Category: Sketchbook

thinking ahead, back then

3/9/2021

So you know what's cool?

Well, lots of things are cool:
spinning
and weaving
and looms
and friends
and solitude
and vaccinations
and sunshine
and rain
and baby plants
and one syllable four letter nouns...

Today, though
the thing that delights me
more than I can say,
is noticing--

that I no longer notice--

that I wear a hand spun/knit wool shirt
every single day
summer and winter.

Well-- truth to tell--
in the summer I occasionally wear
those handwoven linen
and linsey-woolsey shirts.
But still--
(and somewhat to my amazement),
I've made more than enough
next-to-the-skin-soft
wool shirts
to see me through.

And though I wasn't thinking at the time
about why it was possible,
one of my great daily pleases
these last months
has been dressing up for my loom every day.
And I think the loom appreciated my effort.

But I had forgotten--
until tidying up a stack of
"magazines with articles I wrote"--

that once upon a time
having enough such garments
was a deliberate plan--
my mid-life self
committing
to the sartorial comfort, pleasure
and general well-being
of me,
now,
at 60.

So golly thanks, former Sarah
for the serendipitous Magic Medium--
for the blissfully approachable Somewhat Slanted
(of which I now have five)--
for The Cloisters (pictured above)--
for Kestrals Alight back in 1996--
for all the unnamed others
(many of which I've given away)--

Notes to Self; hand woven tapestry; 25" x24"; wool/ natural dyes ©Sarah C. Swett 2015

--for all the glorious fleeces
(and the sheep that grew them)--
and for uncountable days and weeks and years
of pleasure--
past, present and future.

And yes, also for my Sarah-Dippity Skirts
which though they are not shirts
and were completely unplanned,
I nonetheless wear so often
that I'm now having to patch them.

So you know what's cool?
That the midst of one of the weirdest
and most unsettled
and oddly fascinating times of my life so far--
that even as I am taking a break from knitting
to rest and reset--
it is yarn, once again,
that is seeing me through.

thoughts on a two apron morning

7/21/2020

How else but with two aprons,
to pick rapidly ripening raspberries

and carry a garden watering timer
(aka phone)

when neither your linen shirt
nor the hand-me-over-unfinished-skirt
you're wearing underneath
has a pocket?

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.

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!")

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.

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.

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)--

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.

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.

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

a month in textiles and comics

7/7/2020

Oh goody--
back to the blog
after a whirligig of a month.

Except --
this business of typing words--
I think I must be rusty.

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--

that for today,
I'll let the cloth
and
the comics
(and a few links)
say what I have to say.

Plantation Slave Weavers Remember by Mary Madison

(Listening to Rhiannon Giddens with Francesco Turrisi
and here with Yo Yo Ma)

Luminist and Storymaker from my guide, Backstrap Dialogues

(Ki/Kin Pronouns from Robin Wall Kimmerer )

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

not boring yet!

12/17/2019

It's astonishing, really,
how much I continue
to love making
these little books--

at least once I begin.

Before I start
there is always
the moment
when it feels like a chore.

"Almost out of pages, Sarah!
Stop spinning
and make a new book.
NOW!"
(so bossy)

Of course I forget all that
once I actually start tearing and folding paper.
And once I've made or found the cover
I'm immersed until done.

The cover thing has been growing on me.
My first coptic bound diaries
didn't even have them,
the top and bottom signatures
having to do the job.
Then, to save that lovely paper,
I covered the books in scrap cardboard
gleaned from the backs of pads.

It is only in making the last three
that I've been brave enough
to try a thing
I'd been consciously avoiding--
stitching tapestries onto books
not as decorative objects,
but as paper protection.

My fear
was that tapestry covers
would make the books feel precious--
would strip both the pages
and the act of drawing in them
of the relaxed status
I count on.
Transforming them
into untouchable artworks
about which I might be
vaguely reverential--
and thus not use--
would do me no good at all.

At the same time
I was also concerned
that it would be painful
to watch my precious
tiny tapestries
grow grubby
with dailyness.
Are they not works
to go on walls?
"Be careful, be careful, be careful."
Who needs that?

So far, neither concern
has been warranted.
(for which I'm hugely thankful),
though I'm not sure why.

