Standing desks are apparently quite the rage these days, 
so I,
as a contrary sort of gal
have  moved my operation (and my butt) to the ground.

It wasn't a carefully thought up plan,
but rather a happy accident 
that resulted from ​a sudden urge
to clear out the seemingly endless binders 
of expensive and carefully collected slides 
from back in those pre-digital image days
when the last step of tapestry completion 
was a trip to the photographer 
and subsequent filing and storage of 
the resulting 4x5 transparencies
and sheets and sheets of images in their little plastic cases
that exhibitions and publications demanded.

Since I didn't exactly intend to tackle this project,
I just plunked down on the floor and began.
​
But of course the sorting took hours
and was somewhat distracting
as somehow
between 1990 (when I wove my first tapestry),
and 2007 (when digital images took over completely),
I managed to do a lot of weft faced plain weave.

And what an unexpected  pleasure
to come upon projects long forgotten
(Scarface was such a great dog,
​that carpet bag-on-a-box project was pure fun).

But even more delightful
was standing up afterwards
and noticing the absolute absence
of a nagging hamstring pain
to which I've grown so used 
that its absence was more noticeable than its presence.

So not only did I manage to get rid of pounds and pounds of slides 
(still have one fat binder for  posterity and/or my son to toss after my demise,
but NO discards for future Pinterest-worthy window covering projects),
​but was also was moved to remove
​the work table in the middle of my studio.

In other news --
​spring is definitely here,
and the new insta-desk (board on books) 
has coincided with comic diary #18
to which I added a few sheets of  Reeves lightweight
that I had in the basement.
So far this paper is more satisfying to draw and paint on
than the lovely-to-look-at-but-hard-to-use
handmade Mexican paper in the last book
(visible in the running drawing above,
and on the right in the slide sorting comic at the top).
But as with so many things (image storage etc),
only time will reveal the efficacy
​of one's  seemingly sensible decisions.

Speaking of which...
version four of the knitting project
proceeds apace,
in all its fat stockinette glory. 

​Never a dull moment around here.

On 24 April, 2014
I took a deep breath,
gritted my teeth
and pressed "post"
on an image of a tapestry house by the sea. 

It was my very first blog entry
on a brand new website,
and it was terrifying.

You'd think I'd be used to such things
as my work  has been in cyberspace since the mid 1990s.
My husband-- code writer and web builder--
had thought it'd be a good idea.

"WHY would I want such a weird and public thing?"
I cried.
"And anyway, who would ever look?"
After all, I only checked my email every couple of weeks.

By 2014, however,
web construction (and my attitude) had changed just a tad,
It was time to tackle the newest iteration on my own.

My wonderful web-savvy sister
pointed me toward  Weebly
(a relatively friendly website builder),
and after a few shitty first drafts
and much angst,
the thing came together-- 
though committing to a blog took a little longer.
​
"What is the point?"
"Will I be able to sustain it?"
"Will I be able to stop if I want to?"
"Will I have anything to say?" 
"Won't the stuff I do seem boring and repetitive?" 
"Will it change my relationship to the work if I talk about process?"
"Will the ideas get shy and stay away?"

Well yes, it has changed my relationship to my work --
at least I think so.
Having taken the blogging path
I can't exactly do the experiment of what would have been happening had I chosen the other.

And NO, there has been a shortage of ideas. ​

Or maybe I just easily amused
​ since four years on, 
not only am I still entranced by weaving tiny tapestry houses, 
but I also seem to have had something or other to say
about my boring, repetitive and oh-so-satisfying work
almost every Tuesday since.
​
 I learn something every time I write--
and if not always from the actual words,
then absolutely from the bliss of all of you coming to read,
and from your shared thoughts and experiences.

The last three blog-o-versary's 
have slipped right by me.
I guess it's  hard to notice the big picture when I write every week.
​
But this year I noticed 
and thought it would be a grand time  to try something new,
something I've been meaning to do since I started selling 
 "How To Weave A Bag On A Box" comic instruction zines on Etsy.
It was time to move the store
RIGHT HERE!

Alas, however, I am still just as much of a scaredy cat
about new web-based enterprises
as I was four years ago.

