The Amazing Straight Stitch, Part 2: Running, Back and Outline Stitch

Now that you have spent some time in hunter-gatherer mode, sampling as you compiled your new assortment of thread and yarn, let's look at some of the marks you can make with them.

Lines of Running Stitch can divide areas from one another, lead the eye forward, curl and swirl to bring up images of winds and skies or seas and moving water.  The dip and rise of land  or contour drawings can be conveyed with these simple stitches.

In a more complex line, the stitches should be quite close to one another, even touching or overlapping.  A curving or spiraling shape will bend with more grace when the stitches almost intersect, giving a sinuous character to the lines.

Other Straight Stitch suggestions for making curling marks are Back Stitch and Outline Stitch, which are opposites of one another.  Turn your fabric over and see where the Outline Stitches you made on the front of the fabric are Back Stitches on the reverse.

In Back Stitch it is easy to make a continuous line by having the stitches share the same entrance and exit points.  This is useful when drawing shapes to be filled or making lines around something we should not miss in the story.  

Backstitch is also a very strong stitch, if you are reinforcing or connecting two pieces of cloth.  In the sample below, I have used some backstitched lines to strengthen the top of the cloth, but the stitches do not share the same entry/exit points as in the grid above.  They are spaced so the lines resemble running stitch.  Without heavy stitching, raw edges often curl or continue raveling, so the camouflaged Back Stitch is both utilitarian and decorative here.

In Outline Stitch a part of one stitch overlaps slightly a portion of the previous stitch, so that a line has an almost doubled feeling to it.

Outline Stitch also has the ability to make rough, choppy lines by moving them slightly out of alignment.  The resulting marks are very painterly, much like a quickly drawn sketch.  The lines can reinforce the movement of a line and give energy to the object or area being stitched.  It is more like drawing with a needle than simply stitching.  

In contrast, Straight Stitch marks made of different sizes and with more space between them may suggest awkwardness or indecision.  If the thread is very heavy, however, the space between the stitches becomes a useful breathing space, where we can see the pinching of the chunky thread through the tiny hole in the fabric changing the shape of the mark from flat to oval with slightly pointed ends.  There are several examples of chunky thread and torn strips of silk fabric in the wave below:

In the example below, the single curving line of Running Stitch skips and moves about, but a second line has been added to help to smooth out the curve.  Though it seems abrupt in places, the doubling of the line maintains a gentle flow as the line escapes the yellow silk block. 

In combination with appliqué, dyes, and rusted fabrics, this look at a stretch of the Appalachian Mountains has been stitched in straight stitches.  The threads are a mix of over-dyed weaving threads in several different weights and textures, then stitched as tilted and curving lines and blocks to follow the contours of the land:

As an exercise, try making as many curving lines as you can with Running Stitch, Back Stitch, and Outline Stitch.  Vary the threads as you work.  Each of the three stitches has its own characteristics that can be explored and developed in your personal style.  

The Amazing Straight Stitch, Part 1

I have been thinking about stitches lately, about the way I use them, why I make the choices I do, and why some pieces are more successful than others.  Stitch, my drawing tool, is only part of this process.  Along with color and shape, repetition and balance--all the elements of design-- stitched marks are the way I layout the story I'm telling.  Sometimes the story is abstract and even vague, maybe it is more a poem or a haiku in stitch.  Whatever the subject or form, it starts with a stitch and a color choice.  

This will be a lot of blog-musing, but if you'd like to follow along, I'm glad to have you.  I will try to post on the subject of straight stitches when I have some observation or other to make because the Universe has a habit of hurling things my way without being sympathetic to personal deadlines.  Because I so frequently rely on straight stitches and its many variations, what follows is my personal way of using this family of stitches.  My aim is not to be decorative, which is why I work in straight stitches so frequently.

