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Pretending to be calm

11/3/2020

 
Picture
And when pretending isn't enough--
Picture
Twenty Tiny House Series:Willow Wand #1; hand woven tapestry; willow wand warp; willow bark, hand spun paper, indigo, natural pigments 3" x 2.5"; frame: cardboard box, used coffee filters, flour paste
there is always tapestry.
Picture
Willow-wand warp anyone?
It's weirdly compelling
(doesn't even require a loom).
Picture
And though Rebecca doesn't cover
these materials in her wonderful new book
The Art of Tapestry Weaving,
(officially launching today!)
she does provide instruction
on all  of the techniques I used.
(well, not the clamp and scrap wood support part,
but maybe I"ll talk about that
​some other day on this blog).
Picture
Twenty Tiny House Series:Willow Wand #1 (detail); hand woven tapestry; willow wand warp; willow bark, hand spun paper, indigo, natural pigments 3" x 2.5"; frame: cardboard box, used coffee filters, flour paste
Today --
Picture
Magic Medium --formerly white, now pinky red thanks to cochineal and madder
well today--

​all I knew for sure--
Picture
Cochineal dyebath
is that
color is marvelous--
Picture
weld + indigo
​and nature is generous--
Picture
magic medium with madder and cochineal; somewhat slanted with cochineal
(​when we let her do
the things 
she does so well)--
Picture
and that however things unfold--
Pictureself portrait with laundry and suspenders

I'm grateful
that my pants 
won't
​fall down.
Picture
Backstrap Blankets; backstrap strips sewn together; hand spun wool; walnut; indigo;
Also,
​ perhaps even more important
than the coverage of my derriere--
Picture
I'm so glad
that as we move through this time

and into a future
in which simple tools
are essential--
Picture
and the boxes we need most
are not even close to square
(thank goodness)--
Picture
Twenty Tiny House Series: Willow Wand #1; hand woven tapestry; willow wand warp; willow bark, hand spun paper, indigo, natural pigments 3" x 2.5"; frame: cardboard box, used coffee filters, flour paste
that we go forward
​together. 

Triumph of the Unexpected

10/20/2020

 
Picture
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."
Picture
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
Picture
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.
Picture
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.
Picture
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.
Picture
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--
Picture
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.
Picture
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.
Picture
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:
Picture
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."
Picture
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?)
PictureVessel 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.

blue-struck

10/6/2020

 
Picture
Indigo; willow bark; coffee filters; milkweed
Though not a truth
universally acknowledged--
Picture
willow bark: dried (right); dried then boiled in washing soda water (left); dried, boiled as above then dyed with indigo (center)
it sometimes happens
​that here in the studio--
(or just outside 

where drips can be ignored,
Picture
giant balls of willow
serve as handy
oxidizing racks,
Picture
and days unfold
at the whim
​of whatever materials
place themselves
​in my hands),
Picture
willow oxidizing ball-- inside view
 those self-same materials,
now and again,
find themselves
​ in want

of the color blue.
Picture
So blue
is the thing
​that happens.
Picture
Milkweed cordage -- two values of indigo (multiple dips).
Now a few phrases back
(somewhere in the midst
of a lengthy parenthetical aside),
I used the word whim,
as though flax, milkweed,
willow, walnut and wool
are full of caprice,
individually and collectively
leading me ​this way and that--
Picture
boiled willow bark; indigo
-- a cohort of cheeky puppeteers
tugging at my hand
​and heart strings,
as I,
the marionette,
dance to their tune.
Picture
And it might well be so.
The materials don't feel
even remotely passive,
and I have no idea
where this is all heading--
or why, suddenly

(in the midst of other plans),
everything needed to be blue.

Picture
Wrist cordage (right to left); boiled willow bark after two months on my wrist; milkweed after two months; boiled, indigo willow bark after one day.
Indeed, after decades
of thinking myself ​in charge
​ of the materials I select
​and the stories I tell--
Picture
Milkweed cordage, (green gathered and winter retted) approx 1700 - 2000 yards per pound; indigo
it feels past time
to acknowledge--
or even more,
​ to relish--
the reciprocal nature
of these things that I do--
that we all do--
Picture

and to put​ whatever
knowledge 
and skills
I have gathered

(ever noticing
​ to my delight and chagrin,
how very little I actually know),
in service to
this cooperative venture.
​
So, blue it was.
​And now?
Picture
"Now,"
says the Praying Mantis,
"you can go away
and make some more cordage
with those busy busy hands of yours
while I return
to admiring the view."
Picture