Apparently, I'll tackle a new tune,
a new fiber,
a new pair of shoes,
refurbish an old spinning tool,
make paint,
tackle an unfamiliar comic-diary-binding-method
embrace a plastic spindle,
 embark a giant secret project that I'll tell you a little bit about in my next newsletter,
and even do the laundry--
rather than commit to pushing that 'publish' button.

But I'm getting closer.  REALLY.
And if you think of it,
​you might check back later in the week,
because honestly,
I have  both physical and PDF versions of my comic instructions
(How to Weave a Bag on a Box and Backstrap Dialogues for now),
all loaded up
and once I know how the system works
I plan to also make a tapestry gallery too
(need a tiny house anyone? a large colorful tapestry?),
and my plan is to have free shipping to celebrate.
​So stay tuned! 

Indeed, I  feel myself getting braver by the minute.
​
But maybe some lunch first.
And a little weaving in the sun.
OH yes, but first I'll push the "POST" button.

So what effect does the shape of the distaff
and the length of its 'handle'
have on the spinning--
and thus the yarn?

And what about the relationships between
 -the position of the distaff
-the position of the fiber
-the preparation of the fiber
-the positions of  my hands
-and the style of spindle?

My first two willow distaffs
(distaves?--my computer thinks not)
are inclined toward narrowness at the bottom--
a bit like a pointed lozenge shape-- 
causing the ever decreasing fiber mass
to slide down as I spin.

Unlike the willow I used for the first two (which had been drying for a year),
the fresh osier branches are still very flexible --
and also relatively heavy. ​

The two plants also branch differently --
the willows alternating as they go up,
the osier branches sticking out in pairs, 
(what is the botanical word for this phenomenon?)
allowing  for distaff symmetry.

 I'm not generally all that attached to symmetry.
But I'm pleased with the shape,
though can't so much about  its effetiveness
or the increase in weight
since I've only just begun to spin.
​Stay tuned.

And since this box of fleece just arrived
I might get a teensy bit distracted.

 Thanks as ever for all the wonderful comments and ideas --
I do so enjoy them even if I rarely seem to answer -- except in my head, alas.

Also -- any thoughts on this combination of comics and 'regular' photos?
Somehow it seems best to me to stick with one or the other--
the  transition can be jarring.
But sometimes I  don't have enough drawings
for all I have to say. 
Hmmm -- a lesson there?

So just as I pushed ‘post’ on last week’s blog,
​a package arrived at my door:
​two plastic Turkish style spindles (10g and 14g),
3-D printed by my son.

Wetspinning flax is a drippy business
and I didn’t think all that moisture was good for my lovely wooden spindles,
so before tackling my second strick of flax (this one from Vävstuga),
I asked him to make one for me.
He thought I needed weight options, so made two.

Though they lack the romance and sweet hand feel of wood,
both spin beautifully and I don’t have to worry about wrecking them.
Well, that’s not strictly true --
​I can’t help but grow attached to most useful tools
(note previous love letters to my PVC loom),
but at least moisture won’t be a problem with these.
They’ve already survived the odd clunk to the floor
​ and so far are none the worse for wear.

Note: there is open source code (google)
that you can take to your local 3-D Printer

Of course I had to try them out instantly
and as I’d promised myself I’d try ‘properly’ dressing a distaff with this new strick
(before I’d used the strick-wrapped-in-a-towel-and-draped-over-my-shoulder method),
I ran outside, cut a piece of willow
bent a couple of thin branches into a vague oval,
and tied them together with a bit of string.

Though not really like the distaffs described in the books I’d consulted*
it worked astonishing well --
the linen fanned out in thin, curved layers on a bed
just as they all said it should,
and when I’d wrapped the delicate array around the willow,
tied it with a ribbon,
lashed it to my body with an apron and stuck the butt end into my leg warmer
(this last was not described in any my sources but made a big difference for this novice),
the strands of flax poured smoothly down into my waiting hands.
Not that the videos above and below show this exactly --
but take it from me, it felt simply amazing.
The fibers drafted  more smoothly and evenly than with my first attempts at the towel method,
and though it took a while to figure out where to put my dish of water
 the time-honored and oh-so-elegant spit technique helped me get started..