Straight stitches are flat, one-stroke marks on a cloth.  They may combine with other straight stitches to make zig-zag, arrowhead or fern stitch, but they are still one-stroke marks.  This is a sampler I have used as an index of straight stitch ideas, a way of remembering possibilities I might so easily overlook (or  forget):

The simplest of all stitches, the stitch even children immediately understand, the straight stitch can be the most expressive way to put ideas to cloth with needle and thread.  The reason is in its straight forward simplicity.  The straight stitch does not use loops, knots, or combinations of marks to make itself felt.  It is a mark that directs our attention by its length, thickness or thinness, texture, or color.  It is in the choices the stitcher makes that determine the character of this stitch. 

The size of the thread we choose, thick or thin, is a way of showing emphasis, expressing strength or weakness, or of pulling things from back to foreground.  Satin stitch worked in two or three strands of cotton, silk or rayon floss creates an unblemished surface of calm, while to use a larger needle and slightly textured thread, like wool, linen or nubbly threads manufactured for hand weaving or knitting, that unblemished and calm surface can become a less placid scape, and possibly more interesting.

This is not to say that the chains, loops, composites and knots are not beautiful and useful.  But when a piece uses a multitude of stitches, the stitches by weight of their number and variety begin to become items of interest, and our attention is drawn away from the message in the piece and to its individual components.  A piece stitched with an assortment of highly decorative stitches might drift into looking more like a beautifully stitched sampler than a story.  Just because we know (and love) these beautiful stitches does not mean we have to use them all in one project.  To tell a story simply, a simple stitch may do a cleaner, more easily understood job of it.

Color may be the most eye-catching component of a piece.  There are so many differently variegated threads that listing all the combinations would be a never-ending exercise.  Some can be so variously colored that they are difficult to use.  The more useful ones for me and my practice are threads in variations of themselves (ombre), such as shades or tints of yellow-green or watery blues, or reds that move toward orange but don’t completely give themselves to that overpowering color.  Color is a very personal subject, and you will always select your own colorways to suit the story your are stitching. 

Thread colors can also be mixed in the needle for a more interesting color palette.  As your stitching progresses with this combination of colors, the threads will twist, and in a mix of three differently-colored strands, the colors will take turns appearing topmost on the cloth.

Of more interest, if you look to add texture to an area of stitch by mixing your threads in the needle, might be to combine rayon floss with a very light weight wool, even a mohair yarn.  The dominant thread will be the heavier one, but the shiny rayon will not give up, and it will leave a little trace of shine as your lines progress.

Novelty threads can make surprising marks, especially eyelash yarns for knit and crochet, because you can control how much of the eyelash is pulled to the surface of your cloth, how much of the shaggy parts to allow onto the front of your work.  Although a little extreme, this is one of my favorite eyelash yarns, one that makes a statement about untidiness, especially in nature.

To stitch with these awkward, sometimes oversized threads you will need to expand the "big" end of your needle collection.  Chenilles in size 14, 12, or larger (the smaller the number, the larger the needle) will draw all but the largest, stickiest threads through a soft cloth.  I have developed a considerable nonchalance about the pedigree of a needle.  It must only do its job, which is to make an opening large enough to draw folded-over thread/yarn through the cloth I am using.  I ask no more of it.  Upholstery needles, leather worker's needles, sailmaker’s needles, beading needles, and chenilles in alarming sizes are all part of my personal kit.

In the end, your pincushion, cloth scraps and variety of threads are not on display.  No one ever needs to know you used a needle that is a lethal weapon to get that chunky wool through your fabric.  It's what the marks can do to help you tell your story that is most important.  The straight stitch in its many forms is exactly the platform for story telling in this tactile way.

Start out by making a visual inventory of your threads and yarns.  Use a cloth that is not tightly woven-- and here upcycling is invaluable, because that old and worn pair of linen trousers is an excellent base for this type of sampling.  Frame or hoop an 8" x 10" cloth (20 x 25 cm) so the fabric does not pucker as you work.  Divide the cloth into two columns, and stitch a line or two of each of your threads.  Do not tuck the ends in, but leave that end free to dangle two inches or so at the end of the stitched line.  This is so you will be able to easily identify the thread when you are ready to use it.  Alternatively, choose a narrow strip of fabric, tacked or stapled to a 5" or 6" wide frame that is 20" or more inches long, and begin to stitch the short way across your strip.  As described above, leave the end of your thread hanging as you stitch.  Below is a picture of one of my "inventory" samples.  You can see that I also used looped stitches and knots, as I was interested in the versatility of the thread as well as textural possibilities.