thoughts on a two apron morning

7/21/2020

 
Picture
How else but with two aprons,
 to pick ​rapidly ripening raspberries
Picture
and carry a garden watering timer
​(aka phone)
Picture
when neither your linen shirt
nor the  hand-me-over-unfinished-skirt
you're wearing underneath
​has a pocket?
Picture
Picture
Not that I couldn't remedy that.
A nice patch pocket on the skirt
would be the work of a moment.
​
And the shirt
is a continual work in progress--
the fact that it already has
a teensy tapestry pocket on one side
no reason to neglect the other.

It's just that I wear the shirt so often--
 like every day I'm not wearing
  the linsey-woolsey one--
that I just haven't gotten around to it.

Picture
Yes -- it's hard to tell from the drawing
that I'm wearing the linsey-woolsey shirt.
But it is  only short-sleeved shirt I have,
so not a tricky deduction.
Besides, it was just a few days ago.

Also, though I occasionally
bend the absolute truth in my comics
(for narrative clarity only),
I generally aim for sartorial veracity--
if only because I love my clothes
and am oddly attached
to the idea that  future me
might like to enjoy seeing them too
(while remembering what. weenie I am about shopping).

It also helps with the laundry.
("I seem to have worn Sarah-Dippity Skirts
in almost every drawing for this entire diary--
definitely time for a bath!")
Picture
But I digress.
Paper pockets
were the topic of the moment.
And they might actually be
a compelling experiment. 
Though the coffee filter yarn
is itself pretty fragile,
especially as singles
(I can't imagine using it for warp for instance),
it seems to stand up remarkably well
 tightly packed in a weft faced plain weave--
at least to the wear and tear 
of life as a diary cover--
growing soft, pliable,
and almost leather-like
​(if a little grubby),
with daily use.
Picture
And true shifu,
(woven from hand spun washi)
has been used for clothing for centuries,
so the idea is not totally outrageous --
except of course, that washi
(and the resulting kami-ito)
is often specifically made
for strength and longevity
while coffee filters are (usually)
single use items.
Though expected to withstand
 boiling water and soggy grounds, 
they are definitely not​
as intrinsically strong as washi.
But who knows?
In case you haven't noticed,
my life is a constant work in progress --
my chief delights arising from
​experiments with the materials at hand,
no matter the source.

And as we all learn daily,
you never know 
what is going to happen.
Picture
Indeed, I'm super excited
about watching the evolution 
of this diary I just made.
Not only do I get to play
with the wedge weave tapestry
I wove last May.
(2-ply vs the singles of the last one)--
Picture
​but I also got (and get) 
to see how the dog bane binding cordage
(made in the fall of 2018),
behaves with constant handling.
It's pretty rough right now,
but super strong
even if I did have to punch
​extra large holes in my signatures. 

Picture
Now what was this post supposed to be about?
No idea. 
Undoubtedly something
satisfying and insightful
that would rock all our worlds--
though nothing could equal
the roller coaster ride
of real life just now--
my mind growing, I hope,
as strong and flexible
and welcoming of change and possibility
 as dog bane cordage.
So a bit of paper-induced absurdity
never hurts alongside, say, things like
the recent groundbreaking
 Supreme Court Decision
that almost half of Oklahoma
falls within a Native American reservation
!

So I'll just end with this photo--
because it makes me happy,
and is a good reminder
to enjoy the hidden richness
in even the simplest
of moments.
Picture
​ps. Tiny chair carved by Linda Ligon's grandfather in about 1915 --
and though this chair didn't start
Thrums Books , Long Thread Media,
and the once-upon-a-lifechanging  Interweave Press,
Linda did, and all three make (and have made)
the world a better place for textiles
and their makers.


pps. Squash plant--a volunteer,
​grown by itself from a bit of compost,

whose contributions to my world
are blossoming even as I type.

ppps.  Because it has to be said:
​Fuck Trump

mille prickles on a continuous warp

7/14/2020

 
Picture
It's been a while
since I've woven on
a continuous warp,
Picture
​and had forgotten
​ how delightful
it can be
​t
o slowly swirl
​an emerging tapestry
​around the top and bottom beams
Picture
as the prickly plants
gradually emerge,
a letter at a time.
(The names I use for the plants, that is,
​since I do not know what they call themselves). 
Picture
The length of the thing
means there is time and space
to notice unexpected words,
Picture
​ like so many blackberries,
​among the thorns

