It’s been a while since I’ve written. The thing that’s hard about a blog is, it’s not a diary (at least not for me), it’s not for writing about everything because really, I must honor the privacy of loved ones, and in this case, it’s somewhat specific in terms of topic. Let me just say this: if you like this blog and noticed I’ve not been keeping up, I’m sorry and it’s been a regrettable reality of my life these days. Things got a little heavy, a little stressful, a little complicated and a lot lifey, and I need to work on still writing through those times.
A recent event has reignited my fuel center, and reminded me of what the heck I’m trying to convey through this blog. I had the opportunity to bring a weaving project to my son’s second grade class, and wow, was it amazing. Let me just jump in and explain.
First know this: I am not an expert weaver. I took one weaving class years ago where I learned how to use a big loom, and by learn, I mean was guided every step of the way, multiple times. The apparatus that is attached to a wall that you wind yarn around to get it prepared to warp the loom (I think), almost made me lose my mind. All of it. In a burning inferno of frustration. No matter what I did, I could not keep my yarn from tangling and turning into a wild Medusa hair-like mess. Omg. I shudder to remember it. I did make this though, and I’ll always be proud of it.
I know I’ll take another class on using a big loom now that I’m more mature and have practiced a bit of mindfulness.
Anyway, I love hand weaving on simple looms, circular looms or looms made out of random things like wire, branches, busted out doors. I love how intuitive it can be, how much freedom there is to throw any such thing into a piece because it feels good, and you don’t have to worry too much about a complicated machine. I love how accessible it is, and how it’s possible to make a downright beautiful piece of art simply by understanding some basic concepts, and appreciating how different materials respond to the process of moving around warp thread. I wanted to share this with children because again, it is accessible art, and going into summer, I wanted to encourage them to use their found treasures in art projects and just experiment. I also find this medium to be extremely satisfying, grounding and soothing. I often find when I’m talking to people about it, I place my hand on my stomach when describing how it makes me feel… it’s like it makes me feel comfortable in a part of my body that holds a lot of tension, and I think sometimes a lot of grief.
Here is a little picture montage of my process:
I used this book by Sarah Swett (check out her blog/website. you won’t be sorry) to gather some ideas. The loom I made was a bit different, but based on one described here. It’s a wonderful book and one I will refer to often in future projects with kids. And, my husband made me a standing loom from this book that I hope to write about soon!
Figuring out the appropriate loom size and number of warp threads took some doing.
I went with the 4×6 cardboard size, but chose to use only seven warp threads. I found that the loom stayed stronger and more in tact with less threads, which I was interested in because my plan for the kids was to have all sorts of materials available to them to weave with. They also were going to only be using their fingers to weave, not needles, so I needed the loom to be able to withstand the pulling that would inevitably happen.
I wanted kids to understand that they can weave with all kinds of things.
My weave in progress…
Cardboard looms and another example piece using less wild materials.
Example of a weaving done on the simple cardboard loom.
Not gonna lie: I love my piece.
So, on the day of class, we did a little show and tell bit first. I showed the kids a napkin made from cloth that my mother-in-law’s mother, Else Jacob Eberitsch wove herself. We have a set of these napkins, and a matching table cloth. I am forever blown away by the beauty of them. My son was so proud to show it to his classmates.
I also showed them circular looms of different sorts, as well as one of those rectangular kid’s looms that can be found in most craft stores, reminding them that many might have some of these things kicking around their homes.
And then, when the wiggles got going and after answering some wonderful questions, I unveiled their materials and worked out with their teacher how to go about the rhythm of the acquisition of supplies.
tons of yarn of all different colors, thicknesses, textures… hitting up garage sales and second hand shops is the way to go when gathering supplies for big projects like these.
And guess what happened? The kids were pumped. Truly. All of them, every single one, was into it. It was by far the most fluid and flowy project I’ve done with kids to date. Some got right into the weaving using worsted weight yarn and hit the flow. Others got into using minimal and the most wild materials~ I called theirs delicate porcelain-like pieces. I offered each child a strip of material that they could write a special message on, to be kept private or to show the world to commemorate the approaching end of their school year and some jumped on that. Some got real creative with making space between the individual woven stitches and needed some help understanding the concept behind the strength of the material they were making. Their teacher got into it, too! Her finished piece is gorgeous! Wish I had a picture of it.