In this sample below I was interested only in texture, texture, and more texture.  The stitches are worked in cotton thread meant for weaving, 10/2 or 12/2.  Moving from right to left, the needle takes on one additional thread with each line: beginning with single, then double, up to five threads in the needle in the last example.  Adding more strands of thread meant a change to larger needles along the way.

Once you start looking, you will find interesting threads everywhere.  Ask friends who knit or crochet to save you bits from their projects.  If you have a weaving friend, you may have a gold mine of "thrums" to use.  Look for tapes in different widths.  Check out Japanese threads, which are often innovative and meant to be mixed with other thread/yarn so they are not always a heavy size.  Jan Beaney is fond of saying, "The more you look, the more you see," and there is no better advice than that!

Socially Distanced Landscape

A Socially Distanced Landscape.  Each mountain carefully keeping its distance from a neighbor, but no masks  The sky continues off the the left, or perhaps is gearing up for the plunge into the landscape?  From hand dyed fabric scraps, mixing eco dyeing and rust printing with Procion dyes, and commercial produced linen and cotton fabrics.

2020: The Seasons of COVID-19, a stitched record

 

The piece of linen, which I had thought too bright, too orange-yellow, too-something to be usable, was destined to be the lining of another stitchery.  But when I initially thought about the Pandemic and how I would express those feelings, it was exactly right.  I would use the form of a traditional stitched sampler to express something not at all traditional, and I would learn the new stitched language I would need to tell the story that is still unfolding.

The piece was not stitched in one several-weeks setting; I have worked on it since the spring.  Some event, some reaction to plural events would set me to thinking, and I would be off and stitching again for several days.

The border came last, so it should be the first to be explained.  I thought about edges, and decided the raw edges would do well for this raw time.  No turning under the cloth or making it neat.  In deference to the world I used to know, there is a thin strip of pale green running down the right side.  It is a sort of farewell to stability and normality.  The stitched border is tight, restricting, and not at all a straight line.  On the upper left, it bulges and the heavy grids restrain a single, pale dot.  Running stitch in lines echo the gold, looping outside edge of the border.  Those lines are interrupted by record-keeping, stitches marking the days and weeks, some days more fraught than others.

In the interior, there are expressions of anger, bewilderment, of beginnings that had nowhere to go, of abrupt endings.  Mid way, the lines and groups start out with good intention, but they compress, begin to overlap, and as the vertical lines move to the right, they become looser, unable to retain their shape and form.  Over this section are horizontal lines that wander over them, making their way to an edge of negative space.

Below the block of vertical lines, below the turquoise line of tight, tiny Herringbone stitches that wander, wave, turn and finally end after having accomplished absolutely nothing by their presence, is a mesh of overlapping Buttonhole Stitches.  The threads are a range of heavy, coarse cotton and linen, to barely-twisted silks, rising to lighter, fine silks and cottons.  Thinking, simply being on these days was a struggle as the roster of the dead grew longer and longer.

The gaps in stitch are a reflection of thinking, of needing a space of no thought; meditative silence.  The single, recurring thought was a line from Yeats, "Things fall apart; the center cannot hold."

I am not sure this is finished, any more than the Pandemic is over.  But this is my record, thus far.

The Second Coming

William Butler Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre   

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere   

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst   

Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.   

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out   

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert   

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,   

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,   

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it   

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.   

The darkness drops again; but now I know   

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,   

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,   

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Rooms with pond and moon

 

More mapping, on two planes.

Asks and Answers: Dragon Sampler

This little piece of cloth started life as a yard of cream upholstery linen. Then the dyeing, lying in a drawer for years, and finally, a sampling opportunity. It lay, in its hoop, on the embroidery table and I picked it up to try several ideas before committing them to cloth. All was going swimmingly until, somehow, the Dragon stalked across the lower part of the cloth. She has a super power, I discovered. She can leap tall trees in a single bound.