It could be
that drawing myself
as a cartoon character
every day--
taking a step back,
seeing this person called Sarah,
noticing how she behaves
what she thinks,
what she has been making
(and of course gently mocking as necessary),
is as helpful and addictive
as running.

And since both practices
are now well established
I am no longer intimidated
or embarrassed,
or stopped
(injury or unavoidable circumstances notwithstanding),
by much of anything.

It could also be
that using a thing I've made--
be it sauerkraut, sweaters,
shoes or a skirt--
transforms it back
from precious object-hood

into a treat,
so that lacing up my shoes
(oh that moment
when the grubby, familiar cloth
snugs up around my ankle),
or opening up the diary
and watching the marks appear
(so that's what today feels like),
becomes an pleasure
worthy of anticipation--
a daily gift
that cannot be matched
by anything purchased.

Or perhaps it is merely
the fathomless joy
of surprise:
--how today's run
is different from yesterdays,
--how the thing I draw
is never the thing
I think I'm going to draw,
--how the same route
and the same apparent image
(me blogging, or weaving, or spinning),
rendered over and over and over
still feels like a miracle,

or indeed,
--how the word
"and,"
upside down and verso,
looks like the word
"pug"
in mirror writing.

ps. those running shoes are now well into their second winter (I have a low pair for warm weather). I waxed them for semi-waterproofedness which is one of the reasons they are so grubby -- the dirt sticks to wax really well.
For more on these running shoes (and others),
Click here

library of days

10/8/2019

Yesterday, I made a new comic diary --

The front cover
is a four selvedge tapestry
(woven hand spun coffee filters),
and the back,
a scrap of stiff cardboard
(it is nice to have something to lean on).

The paper inside
is Rives Lightweight printing paper.
It's got an odd texture for drawing
and is hard to erase thoroughly,
but I love that it is both thin
(I can get lots of pages in one book)
and highly absorbent
(I can slop watercolors and black ink
on both sides of every page
without any show through).

This time, as the drawing says,
I decided to use a four needle
Coptic binding --
well actually it is a two needle technique
(one needle on each end
of each piece of waxed linen thread),
and I did it twice.
Here is a link to the instructions
(thanks for the link Velma!),
which are wonderfully clear and easy to follow.

It occurs to me now
(just a little belatedly)
that if I'd followed the binding directions as written,
I could have had a four color binding
instead of "just" two.
Phooey.

Not that I'm all that wedded
to binding perfection
(as you can see from the pics),
but it is fun to mess around.
Maybe next time.

I do try to draw in these diaries every day,
and with the decrease in size
of these last two books
(from 5" x 4 1/4" to 3" x 2 3/4"),
it's amazingly easy to fill four to six pages
without even really noticing
(rather than than one or two as before),
so if I keep this up
"next time" could come fairly soon--
even with the extra signatures
I added onto this new version.

For comparison,
the big diary on the bottom
lasted for almost four months,
while the one in the middle
won't even make a month and a half.

It could be that my life
has suddenly gotten MUCH more exciting.

It could also be
that the smaller pages
have influenced my style.

Or maybe its the influence
of the tiny houses--
though I'm not quite sure how.

What I am sure of
is that the portability of the smaller format--
now enhanced by the extreme portability
of this teensy pocket palette
filled with handmade watercolors
created by K. Jodi Gear--
makes it extra easy
to have my materials with me
no matter where I am,

or what I am doing.

Fancy that -- it was all about yarn!

9/3/2019

Before it began,
I dreamed I would be able
to spend the month of August
reading novels,
relishing the dailyness of home,

and also giving time
to the the myriad tempting ideas
that had been tickling my brain.
Luckily, many of those ideas
had to do with spinning,
(which allows me to read at the same time),
except when I'm spinning flax,
(which means putting down my book),
or learning new tunes,
(which--usually--means
putting down the spindle),
or sitting quietly in the shade
listening to the birds
with a cup of tea
(which means neither book nor spindle
but maybe some knitting).
I had hoped to do some sewing
but then I'd have to put down EVERYTHING else!

Looking back at my daily drawings
I can see that holding my shoes
while running barefoot,
is probably the only way
I managed to avoid the temptation
of attempting to spin and run
at the same time.