*Linen: Hand Spinning and Weaving by Patricia Baines (Batesford 1989)
-​Your Handspinning by Elsie G. Davenport (1953 and 1964)
-the handout from my 1992workshop with Marge Bentley from whence came the flax I talked about before
-a couple of You Tube Videos on dressing a distaff
All gave essentially the same information,
though the Baines book was the most specific and gave the widest range of. options,
​many of which I look forward to trying.

Making these two videos I learned:
1. A belt works better than an apron (and looks classier too)
2. It’s easier to see at that focal length without my glasses
3. I look awfully grim when I’m concentrating.
4. The website upgrade that now allows me to put videos in my blog posts might be a dangerous thing.

The rest of the evening was spent clutching the distaff with my elbow and
alternately filling yellow and white spindles.
 I got pretty comfortable with the whole business after a while,
but  next morning I strapped the distaff to an old tripod we’d fished out of a dumpster,
and found that this, though still less portable,
allowed for a little more elbow room and general drafting ease.

It also makes it possible for me to spin without a belt,
and with my glasses.

​I imagine it’ll be quite some time before I can read and spin flax
as I can with wool,
but next I want to try a hand held distaff and some other ways of dressing it
so I can practice spinning while walking around the yard --
or at least around the studio while waiting for spring.

Drawing the above was a good reminder
of how much pleasure I get from the act of making yarn--
the sensation of fibers in my fingers,
the energy of the twist transforming fleece into wool or flax into linen,
and the subtle vibrations that flow up the yarn and into my hands
from the twirling tool below.

It also reminded me how much I dislike drawing my hair in a messy ponytail,
so this morning I got out the scissors,
and now there will be NO ponytail drawings
for at least a couple of months.

One final note —issue 20 (Spring 2018) of PLY magazine is devoted to flax,
so I ordered a copy and it came a few days ago.
- info about growing and processing, which of course makes me want to do that,
-articles on scouring and bleaching (another fascinating topic)
​-a fair bit about working with tow top (which so far I don’t like nearly as much as the line).
-and naturally quite a few very useful discussions on spinning (twist, handling the fiber, water in the drafting zone etc).
The only specific how-to discussion of dressing a distaff is by Hannah Merritt Woods,
and she shows a different method again from the sources mentioned above
(fibers hanging straight down rather than swooping across and around),
so I will probably try that eventually too.

In the meantime there is another freshly sized linen warp waiting on my loom.
Cuz yeah -- there is that cool thing to do too.
​

There is a fair bit of texture around the studio this morning,

an interesting shadow or two,

and no shortage of neutral/ natural shades,

but not much in the way of bright color.

This should not be a surprise as,
with the odd exception,
an ever quieter palette has been an ongoing trend,
 in my yarnish life.

The idea of applying this freedom of limitation
to my comics, however,
came as a bit of a surprise.

But the new comic diary, with its sheets of textured paper
seemed to eschew the pinks and purples and bright greens
that have been delighting me for the last year,
so I thought I'd go with it.

The first idea was to use only  Walnut Ink
(though of course I had to debate whether or not
​ this would include the line work).

But when push came to shove
(or brush touched paper)
 I realized that the pleasurable pull
​ of crow quill, black ink and watercolor
was too important to set aside.

Besides, after trying this Redwood Willow watercolor sampler,
I'd been longing for some indigo watercolor 
​to go with all the other indigo in my life.
And ever since Jodi 
(who made the exquisite tiny watercolor sets I've been using for the past year)
showed me the Greenleaf & Blueberry web site
 I had been seeking an excuse (and a spare moment),
to make some of my own.

So....since I happened to have plenty of pigment
(left over from my egg tempera flirtation in 2005)
some liquid Gum Arabic
(leftover from the Chemistry and Art class my husband taught for years before he retired)
and honey (because --how not to have honey in the kitchen?) 
I googled 'making watercolor paint",
half-assedly  followed some directions I found out in cyber land
and made two colors: yellow ochre and indigo.
​I really like how they turned out.