Asks and Answers: Revisions

Asking the question is a way of framing the thing you are trying to understand, the problem to be solved, or, simply, to get a clearer image of something you haven't done before. Finding answers begins when you gather materials and begin to sample the possibilities. Since late winter, I have been asking and examining solutions. In going through boxs of older work, I found several pieces that triggered another respons, and two I had originally thought to be completed are now quite altered. The original of "16 Days in May" was done quickly, as a sketch diary of May, about two or three years ago:

The revision, completed in the spring, shows more detail, more reflection:

The second piece is called "Modern Choices." It was a response to a long day of having to figure out technology and social media issues, then the grocery store with its plethora of choices-- it was a jarring, uncomfortable day of questioning everything. First iteration:

I put it away, thinking I had rid myself of a lot of angst by making this (over about a week or so), and that would be that.  But when I came across it recently, I saw it in light of the COVID year.  Lockdowns meant we have become more dependent on media for even small things, and with a page of choices staring me in the face, I was asking questions again.  The revision, which did not add questions, changed the color of two questions and added lighter background highlights:

But this is not enough.  There is more to be said, more background to add to the maze of continual choices and uncertainties of results, so I am taking it up again.  Asking questions is good. Getting new answers is even better.

Quarantine and the Studio

Like so much of the world, we are isolated here, and if I did not have the studio I would have been locked away months ago for my own and others' safety. In that time I have concentrated on exploring my stitch world. Part of this exploration has been to find the Unfinished Pieces box and to re-evaluate. Other work has been new, some in response to COVID-19. As there is no end in sight to the spread of this virus, I will begin sharing some of these things, hoping always for better times. 

One good thing to come of this has been that I am using what I have rather than popping out for supplies. It seems a risky thing for someone with asthma to go into an infected world to buy a length of cloth, or thread, or paint, but this restriction did not turn out as badly as I had initially feared. I took these months of waiting to assess what I have, what I really need, and what I could do with it. I have been dyeing thread for years, but not always winding it onto bobbins so some color or texture could be easily accessed when I needed it. Fixed that. 

When I brought together the (scattered) stacks of cloth that had been cut into manageable sizes and dyed, I found I now have a fully-loaded cupboard, ready for use.  The pieces are stacked by color family, so even just standing in front of it all with both doors opened is inspiring. When things are all in one place, they can be impressive. 

I have also sewn several items of clothing for myself.  Inspired by the idea of the odd and interesting draped over me, I've begun to draw into the surfaces of some of these new-found fabrics to make collaged cloths that will become my fall wardrobe. This wardrobe I think of as "Studio Wear," because I am always a little reluctant to dress in my crazy creations and go out into the public. As there is no "public" available to me now, I have the freedom to dress in these crazy items as I work or play in the studio. Sometimes I look down and see that a spot needs a line of stitch, maybe another pocket (you can never have too many pockets), or some odd button (maybe you CAN have too many buttons). I even have a pair of comfortable linen trousers made from a pair of old curtain panels. I will press that outfit and put it on my dress form and share it with you another day. 

Our Stitching With A Twist (SWAT) Dogwood Chapter EGA group in Atlanta, was asked to stitch our response to COVID-19. My first reaction was to express just how frustrated I had become with the narrowness of my world, the sameness, the lack of stimulation in sheltering in place. This piece is about 4" square. The ground is a rip of cardboard onto which are sewn a piece of interfacing from a deconstructed garment, and over that a scrap of hand-rusted fabric. The stitches are made with a silk fiber that is wirey and filled with its own ideas about where it wants to lay on the cloth. It has not been twisted, which adds to its instability. A perfect choice for my first response.

The second response is larger, about 10" tall, and is assembled from scraps and off-cuts of clothing or stitch projects. The red strokes represent days, until there were so many they could no longer be counted meaningfully.

There is another, but it still needs a good deal of finishing.