And that it was likewise important
that the juice of the yellow plums
from our tree in the hell strip
is so sweet and sticky
that yarn, concertina,
and the current novel
could not be in the kitchen
while said fruit was prepared
for winter consumption.

Secateurs, too,
are not yarn friendly--
though the now dry weld
will someday transform
unknown skeins
into spectacular yellows
(or greens with the help of indigo and/or iron).

On the other hand,
if she's sufficiently half-assed
while cleaning the house for visitors,

a gal can sometimes
carve out a moment
or two
of elemental pleasure.

Dust? Whatever.
Water, coffee, salad, spindle and a book
at the same time?
Yes, indeed.

It will surprise none of you--
certainly not long time readers of this blog--
or anyone who has read
the post before this one--
or has happened to click
on the word Handspinning
in the sidebar to the right--

that given a chance to make yarn
(as slowly as I possibly can),
or to make something with that yarn,

I'll take it.

Though sometimes
the depth of my entrancement
still surprises me.

So yes --
though I did not get around
to making myself
a new pair of pants*
from those finally-too-worn-to-mend
sides-to-middled linen sheets,
or learn all the tunes I dreamed of,
it has been an exquisite
and deliciously yarn-centric August,
at home on the Palouse.

I'm so glad
I didn't need
or want
to be
anywhere else.

*And anyway,
I have plenty of Sarah-Dippity skirts to wear.
Many of this month's comics
indicate that I wore the short wool ones
as often as the long one I made just for summer!

I plan/hope to wax verbose
in future posts
about the specifics
of my August explorations
(not least, what feels like an improvement
in my flax spinning),
so stay tuned.

Due to unforeseen vagaries of life, however,
I may not, for a time
be able to blog quite as consistently
as I have in the past.
I'll still aim for every Tuesday,
but if I don't make it
know that I'm probably making yarn,
drawing pictures of whatever is going on,
and will be back to tell you about it.

ps -- Remember, too,
that you can visit the archives
(links on the right)
if you need more glimpses
into this yarnish life
because really,
though every inch of yarn feels fresh,
I keep coming back
to the same old elemental bliss.

Springtime Microthrills

5/7/2019

Nothing momentous this week--

rather, a motley collection of moments
that has somehow seemed worth noticing:

--Lovely tunes at an annual outdoor Renaissance Fair,
the straw-bale seating much improved
by the purse spindle in my hands
(9 gram Jenkins Kuchulu)
and the new Brandi hat to replace the one
that fell out of my pocket after years of faithful service
keeping my ears warm and the rain off my glasses.

--A mis-matched collection
of backstrap experiments

that refused to countenance
my assumptions about
its inherent incompatibility.

--The Sides-to-Middle sheet,
apparently enjoying its extended life
as much as I have been

-Two coyotes crossing the path
(not together, but both heading south --following the mice?)
and then a black cat we thought (pretended), was a panther.

--Also, drawing some instructions
(hopefully something I can share before too long)

--Beverages with Rochelle,
are always magical
even when the thing I most like
about fancy cocktails
is drawing them.

--That moment after lunch,
when I can get a little work done
without moving from the spot in the sun
outside the woodshed.

--Oh yes,
and deciding on the 20 gram yellow Hepty,
for the spin-and-knit-as-I-go Summer Sweater.
For some odd reason
though the spindle is four grams lighter than the wooden one,
the finished chain-plied yarn is a hair thicker
(2700 yards/lb vs 2900yards/lb)
and thus slightly easier to knit.
Also, the spindle shaft is longer on the yellow one,
so it holds more.

--More laundry today
but I haven't drawn it yet
(and anyway you're probably less excited than I am
about sketches of our undies
hanging in the sun),
so I'll leave you here--
messing around,
barefoot in the mud.

What does a gal actually need?

4/22/2019

You never know what is going to happen
on a trip to our cabin.
Sometimes the Glacier Lilies are blooming,
and all is peace and birdsong and rattlesnakes.

Sometimes, like last week,
I find that a chunk of the roadbed
has been almost completely washed away by recent rains.

Tea, tunes and spindles always help
with the inevitable transitional melancholy

Also nettles, knitting, and a sketchbook.