As ever, 
it's just an experiment.
But experiments with materials (esp those lying around the house), are the best!
Indeed, though many things in the world can induce me to quivering jelly
(elevators, airplanes, merging, politics, Stephen King books, the internet, meanness, movies...),
it is good to know that for some of us
(here's looking at you Nicole and Jodi and Rebecca and Patti and Bonnie and... and ... and...maybe most of you reading this?)
 art supplies are our friends.

Of course part of me wants to make a couple of more colors,
but the internal majority is so enamored of this simple set of colors,
that am going to hold off.
At least for today.

 Last night I noticed that I'm almost at the end of  Comic Diary #16.
YIPES!
Bone folder to the rescue.
​
For how would I make sense of my days
without Comic Sarah to give me perspective?

Though I"m in year 5 of this daily drawing practice
I've only  been making my own books for the last 10 months or so,
and I have to say that ​experimenting
​with paper, aspect ratio and binding methods
has added immeasurably to the whole business.

What I might have lost in consistency
(a lovely shelf with equal-sized Moleskines all lined up),
I've gained in the practice
of making time for crow quill, ink, watercolor,
of asking questions,
of trying to stay alert for answers. 

What role, I wondered a few months ago,
​ does aspect ratio 
play in the way I think about my days?

(Cleaning aside--which I"m also supposed to be doing today--
I'm having a little envy of my last spring self 
sitting in the sun...)

With a square, or nearly square area on the other hand,
I seem to leave more white space,
and am included to let a single image tell the tale of the day.

Paper, too,  has a huge influence --
do pencil marks and  watercolor sit on the surface
leaving time for me to adjust, erase,
and reshape then into a form that is particularly pleasing?

 Or is every mark drawn instantly into the fibers of the paper,
turning each day into a  palimpsest,
of me making my uncertain way?

There isn't a lot of it (one folio per four folio signature),
but I'm curious to see how the texture will mess with my mind.

Even more,
I'm thrilled to know
that Comic Sarah
is worth the experiment.

Sometimes, a gal just needs a trim.
​
Immediately.

And while the results are not always the most attractive,

the doing of it can be cathartic,

allowing  one to get back to doing what needs (and wants) to be done.

And besides
some haircuts are just more fun to draw. 

All those wisps!  Ugh.

And  (to quote my dear S.W.), 
why should everything have to be attractive?​

One of the great things about comics

 is that you can fit 
acres of knitting projects,
dozens of looms,
​tapestries galore,
​and mountains of angst, 
in a very small space.

Many thanks, all you lovely blog readers,
for your kind comments last week.
I love getting glimpses into your lives --
to hear what you're working on and discover how often there are parallels.
We makers are bonded by so many things,
most of us struggling to make sense of time and materials management.
From sorting  ideas,
to sorting laundry,
 how many projects can a person juggle in one wee, gynormous, life?

ps. A couple of questions answered:

1.  The book I was listening to is Eligible, yet another modern Pride and Prejudice homage.
Will check out Magpie Murders! Thanks for the suggestion Marilee.
I do so love books-- of all sorts.

2.  My six dyes:  Cochineal, Madder, Weld (all three with alum/tarter), Indigo, and Walnut. 
(Yes, that is five, but as you may have noticed I've been drifting back to my natural dye roots with  lichen experiments, and since I'm trying a variety, with new ones waiting patiently in line, ahem Marilyn,  the sixth dye is really more of a category and gets its own parenthetical aside).

3. While I won't subject you to my diary comics with every post,
I much appreciate the support for these bits of messy dailyness.
A graphic memoir-ish thing though -- golly, that'd be an undertaking.
Hmmmm.  Yipes.
Anyone else believe that the world needs more domestic and textile centric comics--
the ones about US-- the real  superheros?
Cuz we know how to make yarn.
And cloth (in myriad guises).
​And clothing.
Is that not a superpower?

Nancy and I have been running together
on the same three days
for..um...22 years? 23? More?
​Long enough that 
though I  know we first shed our shoes,
for a block or so,
in 2010,
the doing is just...what we do.

The rhythms of yarn-making are also so fully integrated 
that though I am trying to buy the odd skein these days
(there is such beautiful wool in the world, it's hard to resist),
yarn, to me, means handspun.

As for color --same six dyes have been doing the job 
for decades now -- and I don't see that changing any time soon either.