Now to get some more items camera-ready. And maybe add another pocket to the vest that is weary from handling and being stitched and re-stitched. Back in a few.

Domestic Sketches

Today, in The Time Of COVID-19, I am unashamed in pursuing normalcy through examining commonplace, often overlooked objects.  This slowly-stitched, meditative process is a reminder that there is life after this, that there will be a time when we can all exhale and take tentative steps toward establishing our own "new normal."

These four sketches are stitched on rough linen scraps that have been cobbled together to make a whole.  The challenge was to stitch over the raw-edged seam lines without having any little hiccups in the lines of floss.  The green, natural and blue blocks were a learning process, but when I got to the cup and saucer, my capacity for challenge was exhausted, and I used an intact scrap of linen twill as my background block.

Little Quilt

Strip Weaving is an interesting way to create a surface for stitch.  This one came into being as a project to keep my hands busy in the evenings while we watched the British Mysteries.  Perhaps it should be called "The British Mystery Quilt"?

It is 7 1/2 by 8 1/2 inches, roughly.  Linen, mostly, with some cotton for a contrast in texture.  The stitches were limited to straight and cross stitch, with some couching and a section of tiny, tiny french knots.  The piece became such a part of my life that I was actually a little down when it was finished.  THere were evenings when some sections refused my stitches, while others yelled for attention.  The end result appears to be a map of a small, colorful town.  My granddaughter was the first to recognize the story here.  Kudos, Bethy!

Summer in the Deep South, Oddments

In early June I wondered if this would be the year of extended spring that went straight to autumn.  No such luck.  We have experienced bursts of rain interspersed with temperatures in the high 80s and low-mid 90s.  Gardening time is just after daylight, then again just before dusk.

Which means the best place to be is in the studio!

One thing Quarantine time has given me is a space to reflect and put things together.  Finishing the Almost-Dones has been a pleasure, too.  I have amassed a collection of little pieces, palm-size or a little larger, and when I came across them, I began to add to the collection.  These are concerned with color and texture, some are about shapes.  None are really finished pieces, but they are ideas.  The best thing to do when you aren't full of inspiration and the muse is off visiting friends and partying, is to simply show up and do something.  Lack of Inspiration and uncooperative Muse can be my excuses for not getting work done.

With that thought, I began to arrange some of the pieces into vignettes.  Once done, I thought of filling in the white spaces between them with little oddments collected since I was a child and curious about all small things that could pop into a pocket and be pulled out later for closer examination.  I found an old frame with a front-closing door and began to assemble these bits and pieces in some order.  I call the collection "Oddments," and, with great originality, they are numbered 1 to 4.  I have not kept any of them in the frame, but I photographed the individual vignettes.  The idea of leaving them flexible and mobile is appealing, particularly in this time of turmoil and change.  Nothing seems to stay the same anymore.

I offer you a guided tour of my day of play.

No. 1:  Here the center green circle is a tag from a dress by Gudrun Sjoden of which I am particularly fond, so I did a little stitching on it.  The other stitcheries are on linen, paper, even one in the lower line (on a yellow wedge ground) is unspun silk on a piece of paper towel with paint splattered onto it.  The slice of house at lower right is what I secretly fantasize about painting my (presently) blue house one day.  Painting the dots was an inspired moment, as the linen was from a very old shift I'd worn threadbare before I would take it out of my closet.

No. 2:  The arched line is an experimental wrapping of thread and fabric scraps, really small shreds of fabric that I dug out of my waste clippings.  The upper left leaf design is stitched on paper and cloth, with the leaf shape sponged onto paper from a wet cloth I'd just dyed.  Next to it is part of a (very) old wax-painted sample.  The wood in center is from a beautiful and large lavender bush that I brought with me when we moved back home from Knoxville in 2008, and after 12 years of bewilderment at its new location, the plant simply folded up shop.  I love the wood, as even the roots of lavender are a feast for the eyes.  The little boat at the bottom center is thumb-sized, to give you an idea of scale (or maybe of the size of my arthritic thumbs).