I'm attempting to immortalize.
Picture
Nothing like a nice,
slow ramble--

or amble--
for noticing
 little details.
Picture
It has also been fun,
just after writing
Tucking The Tails,
to find another place
where the practice
of working in the ends as I go
adds moments
of enchantment
to weaving:
getting to glimpse
the elegance
of letters in reverse
out of the corner of my eye--
to admire grace of their shapes-- 
to relish the confusion of
of thinking a 'd'
is a 'p'
and trying to figure out
what word I had
 inadvertently written.
​
And how not to delight
in the dignified nod

of two 'r's
(distantly socializing as now is normal)
as they pass by, 
one going up, one down?
Picture
I'm weaving the letters
with naturally dyed wool.
The colors were a surprise
as at first I thought 
I'd write all the words
with black and charcoal fleece,
and I really appreciate 
the indigo and madder,
weld and lobaria pulmonaria,
insisting that they, too
​ get to promote
 the loveliness
of some of the sharp things
in my world.
Picture
The two-ply used coffee filter yarn
also had its way with me,
​thank goodness.
For though it is almost
too thick for a sett of 8 epi
(and anything but smoothly even),
it is a pleasure to touch,
to tap into place,
​to think about,
to make,
and to photograph. 
Picture
Using the two fibers together
does take a little getting used to--
 the extreme difference
in how each packs into place
 a little disconcerting
especially when I'm trying to count passes--
but I'm getting pretty good at eye-balling
how much the wool will pack down
in relation to the paper,
and the juxtaposition
of warm brown beads of coffee filter
against the smooth fuzz 
of fine spindle spun wool,
is a continual source of delight. 
Picture
Even if you're less
easily amused than I,
how not to adore
the exuberance
​of an 'e' coming to life?
Picture
I am hoping to fit
two more prickly things
onto the last few inches of the warp

and though am not quite sure there is room,
( the shed will be tiny no matter what
and I haven't even gotten to 
my list of local burrs),
I'm still going to try.
Picture
And luckily (hopefully)
I can soon put on another warp
for  apparently
my beloved PVC pipe loom
loves a good continuous one
as much as it loves four selvedge--
and there are so so many more
weirdly wonderful prickles
to investigate,
a letter at a time. 


ps. And in case you care about such specifics
 the warp is that merino/silk,
I wrote about back in May.
As you may recall
it didn't race my motor 
in the cloth samples I was weaving then,
but it does make a glorious warp
as I had hoped (3 ply for this tapestry),
​and I'm delighted that I have plenty more.

a month in textiles and comics

7/7/2020

 
Picture
Oh goody--
back to the blog
after a whirligig of a month.
Picture
Except -- 
this business of typing words--
​ I think I must be rusty.
Picture
​Or perhaps there are just so many
 thrilling and important and true words
written  by people far more eloquent than I--
shining light on our world
​with magnificent clarity--
Picture
that for today,
I'll let the cloth
and
 the comics
(and a few links)
say what I have to say.
Picture
Plantation Slave Weavers Remember by Mary Madison
Picture
Picture
(Listening to Rhiannon Giddens with Francesco Turrisi 
and here with Yo Yo Ma)
Picture
Picture
 Luminist and Storymaker  from my guide, Backstrap Dialogues
Picture
Picture
Picture
Picture
Picture
Picture
(Ki/Kin Pronouns from Robin Wall Kimmerer )

Picture
Picture
Picture
Picture
Picture
Picture
Picture
And oh yes,
a chemo holiday
​ is an amazing thing.
Picture

dressed for the loom

5/12/2020

 
Picture
A few days ago,
weaving along and geeking out
on the continuing love affair
between plied paper
​ and wedge weave,
Picture
I  happened to glance down 
and notice
​ that the tapestry I was making
bore more than a little resemblance
to the clothing I had on--
Picture
colors, lines, squares,
and the underlying pleasure
of working with what is at hand
coming together in beloved jeans,
a tapestry in progress
and last summer's tabby-tapestry
linsey-woolsey shirt
(about which I just realized I wrote four blog posts;
if you're interested you can find them here, here, here and here).

