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*

Woven ThoughtSomely

Woven on a hand loom with the colors of the summer-cum-autumn in mind. 

This was inspired by Sandra's program at the May FreeStyle Meeting, weaving on small looms.  She and Cynthia made some small looms from foam core to get us started, and suddenly we were off and running!  Once I had my "weaving fingers" back I had the feeling I had come to familiar terrain.  Later that same week I started this piece on a small hand-held loom I bought several years ago on Etsy.  The wonderfully colorful threads are left-overs from my weaving days, as well as some silks from the hand dyeing I did last fall.  The contrast of rough and smooth textures made interesting lines.

I used a large high-castle loom for so many years that working on a rigid heddle loom of any size starts out very slowly.  Growing a cloth from rows of empty warp to a finished cloth is an absorbing form of zen, and I am always surprised when I glance up and see the hours that have passed.  Then it's time to stretch and have a little walk through the garden . . .

Starting out a little too early

What a morning! I awakened about 3 a.m. and after some tossing about finally got up, made a cup of tea, and was in the Studio before 4:00 this morning. And here it is, just after lunch, and I feel as if I should be in jammies and waiting for it to be dark enough to go to bed. I won't do this again any time soon. Next time it will be decaf tea and a snooze on the sofa.

I went into the dark back yard and began the little walk to the Studio. The night was alive with the sounds of tree frogs and rustling grasses. There was even a tiny movement of air. Above, the sky was still star-speckled. I felt quite alone in the universe, except for my cup of tea.

With all this sudden gift of time on my hands, I made a list of things to do today. At the top of the list was to assemble the four-harness loom my son built while he was still in college. The assorted pieces have been propped against walls of the studio for a long, long time, and since the wool-roving weaving experience, I have contracted the bug to make something using yarn and shuttles-- a "regular" sort of weaving. I thought the assembly of the floor loom wouldn't be too hard, that I just had to get the beams in place and everything else would line up and fall into a neat order. Was that ever a pie-in-the-sky dream! After a lot of struggling and nothing too much to show for it except that I finally began to understand which was the front and which the back, there was daylight enough to enlist Charles to help. Result: now there were two supervising personnel and no worker bees. In the end, I put everything back against a wall (the front wall, against the windows, unfortunately), and I will do this another day. Jordan and Julie are camping with the Adorables this weekend, so maybe I can persuade him to give me some guidance one evening next week and show me where the left-over parts go.

I am also working with the three wool roving pieces. The idea of weaving from roving and tossing the results into the washing machine is good in theory, but the truth is that some weavings are better suited for felting than others. I pored over the three pieces (blue/green, pinkish, and yellow/orange) and chose the pink for experimented with the embellishing machine, needle felting, and embroidery. I think I have an idea. It needs some nurturing, though. And it especially needs a clear head that has had lots of sleep before anyone starts doing drastic, non-reversible things to it. Right now I need a boring, repetitive job that will keep my hands busy while I think. Yes, I'm thinking about that bucket of bolts and screws and why the beams don't line up properly . . .

Weaving in the Studio

I've been thinking about my looms a bit, particularly as I am moving things, opening up boxes (and finding tools and parts to one loom or another), and it seemed suddenly very important to do something with the Tapestry Loom. I have so much wool yarn, roving for felting, and a cabinet full of cone threads, that coming up with a project would be no trouble at all. In fact, as I think about life past and future, if I don't use up a lot of these materials, they will end up in a landfill one day. Time to pull out all the stops and go for the big, over-the-top piece of hand-woven something-or-other.

So, with nothing to lose, I dragged the Tapestry Loom from its corner yesterday afternoon. "This will be a walk in the park," I thought as I set in on the floor beside my chair. Hmmmm . . . I couldn't remember how to warp it. Actually, I will confess to having had a hard time telling the front from the back. Then I remembered that this loom warps vertically, not horizontally. My first reaction was to glance back at the place it had come from and to think of how little trouble it would be to put it back there. But the challenge of how to warp this loom was too good to pass up.

By dinner, I had the warp on it (a narrow warp of only 20 threads, about eight or nine inches wide) and had started working out how to draw out the roving to make my weft. My intent was to create pieces that would be felted, that I would throw in the wash with jeans, so I was more concerned with color placement than good technique. It would shrink unevenly, as I am using merino wool, silk tussa and silk throwster's waste, merino/wool combinations, corriedale, goat batts . . . This made my job of re-learning how to weave a little easier. This photo shows the loom up on a work table (with attendant clutter).



Of course, you can't just cut a piece off the loom and rush to felt it, because you have all that remaining warp left that is under tension (and getting an even tension on each thread can be tedious, most particularly since I used wool for the warp, which is stretchier than cotton or linen). Best to put on yards of warp and use it for several projects, making it best to keep on weaving until you get to the end of your warp. I went from blue/green roving to spring pink/green/coral batt, to orange and yellow combinations of things. With each piece I became more adventurous. It is the last one, the orange and yellow, that is most texturally interesting.



And here is a detail of the yummy colors and texture:



Since I used curly locks here along with throwster's waste, I know I will not felt this. I have no idea now what it will be. If I had it off the loom, I could turn it upside down and see how well it speaks to me-- maybe those curly locks that are hanging down are really trees in a parched landscape?

I need to devote more thought to this one, and do some more weaving. There is an awfully lot more of roving in the yellow/orange drawer! And I will have Bethy and Ethan this afternoon, so I will ask them what it looks like. Have you ever noticed how intersting a child's view of the world can be?