Weaving is in us. It’s in our DNA somewhere. It must be. We’ve been doing it for as long as we’ve been covering ourselves, making baskets, mats, shelters (more to come on that topic, too).
If I had to do it over again, (which I will because I was invited back to do another round before school ends!!!), I would:
spend more time highlighting the importance of “beating in” or pushing the new row of woven material down against the previous row
for those whose pieces are very fragile, I would have encouraged them to keep their piece on their loom and decorate their loom to make the whole thing an art piece
I’d leave out the popsicle sticks~ those buggers are slippery
bring more ribbon
write their names on their looms BEFORE they start weaving
I actually can’t wait to go back and do it again. Seeing the children so engaged and so calm in their bodies while they worked kind of blew my mind, and I’ve spent a good deal of time in classrooms. Not to belabor the point, but I think weaving speaks to a part of our souls that is so organic, so without words and so true, that it simply must be something kids can do whenever they want. That’s why I love this. It’s inexpensive, it does not require special training, and anyone can do it. It just requires some stuff, some space, and some freedom to experiment.
Busy beyond breath. Slow beyond words. This juxtaposition has been a hallmark of the last two weeks. Running around, trying to meet all obligations with grace on one side, cancelling everything and only nurturing, tending and resting with my sick little girl on the other. Times like these leave me feeling out of sorts for sure, but I’m happy to say I’ve got myself in a sweet rhythm that includes working with wool and other fibers every day, even if just for five minutes or so.
A heart a day keeps my feet on the ground…
I’ve got this wonderful heart-shaped rock. I love it and it sits on my kitchen sink window sill. Recently, I decided to make a felted heart around it, and once done, fill it with lavender. I loved it, and after a rather bleak news cycle, decided to attempt to make one heart every day. So far, I’ve done it minus a day or two. This has led to me making some little wet-felted bowls/vessels, because I’m already there, right?
Standing at the kitchen sink, felting, thinking, hoping, wondering… it’s helping to get me though these jumbly days. Making things that smell good, feel good, and that I can imagine tucking little notes into, or wishes for people to have on their own jerky, jumpy days, that require so much patience and so much discipline… this has helped and funnily got me back to my drum carder, and to my spinning wheel.
Today, too, I’ve found out about a goddess associated with the spinning wheel who I now must pursue and know more about… Habetrot. She comes from northern England and Lowland Scotland, and I think will have some things to teach me. For a few years, I’ve been wondering about this long buried/hidden passion for fiber art that I’ve thankfully discovered. Where had it been resting in my psyche all of those years prior? I can think of many times in my adult life when having things to do with my hands and mind would have been intensely useful, and I cannot help but lament the years I remained so disconnected from what now feels like an utter and true love. When I think of it, I also can’t help but wonder about my ancestors from England, Ireland, Germany, and maybe Scotland (my grandfather often referred to the Isle of Lewis as being a seat of some ancestry).
Why does it matter?
I suppose because at times in life, it feels utterly true that energies that move us come from our ancestral histories, from journeys started long before that brought us to bear in this life here.
In reading a book about Navajo Weaving, I came across this:
The beginning of the world, I am thinking about it
The beginning of the world, I am talking about it
This is a Navajo ceremonial chant. I love reading about about Navajo myth and the beginning of the world in their story. “According to Navajo myth, the Dine, or the People (which is how Navajos refer to themselves), were led to their home in the Southwest from another world beneath the earth by supernatural spirits called Holy People. Spider Man, one of the Navajo Holy People, taught the Navajos how to make a loom from sunshine, lightning and rain. Spider Woman taught them how to weave.” from: The Navajo Weaving Tradition: 1650 to the Present, by Alice Kaufman and Christopher Selser, p. 4.
Reading this is what led me to that fantastical Google, and that let me to Habetrot. What did we do before Google? I remember, actually. I’d spend hours at the library after school, sometimes allowing myself the luxury of reading whatever I wanted in the corner rather than doing my homework; other times, following one bit of information to another and another still, getting hung up on a weird books about phenomenon like spontaneous combustion, only to get back to the initial investigation on whatever topic. That is what it’s like, researching one’s own ancestral history and its accompanying mythologies. To follow one lead, if you are lucky and patient, can afford you the chance to learn about others along the way. The ultimate in grounding when you are not in a rush.