With such a habit driven life
​I've got to be super careful about introducing new things
(blogging, for instance),
because once I've carved out some dedicated time,
and trained myself for a bit,
before long
I can't not,
and the days  are a little shorter,
the weeks packed just a tiny bit tighter.

But having a structure 
even a somewhat fluid one,
provides underlying balance,
so  the things I want to do,
generally get done
​and it feels good.

Until they don't --and all at once there are  too many idea and no space in a day, or a week, for anything--  not only the things I already do but also the bliss of refreshing new things like learning tunes and getting better at drawing comics and writing up that pattern idea and making that thing for that special person and... and... and....
​
that bums me out.

If its all working -- there is no need for lists.

And if I'm living on lists --
​It could be time for a major reassessment.

​On the other hand,

It could just be time to step out of the structure entirely.
Knit something easy, listen to an audiobook (yet another Jane Austen knockoff),

And play a tune I already know,

​The first is called Growing Gills by Cartoonist Jessica Abel.
At it's most elemental it is a book about how to make creative work happen in the midst of myriad contradictory commitments-- and for those who feel neglectful of their tantalizing  but unrealized creative ideas, I imagine it would be most useful for this.

Making  stuff happen however, is not my particular problem--
making is my job,
starting, persisting and completing
my stock in trade.

What can be a problem,
(as per the imagery in the tapestry in last week's blog post),
 is making sure that I use that persistence
and my sometimes excessive enthusiasm,
to carry me, as the saying goes
to the top of the right mountain.
In other words, if I'm going to put the effort in,
why not be sure I'm putting it into something that is
1.  engaging in the moment,
2. worthy of the struggle through the 'Dark Forest' in the middle of its execution,
   and  3. rewarding/satisfying (at least in theory), once it is finished.
Seems obvious, but it is astonishing how often it is not.
To that end, though I'm not actually doing the exercises right now, it has been wonderful to give names to phenomena I've experienced and dealt with in a more nebulous fashion. 
Idea Debt
Open Loops,
the aforementioned Dark Forest,
and the reality of Dilemmas.

Indeed, I was reading the chapter on saying "No" so you can say "Yes"
 when an offer popped into my in box that would  have thoroughly (and almost happily), diverted me from a truly compelling but overgrown path that is beckoning off to the left.
There is a decent chance I'd eventually have remembered to say no without that chapter,
but I would have been wracked with indecision for a good deal longer. 

So if nothing else, Abel ideas will give me a context within which to examine said path -- so I don't take up my bow saw and  loppers unnecessarily. 

Abel discusses these ideas in depth on her website and in the kindle version of her book ,
which she is currently offering for free on Amazon to go along with her online book group (which I haven't joined either but still find interesting).
​  Not sure how long it will be available, but it is worth checking out if any of these ideas seem compelling.  Apparently she has a facebook page too, but as I do not partake of that realm of social media, I've not checked it out.   

The other book I'm thrilled with is Amy Twigger Holroyd's Folk Fashion
which I learned about from the compelling podcast
Mrs. M's Curiosity Cabinet. 
She (Mrs. M), is most satisfyingly thoughtful about myriad aspects of this yarnish/cloth-centric making world of ours, focusing particularly on material integrity (if that is the right phrase), which is something about which I am passionate.  So thank you Meg, for this and all the interesting thoughts and ideas to come.

But back to the book.
I've only just begun to read Folk Fashion,  but am fascinated by Holroyd's very readable and scholarly approach to topics I hold dear, and  look forward to delving deeply.
Again, I don't feel qualified to summarize, but already she has given me new definitions for some overused words (sustainable, folk, time, open ...),
and, surprisingly already helped me to notice that my passion for making and mending,
which began well before high school, is very much a part of fashion --
not a quiet way to avoid a mysterious and alien world I neither liked nor understood.

Indeed, as  I've recently realized, my reluctance to shop
has as much to do with an overwhelming surfeit of unsatisfactory choices,
as with my self-perceived lack of taste or ability to make said choices. 
In other words -- I DO know what I like,
I just rarely never see it in the commercial world.

This holds true, alas, both for stuff that goes on walls
and stuff that goes on bodies.

Give me a few clean fleeces though -- and shopping R us.

Somehow, this opens up everything!