark.
--the light on my laundry
--that empty winter squash shell
(baked and scooped)
sitting by the compost bucket
--the rhythm of the first half
of this sentence (if not the second),
--the glint of a strand of fiber
lifting from a drooping stalk
--the gut-settling satisfaction
of said strand twisting
almost of its own accord
then settling into a warp
--the awkward feel (and lovely look)
of untwisted willow bark.
making weft in the moment..
It's not just noticing though.
There are the added bits
of noticing that I noticed--
then noticing what I noticed--
and then believing it all--
that make this useful.
And that is was what I learned
from sewing class.
Actually, it wasn't in class
that all that noticing occurred.
In class I was concentrating
(of course).
The noticing happened
when I was at home
alone
with the materials.
There are the added bits
of noticing that I noticed--
then noticing what I noticed--
and then believing it all--
that make this useful.
And that is was what I learned
from sewing class.
Actually, it wasn't in class
that all that noticing occurred.
In class I was concentrating
(of course).
The noticing happened
when I was at home
alone
with the materials.
Milkweed Tapestry #1; milkweed, willow bark
There I stood by the card table,
(still wearing my scratchy
pink and grey herringbone school uniform
with the matching pilled pink polyester shirt,
falling down blue cabled knee socks,
and thick, brown leather shoes
with the slitted flaps to cover the laces),
my hand on that pile of possibility:
-- slightly rough
blue cotton cloth,
-- pattern pieces carefully cut
(notches and everything),
with the crinkly paper
still pinned in place
-- unsullied spool
of coordinating thread
--empty bobbin
--sharp, new, orange-handled
Fiskars sewing shears,
my first private pair
which no one else
(on pain of who knew what)
was allowed to touch
FOR ANY REASON WHATSOEVER--
and I thought:
(still wearing my scratchy
pink and grey herringbone school uniform
with the matching pilled pink polyester shirt,
falling down blue cabled knee socks,
and thick, brown leather shoes
with the slitted flaps to cover the laces),
my hand on that pile of possibility:
-- slightly rough
blue cotton cloth,
-- pattern pieces carefully cut
(notches and everything),
with the crinkly paper
still pinned in place
-- unsullied spool
of coordinating thread
--empty bobbin
--sharp, new, orange-handled
Fiskars sewing shears,
my first private pair
which no one else
(on pain of who knew what)
was allowed to touch
FOR ANY REASON WHATSOEVER--
and I thought:
Paper Peplum #1 (detail): hand knit used coffee filters (Melita, bleached) plied with mill spun linen singles; wire; apple wood; Milkweed Tapestry #1; Milkweed; Willow Bark
"This--
is a thing I like--
more than anything--
this cloth--
this idea--
this almost--
this about to--
this liking
and it is mine."
is a thing I like--
more than anything--
this cloth--
this idea--
this almost--
this about to--
this liking
and it is mine."
Paper Peplum #1: hand knit used coffee filters (Melita, bleached) plied with mill spun linen singles; wire; apple wood; Milkweed Tapestry #1; Milkweed; Willow Bark
Bombarded as I was then
(with adult's ideas
of what I should do),
and as we now are
(with images and ideas
and material dissatisfaction),
noticing remains, I think,
a hard skill worth honing --
even if following the results
sometimes get me in a lot of bother,
not least, sitting out in the cold woodshed
for days --nay weeks--
scraping away at stemmy stalks
all for a few grams of fiber
for I don't know what.
And today,
instead of writing a sensible and useful critique
of my milkweed tapestry experiment
to go with the photos
I couldn't resist taking this morning
because the light was so lovely,
I've ended up following
a wild hare across the moor
and into the past
and now I'm going to spend
the rest of the afternoon
trying to remember
what those shoes with the flaps are called
(do you know?)
(with adult's ideas
of what I should do),
and as we now are
(with images and ideas
and material dissatisfaction),
noticing remains, I think,
a hard skill worth honing --
even if following the results
sometimes get me in a lot of bother,
not least, sitting out in the cold woodshed
for days --nay weeks--
scraping away at stemmy stalks
all for a few grams of fiber
for I don't know what.
And today,
instead of writing a sensible and useful critique
of my milkweed tapestry experiment
to go with the photos
I couldn't resist taking this morning
because the light was so lovely,
I've ended up following
a wild hare across the moor
and into the past
and now I'm going to spend
the rest of the afternoon
trying to remember
what those shoes with the flaps are called
(do you know?)
Vessel of possibility: Milkweed; volunteer Winter Squash shell Then again--
I don't' yet know how I feel
about the milkweed tapestry
(or even if I like the tapestry itself
as much as I liked it half way through),
and today,
as back then,
I can notice best
when I'm all by myself.
So thank you
for reading all the way down--
though I suppose you're not here
for my material consistency
or word/image coordination anyway.
And maybe, indeed,
you have a card table moment
of your own.
I don't' yet know how I feel
about the milkweed tapestry
(or even if I like the tapestry itself
as much as I liked it half way through),
and today,
as back then,
I can notice best
when I'm all by myself.
So thank you
for reading all the way down--
though I suppose you're not here
for my material consistency
or word/image coordination anyway.
And maybe, indeed,
you have a card table moment
of your own.