I wanted to share this incredible article about the healing power of joining, in a circle, with other women and crocheting, for asylum seekers who have been traumatized on their road to safety. I will truly never, ever understand the horrible unfairness in the world. I gaze upon my children, my husband and myself and marvel at the difference between a bad day for us versus a bad day for people who are literally fleeing their homes to save their families and themselves. It borders on absurd and is, inherently, excruciatingly upsetting.
Nothing can capture the title of my blog better than this article can.
We are in between seasons right now, here in Vermont. When I first moved here from Florida, I heard the term “mud season” and didn’t understand what people were talking about. Living in Burlington at that time, and not venturing much out of the city, I had little occasion to experience Mud Season head on. Now, after almost twenty years here, I get it.
The ground thaws (not too hard this year, after such a mild winter), the red wing blackbirds, robins, cardinals and cedar waxwings make an appearance in our yard. Large flocks of geese sail overhead, their calls to one another feeling like a call to my spirit, encouraging and light and commemorative of a winter gone by. The air smells clean and wet. Sugaring begins. The mud, it adds inches to my height, and a wobble to my walk when I muck around in the yard, this year imagining my cleaned up garden beds, a hoped for herb spiral, and a dyer’s patch. The need to vacuum much more frequently to prevent the brought-in-the-house mud, dirt, pebbles and sludge from making its way to the carpets is a fact. Why is taking one’s boots off in the garage so difficult?!
On a walk the other day down by Lake Champlain, the weather was the epitome of the “in like a lion” description of March. It was windy, rainy, snowy, icy… it was epic, really, and since I was dressed appropriately for such riotous weather, it was absolutely exhilarating. I laughed out loud in reaction to some especially strong bursts of wind, feeling not one ounce of embarrassment because I was alone. Down on the water, I could see Winter releasing her grip from the stoney shore.
I found large pieces of driftwood that I harvested~ a project will happen with them, I am sure. Walking all the way back to my car with these water-logged, slippery gifts, against the wind, at a speedy clip (I was due to volunteer in my son’s class in just a little bit of time) proved to be the workout I needed. Sore and tired, wind-kissed and grateful, I was able to finish a project later that day that had been waiting patiently, in all of its scattered parts, for some attention.
I love working with my Majacraft cirucular weaving loom. I’ve been making completely random things with little bits of all kinds of materials~ sari silk, banana silk threads, handspun, conventional, thick, thin, chunky, wild yarns, twine and wire. I am fully appreciative of the process of beginning a circular weaving project, releasing into the hard job of finding clarity in the first few messy rounds. I can hardly tell the order of warp threads at first. Now I can predict how much time it takes for me to begin to worry that I’ll never get it straight, and then, voila, the foundation is set for my piece and I can relax with the ups and downs of weaving. Then, adding a new element creates its own new chaos, anticipated but surprising, nonetheless. Sometimes it takes another few rounds to straighten things out again, to hit that rhythm where predictability and order are available if desired.
These projects conjure similar feelings of excitement, tension and hope as Spring does, in all of her wild glory. They promise beauty out of chaos, like spring’s pungent dirt promises baby birds, more light, new growth, froggy smells and strong storms. Order from chaos, gifts from turbulence, beauty reborn. Laughing out loud at all this natural noise is such a relief.
Last week, I received a box from my mom and grandmother. I call my grandmother Mema. Others in my family call her Meme, or is it Meemee? I don’t know. I have to call her Mema, because it’s what I have called her my whole life. Anyway, this box that they sent me contained some yarn that Mema is no longer needing, and some sweet treasures meant for my kids’ dollhouse. There was also a book, or binder, or container of some sort. I had no idea what it was when I first saw it, but when I opened it, I lost my breath.
It was a vintage Boye Needlemaster Knitting Kit. I’d never seen anything like this before! The place holders, the circular needles that you could change out for different sizing. All kinds of cool stuff! I was truly overwhelmed when I saw it. Ironically, that very day I was struggling with knitting. I really want to up my skills and was having a hard time figuring out a pattern, or really, the stitches that were called for in the pattern. I had to put it down for a while and was lamenting my weak frustration tolerance. And then this came. Way to raise the bar, Mema!