No. 3:  The center yellow piece was stitched on a scrap from a manilla mailing envelope.  Using Cas Holmes' instructions (The Found Object in Textile Art) for momigami paper, I wadded, folded, scrunched and crinkled until the paper softened to have a fabric-like hand.  I ironed it, and stitched with hand and machine.  It is a memory of travel to New Mexico with our son many years ago.  The thumb tacks next to it are ancient, I remember them in the back of a drawer from my childhood.  And the little ladder in the lower row is from some long-lost toy of my son's saving.  It is next to a stitching on paper (right) and little shape studies (left).  The red buttons were from my mother, and the piece directly above it came from studying Gwen Hedley's Drawn to Stitch.

No. 4:  Here I realized I had gone to setting things up in something like rigid exhibition order, and this page, though it has some of my favorite objects on it, is less animated than the other pages.  I have confessed to you, with the photograph, of my love of buttons that aren't always perfect and round.  Likewise, my feeling about trees and shrubs.  The little trees were wrapped from snips of embroidery and knitting thread so they look as if they can dance and actually enjoy themselves.  The black and white piece at top left ignited an interest in zentangle drawing and stitching that lasted almost a year, along with sketchbooking with white ink on black paper.

What a huge mess I made with this project, but it was a fun and productive mess.  At least that is what I kept telling myself . . .

More falling leaves!

I couldn't let it go at simple leaf shapes-- the table decoration project simply took a different turn when it ended, and the leaves assumed a life of their own.  The leaves were like stepping stones, each leading to the next.

These are some of the last ones.  The fabrics are recycled clothing pieces and a few old fabrics that have been around since my son was living at home (!).  The main vein of the last leaf is a hand-wrapped cord.  I make these loosely-wrapped and colorful cords while watching the British Mysteries.  In two nights of mysteries, it's amazing what can be achieved!

ENJOY THE AUTUMN!!!

Autumn Leaves

It is still a bit green here; autumn is more a state of mind than a reality, at present.

But to hurry the season along I have made almost a dozen leaves.  They are for the EGA chapter meeting, to be used as door prizes next week.  Peggy is making the other half of the project.  These are to be table decorations that Carol will put together with her genius for decorating.

The leaves are decorated with straight stitches and machine stitch, backed with synthetic felt (because when I cut into wool felt my allergies rose immediately and my eyes began to swell).

The surface of these leaves is hand-painted or dyed linen:

The leaf above has quite an orderly arrangement of straight stitches, but the green one below has scattered seed stitches in an assortment of autumn colors:

Here a little patterning:

The left side of this leaf was cut from a piece of cotton print, the right side is chocolate linen with commercially-printed cotton held in place with machine stitching:

Free-motion machine stitch on dyed linen:

And a pair of stout leaves:

The last one was cut from a piece of cotton I found in a Thrift Store, a gathered skirt with miles of swirling lines-- the same print in the spotted leaf, above.  I found the shape of a leaf in the swirls and stitched with tiny back stitches to attach it to the linen:

I do not have photographs of the others, but they are all made of this same simplicity, simple shapes, simple stitches.

Enjoy!

Sun, Rain

This piece is about 6" square (-ish), with a surface of silk and very loosely woven muslin.  It is stitched in different types of silk, most of which I dyed.

The theme is a response to the September weather.  It was stitched during the Texture and Pattern class with Sue Stone, and felt wonderfully freeing to do it completely in straight stitches.

Yellow Blouse

Here I have combined my loves of stitch and creating clothing that is just a little on the edge of whatever is called normal.  O.K.  "Funky."  In a collage, around 6" square.  Silk and linen, the blouse in black cotton floss, one or two strands.

I learned to sew from my mother, and this was all part of the woman's education she felt was important to her daughters.  It is a skill for which I am grateful on a daily basis.  A Woman's Work.