Well, that was fun, I thought,
​and got back to work.
Picture
Imagine my surprise, then
when the next day,
as I carefully Tucked My Tails,*
I noticed it again --
not quite as marked, perhaps,
though the silvery-grey/brown combo
went well with the pieced linen shirt
 (prototype of sorts for the linsey-woolsey one),
if not the tattered trousers 
(almost as thoroughly mended as the jeans).

*readers of the guide might note the  use of passive weft in the top middle square above, and the tapered end on the top right one
Picture
By the third day,
though I did not make a plan,
​I was a little less astonished
when the same thing happened.
Picture
Happily, the skirt (a gift from a friend),
has not yet needed mending
though the sweater/shirt is,
 as usual, something I made.
Picture
This is getting silly, I thought,
​weaving on and blissing out 
on the energy of the tidy little squares.
Picture
The day after that
the white hemp pants I chose 
(prototype for the worn out brown ones
and significantly more robust),
did not have much to do
with the colors I was moving into,
Picture
but I can't say I was astonished
when I noticed that I was wearing
a Somewhat Slanted Sweater.
Picture
The particular pleasure
of making angled squares
is apparently as irresistible just now,
​as turning compost into yarn. 
​
​And sometimes the colors work too.
Picture
It feels like I should be able 
to draw some important conclusion(s)
from all of this matchy-matchy
makey-mendy stuff,
but at the moment
I am actually caught up
in the drama of the triangles
that have suddenly shown up
here at the very end of  this long narrow tapestry--
for after the calm of the simple squares
the pointy shapes make my heart beat
in a disconcerting (though not unpleasant), way
and I want to see if what I weave next
will calm it down again--
or not.
And if it does,
whether the underlying wedge weave energy 
(currently contained by the warp tension)
will go even wilder
once released from the loom.
​Stay tuned!
Picture
ps.
the "skirt" of today's outfit
​is a hastily wrapped scrap
of a worn-out sheet that
ultimately proved to be beyond mending,
wrapped around my waist
to make a pair of leggings
feel like real clothing,
Because sheets are more real
than stuff I buy at the store?
Go figure.

plied paper, medieval midden tools, and other experiments.

5/4/2020

 
Picture
So here's a question.
Picture
When a bunch of ideas
all show up at once,
is there a hierarchy among them--
 materials, tools, technique(s)--
​and if so, what is it?
Picture
Do the demands of one idea--
Picture
(the absolute need to try to turn a slice of firewood
into another fully functional
​medieval midden rigid heddle--
Picture
just to take a random example),​
Picture
take precedence over my desire --
nay, my assumption--
of  hand spun linen for its first warp?
Picture
After all,
that's what I used last time.
And I'll pretty much always choose (assume)
hand ​over mill spun yarn for everything.
Picture
Well, when the only two ply hand spun flax in my stash
is so rough and uneven that I have three breaks
 before I've woven an inch--
a choice must be made.

First choice: a post-warping application
of a flour and water size.
This tamed the hairiness but didn't thin out the thick spots.

Second choice: enlarge the heddle holes --
not possible without the risk of going through the side walls
given my super simple tools and rough construction approach.
Third choice: change either warp or heddle.
Picture
 Now were the warp yarn the most important/exciting thing
I'd perhaps have re-threaded,
as I think it would have worked just fine
with a plastic heddle's larger, smoother holes.
And I did considered it-- briefly.
But the other ideas rebelled.
I wanted to use, or at least try, the firewood heddle.
And anyway, I needed its sett of 8 epi
​for another part of the puzzle.
So a new warp of ​mill spun linen
​ it would have to be.
Picture
Now I don't keep much mill spun yarn around,
and the linen I have is too fine for that sett,