I usually bring far too many projects
as I never know
what these steep, prickly hills
and my solitary self
will offer, suggest or demand,

And a big pile of possibility
always seems a good idea when I'm at home
where distractions are everywhere.

Those of you who got last week's newsletter
might remember that I do try to limit myself,
for experience has taught me
that too many choices
actually makes makes it harder
to settle in.

But even though I removed
several things from the pile
I still arrived with more than I could handle
and ended up storing a couple of things in the car
so I wouldn't see them.

Because it turned out
that what I really needed
was to wander around in my muck boots
between rain storms

and devote hours of each day
to spinning the last of the yarn
for this project.

How could I possibly forget

how easily I am amused?

The Blank Pages of 2019

1/1/2019

Tiny Tapestry Books.

Who knew?

Not me.

But perhaps the tapestries did.

Woven side by side last July

they refused to be parted.

Four Selvedge Tapestries,
(spindle spun linen, silk, cotton and wool).

Scraps of Washi
and Reeves Lightweight printing paper.

Coptic Binding,
Spindle spun linen thread
(coated with beeswax from my Aunt's old hive).

Business as usual, I suppose--
the materials dictating what I do--
my job merely to listen--
then dive in--
even if I have no idea what or why.

Sometimes it is a little unsettling.

But ultimately,
I cannot resist.

May your book of 2019,
be filled
with surprise,
and kindness,
and joy in the unexpected.

Long Short Days

12/18/2018

In early December,
the sun vanishes over the rim of the canyon
at what seems an unconscionably early hour.

The hills are very steep
(we have had to dig flat spots to stand or walk),
which means it also takes quite a while
for the sun make its way back
over the opposite hills
in the morning.

But getting up before the sun isn't too hard
in these modern times,
thanks to a couple of old solar panels
(one light at time to preserve the batteries,
and a very warm old parka.

And since there is no internet, phone, radio or cell service
the days,
if short on natural light,
are long on time.

And that is why I come.
Unscheduled and uninterrupted hours
are the reason
that I fill a cooler with food,
pack a thousand projects
(few of which I work on),
gather a stack of books
(most of which I don't read),
and head off by myself.

These solo weeks
are always remarkable in some way --
if rarely easy.
Endless uphill and downhills can be hard on the legs.
And I can almost guarantee
that on the first day
I will be awash in what I've taken to calling
"transitional melancholy,"
a thing I cannot like but am learning to embrace
(or at least accept),
as an elemental if uncomfortable part
of shifting into a different gear.
"This was SUCH a bad idea,"
I mutter as I unpack the absurd pile of projects.

But the next morning (at least so far)
I can hardly wait to get up
light the fire,
and get started.

Sometimes, all I want to do is knit.
On other trips I've been glued to my loom,
or gathered lichen for wood cookstove dye experiments,
or carved magic wands from sticks.
There was one memorable one
when I was drawing a naked self portrait
(I was weaving a lot of nudes then, and not so prone to getting cold),
when an old friend knocked in the door
walked in and introduced me to his his brother, who I'd never met.
They had just walked across the canyon
and were mostly interested in scrounging some lunch.

On my visit a couple of weeks ago,
I became obsessed with:
trying to play my old recorder,
drawing hourly (ish) comics.
and gathering stuff
(dead plants, coffee filters, grocery receipt),
to twist into cordage.

Oh yeah -- and playing the Cello suites by headlamp.
(Actually only the Allemande from the G major suite
which I play in D major on a baritone concertina,
which I'm sure is exactly what Bach had in mind....).

One of the things I most love
about these solo visits to the canyon,
is getting to practice being how I am
when no one else is around.
With minimal outside input,
and no emotional labor,
(other than dealing with myself that is),
I can immerse myself utterly
in whatever takes my fancy--
really notice how it feels,
and remember that once upon a time
I was good at solitude.

It's awfully easy to get out of the habit of solitude -
way easier than to get back into it, at least for me.
And these days, even when seemingly alone,
our devices are usually there
to connect and distract.
And that's a wonderful thing.

Until, sometimes, it is just too much,
especially around this time of year
when everyone seems to be trying to sell something,
or ramp us up about how perfect things should be.

So it's nice to step away,
to gather weeds
and tunes--
to gather myself together.

And then to write about it,
to you!

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