I am practicing creating stitched patterns on plain fabric on a human scale by making myself a vest for the fall/winter, using pieces from recycled clothing and lots of stitch.  If I finish this in my lifetime, I will post pictures and details of its construction.  Working in patches of color can be interesting, it gives some definition to the space to be stitched.  And I've found that if I want loosely-spaced straight stitches, I can turn the fabric over and stitch lines of Buttonhole Stitch on the "wrong" side, and the "right" side (which now holds the back of the stitch) has all sorts of interesting lines on it.  There are moments when the vest looks as if it is on its way to being reversible . . .  I write this sidebar because the vest and its slightly different embellishment is inspired by this stitched collage of a yellow blouse.

Self-Portrait

Another piece from Sue's class.

I am very proud of the blouse.  The appliqué started life as a very plain fabric:

I used straight stitches in two colors to add some interest to this fabric, and the result is below:

Stitch Sampling

This article from TextileArtist.org is a nice read if you have ever wondered about the value of sampling stitches or techniques before you start a project.

Sampling can be addictive.  It's all about the "What ifs" that keep popping up as you try one thing, then make some small alteration to the process or color or thread weight and try it again.  Even better is when you let one idea link to another and another . . .

The reward of all this curiosity spread across small pieces of fabric is that the samples are making your own encyclopedia of stitch and technique ideas as they begin to fill a box or a bin.  Notebooks with cloth pages (the holes are made with buttonholes) hold mine.  I've even used Pellon as a page, which keeps the pages from folding over in the thick binders.

If you searched the dark corners of your own studio space, how many samples could you collect?  Enough to fill your own ring-binder notebook?  Maybe two notebooks?  My favorite ones are where I start out a little loose and not so nice, but as the stitching continues, I can see the improvement I make.  Seeing where you came from is often a great teacher.  And mistakes might be the best teacher of all, because we learn more from mistakes than doing things perfectly the first time.

Don't forget other fabric techniques-- Felting experiments can lead to a new direction in wet or dry felting.  Fabric manipulation gives texture, whether perfectly or imperfectly worked.  What about painted Lutradur or Bond-A-Web, heat-manipulated surfaces . . .

Take a moment to read the article about sampling as a creative process.  It might be the impetus you need to start your next project!

Black Floss on Cotton

I embarked on an enormous journey of discovery and endurance with this piece, never thinking I would actually stitch the entirety of the 10" x 18" cloth.  My style is to make smaller, more intimate pieces.  After I had gotten bored, I reasoned, I would remove the piece from the frame, cut the work away and fold what was left of the multi-processed cloth and move on to something else.  To this end, I set out to try some different ways of doing a few things with simple, expressive stitches.  Instead of becoming bored, the challenge became so absorbing I couldn't put it down, and I worked weeks and weeks with the magic that was happening on the rectangle.

It is a study in lines, and to that end I used a single strand of black cotton floss.  I wanted to see how much energy short, dotted lines might have.  And then there was the idea of bending a longer line by keeping it under tension rather than Couching the slack thread with two needles.  Or, what if the circles were stitched as loose Detached Chains and tied down to make rough circles of many sizes and shapes?  Is it possible to get a certain depth of perception with a tiny Straight Stitch by changing the compression, working dense stitches that graduated to a little more breathing space?  Could I really do this without using even one of my favorite little spot stitches, the French Knot?  Is there personality possible in a Square Chain Stitch?  And on and on it went, more questions, more answers.

If you've ever seen geology texts where the artist has drawn beautiful illustrations of earth strata, subducting plates, layers of sediment under pressure, conglomerate rocks-- this is where the idea started, buried in my twin loves of earth science and pen and ink drawings.  My husband sees an aerial landscape here.  It is hard to say which explanation I prefer, but in the end, the piece speaks in a different language to every viewer.

A word about the fabric:  This is a soft, loosely woven cotton.  I rusted it, washed it, buried it in the garden for a week, dug it up and washed it again and decided it would do as a mop-up cloth for a painting session.  The color in the lower part of the piece is from spilled dyes and cleaned paint brushes.  More washing.  Nothing was planned, and when I last washed it I thought it might make a good lining cloth for other projects.  I've used several smaller cuts from the cloth in stitched pieces over the past several years.