Mema is a master knitter. She has some serious skills. It’s funny because I cannot recall a time actually seeing her knit when I was little, but I have seen the things she has made, and I remember hearing my grandfather speak with pride about how she worked on certain sweaters. Now that I’m older, I think I understand that he wanted to make sure we kids understood how much work and love went into the things she made, and that she was really talented.
When I was in high school, Mema gave me this sweater.
I loved it then, but I definitely did not have a good appreciation for how complicated it was to make this. If you’ve read others of my posts, you may have read about my growing edge with reading patterns and understanding measurements and all of the technical stuff. This sweater is technical, and I can remember Mema telling me that she had to really concentrate when knitting it, counting and marking, and doing over… I love this sweater more now than I can even describe. To me, it means love, and commitment, and patience. It is soft and delicate, and very beautiful. And, now I have the knitting needles that were part of her arsenal of tools used to make such beautiful things. I feel so lucky.
I love how Mema made her own tag and wrote, “Made By Mee Ma”.
Mema in 1975
Mema with Pop Pop. They were so proud of each other.
Recently, I was having a conversation with someone I consider a mentor and a guide in my life. He said, “you can’t carry history with you.” We were talking about the kind of history that hurts, that isn’t yours to carry. Then I told him about the knitting needle kit Mema sent me. That is the kind of history I want to carry with me. Things that my grandmother touched and took such good care of, and used to make things with love, while sitting at night with my grandfather. Thank you so much, Mema.
When I got into crochet and opened my Etsy shop, I was not part of a fiber community. I was inspired, energized and over-the-moon in love with making little funny creatures that made kids smile (and grown-ups). I would look at Etsy and marvel at the creativity and artistry of people all over the world, and often times, barely knew what I was looking at~ I had no idea what needle felting, wet felting or even fulling knitted items were! I was super green.
Until: Susi.
One day, I got an email through Etsy from someone who had an Etsy shop too, called The Felted Gnome Knows. The artist behind this great shop is Susanne Ryan, aka Susi; she introduced herself and I immediately realized that I had already been admiring her work. Her pieces are whimsical, gentle, and inspire creativity. And she lived just a couple of towns away from me! I had no idea what needle felting was at that time, but would see pictures of needle felted creations and ache to understand how they were made. I cannot remember the first time Susi and I met face-to face! Isn’t that funny? In no time at all, though, we became friends. And then we took our first trek up to Mountain Fiber Folk together, which changed my life in so many ways.
I recently sat down with Susi and asked her questions about her art, her craft, her opinions on fiber, her history, and I wanted to share our conversation with you.
The Interview:
HH: I feel like the process of working with wool inherently is soothing and centering. Obviously I’ll want to get to that, but first, can you tell the story of how you came into fiber art?
SR: Several years ago, my husband was transitioning into a new phase of his work life and consequently money was tight. We have a very large family, and that, for some reason, was the year that folks decided that we were going to get a little something for everybody. At that time, I was taking wool sweaters and fulling them down and making them into things. I was knitting and I had gotten a needle felting kit with my daughter at Kaleidoscope Yarn. It was to make little Santas. We made them, and there was something about needle felting where I thought, I could do so much with that.
Interestingly, I wasn’t interested in spinning wool at all. I started with needle felting and then went into wet felting. Initially, I found that there were not a lot of stores in the area that carried felting supplies. The area store that did had classes that were at times I couldn’t go. Also, there are some who are very ready and willing to help people learn things and some who are not, so I ended up learning a lot on my own.
Around that time, I ran into Leslie Lewis (Ewe Who Farm), an old friend from my school days, and we reconnected. Over time, she made a quilt for Maggie and told me about her sheep. So, after seeing that options were limited in terms of local stores helping with my fiber questions, or simply not having the supplies, I contacted Leslie again and asked her if she sold her fiber, and she said “Yes!” I had already been going to farmer’s markets and buying wool from farmers, but getting in touch with Leslie is really what started my seeking out of local farmers to buy fiber from.
When I was at Kaleidoscope yarn, I remember them handing me a brochure for Mountain Fiber Folk, so when I met you I said, you know, I’m going to go up there. I had gotten to the point where I wanted to buy local. I’ve always been interested in and shopped at farmer’s markets, and was involved in getting a farmer’s market in my town. I’ve always felt strongly about that. If you support a local business, they support local and your money goes back into the community.