but doubling the strands while threading 
​by pulling loops through the slots and holes,
​was easy as pie.
Picture
And a doubled warp can be a very handy thing--
as readers of Tucking the Tails now know,
(perhaps also noticing how, in the photo below,
I combined the wrapped tail and double warp techniques
to begin the wedge weave square).
Picture
Oh right-- WEDGE WEAVE --
that was one of the other unignorable ideas
I wanted to mess around with,
 a prime mover in my  'need'
​for a new heddle with a sett of 8 epi.
Picture
Picture
Though I'd never done it before,
just hearing the words "wedge weave"
as part of the discussion on Change the Shed,
led me to try a sample on the last bit of warp
from the  book of light and color--
and then again, somewhat more deliberately,
 with a four selvedge warp on a pvc pipe loom.
Picture
Picture
This second photo
(of the clean back of the four selvedge tapestry
as it is being released from the supplemental warps),
was supposed to be a demonstration
of the joys of Tucking the Tails
(if not four selvedge tapestry weaving as well),
but I forgot to put it in the post.
Picture
Too busy, I think, geeking out
about the weird and wonderful pleasure
 of a somewhat slanted weave structure--
and the love at first pick
between wedge weave 
and plied coffee filter paper yarn.
Picture
Unfortunately,
the two weaving samples
had used up all my plied paper.
No biggie to make some more--
except then came another idea.
What about plying the singles paper 
with some singles hand spun linen?
Would it create a wonderful yarn with linen strength
and the delicious hand of the coffee filters?
Or would I be doing a disservice to them both?
And, in the aforementioned
hierarchy of ideas, 
was that a question to ask, 
or a thing try? 
Try, of course.
At the very least, if I hated it
I'd get to cross the idea off my list.
Picture
In module 4 of her Tapestry Design Class
Rebecca Mezoff explores
the reciprocal relationship
between loom structure and design.
In module 5 (which just opened),
she talks about the interactions 
between design and materials.
​Who, or what, is in charge?
What choices do we have?
Wherein lies control?
And is control even a desirable thing?
How much adventure feels right
or is even possible given the grid of warp and weft?
How much subtle delight can a person stand?
Picture
It's fascinating stuff.
Except--that there are never any definitive answers,
at least for me,
beyond the ones I am experiencing
and the choices I am making in the moment, 
as this color, this warp, this tension, this sett,
this light, this position, this way of opening the shed,
this hand motion, this mug at my side, this bobbin,
this skill set that I have, this level of strength in my hands today,
this funny heddle notch where my thumb fits so perfectly,
all come together, randomly or no,
to help me make whatever on earth it is
that I am making today.

So that's all I know for sure.
And may the questions keep coming.

Picture

a book of color and light

4/21/2020

 
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Book of Light and Color; hand woven tapestry; hand spun paper: coffee filters and variable annuity quarterly report pages, linen; 2" x 1 1/2" x 3/4" (closed) ©Sarah C Swett 2020
Though I'm super excited to show you
this tiny accordion book,
 it was not what I intended
​to write about this morning.
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What I hoped/planned to do
was release the other
(​less colorful) little book
​I've been working on:
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This second is not actually a book at all,
but rather a PDF guide--
though both (if you print the PDF),
are made of paper---
and this last week has seen me
bouncing between them
​to see which would be done first:

one moment glued to the computer
moving my drawings half and inch this way or that,
the next, comfortably tucked into my backstrap
putting color next to color next to color
in breathless anticipation
of what it would turn (or fold) into,
then off to the iPad to draw something else
that would perfectly explain just one more thing.

 I guess the accordion book won the race--
if race it was--
perhaps  because my tapestries
 are pretty much done when they come off the loom
while projects that rely on drawing and writing
can be shifted, adjusted,
ignored, changed and revised
​seemingly
f o r e v e r...
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Tucking the Tails actually is very close to being done.
Indeed after months of  puttering along,
I really thought we (the zine and I), were ready. 
Except, this very morning,
I had a new idea about the layout
and of course I had to try.
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And that trying
led to more experiments/ideas
and there went the time
I was going to use to set up
all the behind the scenes stuff
to make it sellable in the web store.
But hopefully, later this week?
Maybe?
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Despite seemingly competing for my time,
​the two projects 
actually do relate to each other
in an elemental way. 
​
Tucking The Tails, if you can't tell from the title,
is a collection of the techniques I use
to work in the weft ends
as I weave my tapestries--
tucking them in as I build shapes, that is,
in contrast to 'needling' them in
after the tapestry is off the loom,
or, as I was taught to do,
leaving them to hang off the back of the work
to dangle... forever.
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Making  my tapestries this way,
so that they are in effect two-sided,
is what makes possible such structures
as this little book I just finished,
the tri-fold tapestry behind it: Nowhere to Hide , 
​and, indeed, pretty much everything I've woven since 1994,
(whether or not you could actually tell).
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One of the best things about all of them,
at least for me,
is that that when they come off the loom

a good deal of the finish work
is already done-- 
and finish work is not my favorite. 
(The other fantastic technique in the minimal-finish work realm
is  Fringeless, four selvedge warping
but I've talked about that a lot elsewhere).
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It has definitely been the driving force
behind the mobiles, books, book covers
and other off-the-wall works
I've made since.
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You can see more of this stuff  in  the Archive --
since I just realized that I wrote the post linked above
in 2016 -- and I've had a few new ideas since then.
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And speaking of new ideas,
putting together this post
has just illuminated another REALLY fun aspect
to the two-sided, three-dimensional work:
taking PHOTOGRAPHS of it!