This thin, loose cotton is lined with four layers of linen, including worn napkins and a piece of linen left over from dress-making eons ago (how's that for responsible re-use of materials?).  The back of the work is almost as interesting as the front-- there are times I can't decide which side to show and which to put against the wall!

Starry Night

This is a little piece that wouldn't stay within the 4" square I meant for it.  It is an example of my starting something that simply had a mind of its own, and then hanging on as it galloped  off in another direction.

The fabric is linen I dyed, and the threads are a mix of hand and commercially dyed cottons and silks.  A little white-painted bowl sat on the worktable with the brightly-colored skeins tumbled together as I stitched and planned and listened to the story the threads were chatting about as the lines and shapes unfolded under my fingers.  Working with intense colors is always quite stimulating, but to add to the mood of creativity I listened to the soundtrack of BFG as the stitching progressed.  How could anything stay sedate and perfectly mannerly with John Williams' delightful music filling the studio?

And that is how all of these little images came to dwell here: stars, even a little block of fallen stars, a blackberry "briar" patch, river road, tracks, foliage . . .  Ethan shares my passion for blue and green, so this will be my subject for our writing club meeting this afternoon.  The children write their stories, Grandmother stitches hers.  The children read their lovely written works, Grandmother tells hers and accepts the children's excited interruptions the way historians add footnotes to the body of their data.  What better way to spend the after-homework-is-done moments of an afternoon in the studio?

And yes, Beth Ralph, you are entirely right about the way the story should be matted and framed rather than stretched over a small wooden stretcher the way I usually do these pint-sized pieces.  Isn't Show 'N Tell the best part of FreeStyle?

Feathers by the water

The story of this piece is one of wondering, "What if . . . ?"

It started off innocently enough, a weaving in a variety of yarns and thread, then the idea of weaving feathers into the story changed everything . . .

Once the feathers were in place, weaving the last part of the piece was impossible.  The feathers changed the story, and I left off working on this for weeks, waiting for the rest of the idea to form.  That was when Sherry Mayfield suggested that I not continue weaving at the bottom of the little hand loom, but to ease the piece down the empty warp and work from the new middle toward the top.

After I had moved the weaving and feathers down, it seemed a shame to do something common to it, like weaving with ordinary (or, in my case, semi-ordinary) materials.  Instead, I made a fabric sandwich of silk paper, a scrap from a vintage handkerchief, a cutting of old linen, and covered it with silk chiffon and a small strip of more silk paper.  This was the point of initial stitching, straight stitches using a high-sheen cotton floss in horizontal lines.

When it all held together fairly well, I began weaving the embroidered block into the open warp.  That called for more stitching to secure the embroidered sandwich to the piece (or the sandwich to the warp).  For this I used silk, a pale blue Spun Silk with Flame thread from Stef Francis.   These new silk straight stitches were all done in vertical lines in contrast with the cotton.  The vintage cotton yo-yo looks on the scene with kindly interest.

Three days of intensive stitching and assessing the progress of the piece followed.  With a deep breath (carefully, carefully) I cut the piece from the loom, then began weaving the warp ends into the stitching behind the fabric sandwich.  Next came a strip of "eyelash" from Tentakulum (Painter's Threads) near the bottom and above the feathers, and stitching the little reeds in shades of indigo silk.

I believe it is done.  When I look at it I find no adjectives or adverbs in need of changing, so the story is complete.  I have never inserted a stitched cloth, large or small, into a weaving before this, but as I consider the possibilities this is a mixing of techniques quite worth exploring.  The warp threads that are left on the front of the work are the most challenging feature for future experimentation.  Thank you Sherry, for encouraging me to look at this piece differently!

A closer look at the stitched/fabric sandwich weaving:

Now, if I can keep from touching it long enough to consider mounting and presentation . . .

UPDATE on the Feathers:  Poor feathers!  One was lost in moving it about . . . I think it is time to think of a resuscitation (yet again),  as one has been lost.  Or, I should simply move on, put this hexed piece in a studio journal and note it is not something to be tried again.

*Sigh*