Photography, formerly a chore
(and often a very expensive chore at that
for the high quality photographs I needed),
has become an almost irresistible pleasure.
Not only do the tapestries get to play with the light,
but I get to play with both of them together.


And surprising pleasures
are things to be treasured,
​are they not?
I hope you have time to notice a few
 no matter what whacky (or terribly serious)
things you are doing--
wherever you are--
just now.
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ps. I hope to get  Tucking The Tails into the store
before next Tuesday, and if so, will probably send out
an auxiliary newsletter so if you are already on my mailing list
you'll know about it. Otherwise, you can sign up with the form
on the top right (or the very bottom if you're on a phone),
or just check in to the webstore toward the end of the week
and hopefully it'll be there.
Happily, being a PDF, there will be no shortage
so no need to worry or hurry.
​XOXO

the view from here

4/14/2020

 
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It has been a full week around here.
Not that I went anywhere (who did?),
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but two fresh fleeces arrived from Montana,
and  fleece washing time 
is usually  packed
(especially when scouring delicious fine,
​seriously greasy, Cormo and Targhee/Debouillet),
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​Happily, the results
​ are always worth the effort.
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Clean soft fleece + a pair of perfect spindles 
definitely equals contentment--
both ​for present and future me.
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As it happens, however,
though I'll be drum carding for days
and happily spindle spinning
for months and years,
present contentment sometimes lasts
only as long as the time
between the completion of one satisfying task
and the moment of being
struck/taken over/flattened
​by a brand new and un-ignorable idea.
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Ok, yes, I know --
the coracle/mask I wrote about last week
was also an un-ignorable idea. 
It, however (the pulled warp coracle),
did not grow to be a source
of long-lasting satisfaction,
​while I think this project will.
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What's the difference?
You might well ask
since it is so hard to tell in the moment.
With the brilliance of hindsight, however,
I'm pretty sure that  I started the coracle/mask
as an attempt to relieve
 the persistent, pervasive, fearful angst
of this moment in time,
(no need to explain further, methinks),
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while carving a funky 8-dent rigid heddle
from a scrap of wood I found in the basement,
was pure, self-indulgent  joy,
and joy, a rare and delightful thing,
is perhaps a more useful a source of angst relief
than all the reluctant mask-making in the world,
if only because it wells up from inside
rather than falling on one
like a mildewed, news-laden blanket.

At any rate,
hyperbole aside,
one way or another
making the rigid heddle
led me to a forward thinking,
elementally satisfying place, 
where in fact,
I already rather badly wanted to be:
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that is:
​cross-legged on the floor,
weaving paper and linen
on a backstrap loom.
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Not that I had a vision
of exactly that thing.
I've just been missing the feeling
of working on my backstrap loom,
and vaguely dreaming about
the kinds of things I might make on it--
while still cutting and spinning paper
with persistent pleasure--
and these two things
seemed mutually exclusive. 
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Mutually exclusive, that is
until I saw the tiny rigid heddles
that Kirsten Neumüller has been carving
from a fallen juniper in her back yard,
and was immediately smitten.

Now, I did try to set aside
my instant  longing to make one myself
( "it's just an idea storm-wait it out").
But happily it was un-set-aside-able. 

Indeed, in the three days since I saw hers
the thing shaping up to be a source
of idea-consolidating calm--
an unexpected doorway 
to both immediate and long term pleasure--
like fleece and spindles
with the added benefit
of getting to make a half-assed
yet fully functional new textile tool.
​
And I am a total sucker ​for such things
as you may have noticed.

(If you're unfamiliar with Kirsten Neumüller's work, her beautiful, useful and charming book Mend and Patch: a Handbook on Repairing Textiles has just been translated into English, and though I haven't yet read her  earlier book on Indigo, I can only imagine it is  as good).
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So that was my week
and this is where you find me today:
right  back  doing the things I have been doing,
with a slightly different perspective,
a cool new tool that keeps me planted in place
(except when I need to mow and dig in the garden)
and much less angst,
for which I am most grateful. 

How's your week been?
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