Going up to Mountain Fiber Folk and seeing what they were doing and how they were doing it was very encouraging in terms of what I wanted to do.
I’m all self taught. I’ve only recently started taking classes this year for things that interest me like the masks and the clothes.
HH: And those classes are very specialized, right? This is a commitment to taking your craft to a whole new level.
SR: Yes, they are advanced classes. It’s interesting to meet all of these women who are so big in the fiber world. I thought Gladys Paulus and Anita Larkin, being in the upper echelons of the felting world, might not be approachable, but they were very down to earth and accessible. This is a passion for them.
HH: Oh yeah, it’s totally a passion! It grabs you and doesn’t let go! It is so inspiring to see what artists do with fiber. It seems infinite, the possibilities.
SR: It’s not going to support you… part of that is that people have no idea how much work goes into making needle felted sculpture, or hats and slippers. They take hours and hours, and sometimes many days. Especially when you take into consideration that often times, I’m getting these fleeces processed by Michael (of Hampton Fiber Mill), or processing them myself. I tend to be a very particular when it comes to skirting and cleaning a fleece, so that takes a lot of time! But you know, it’s frustrating when you pay for roving or batts and you’re picking out veggie matter!
And also, people are really getting a full-on, Vermont-made piece. Needle felting has become popular, so overseas companies are mass producing felted figures and selling them cheaply which makes it difficult for the consumer to understand why local pieces like mine are higher than other felted products.
HH: I was thinking about the social and political aspects of fiber art yesterday when I was dyeing wool with kids at school. There is so much to think about and make choices about when it comes to where we buy our supplies, how we process our fiber, and where we spend our own money. It’s a whole mind-set.
SR: I also think too, in Vermont, we are so focused on the maple producers, and the organic food movement, people forget that there are a lot of sheep and goat people out there that are struggling. They have a wonderful renewable resource that is not being tapped into or marketed appropriately. Not only can we make clothing with it, but it can be used for insulation, you can compost it…. There’s so much you can do with this product. These people are living from hand to mouth, all for the love of their sheep!
HH: What do you think it is about working with fiber that makes people so passionate? Or, what grabbed you about working with wool?
SR: There’s something very earth-bound about it. It’s very grounding. There’s something about wool that’s very… I think it’s the same as gardening… it puts you back in touch with the natural side of the world. You are woking with a natural product that is renewable. It’s warm and it evokes a sense of homeyness and tradition. There’s something magical about it. You know, you can twist it and it becomes yarn! It magically transforms! There’s a whole magic to it… like alchemy.
I also really dig the fiber community. They’re really very down to earth people. Most of them, I have to say, especially those who raise their own animals, are very warm and open and generous about their knowledge.
HH: Isn’t that what was so wonderful about Mountain Fiber Folk? I walked in there that first time knowing nothing about handspun yarn, and walked out completely moved. Next time we went, I left with a drop-spindle that Ruth so generously helped me to figure out.
SR: It sucks you in! If you talk to Michael (Hampton Fiber Mill), he’ll talk about how he learned to knit from his grandmother, and then from there, he learned to spin, and then the next thing you know, he wanted to process fiber!
For me, I can tell you all about breeds and good wools for different projects! For some reason, I can retain this information. Who knew? I make the comparison to my father; he’s really into physics and he starts talking about it and everyone glazes over, but he’s so passionate about it. My sister says I’m like our dad….”you and the sheep, man!” I get so excited about it and want to talk about it, but nobody cares! That’s why it’s so great to get together with other fiber people who get it!
HH: I have to ask this… I know for me, I get around handspun yarn, and I must smell it. I can’t help myself. It’s an automatic thing I do. Do you do that?
SR: No, I don’t smell the wool, but I love to touch it and see the luster and sheen. I want to feel the coarseness of it. I don’t mind the smell of lanolin or raw wool at all. I do have to say, I don’t like skirting at all. There’s a big thing about not using chemicals to get the veggie matter out of fleeces. Well, you don’t have to use chemicals. You just have to be really detail oriented and pick the stuff out! The fiber you and I put out, it’s clean! But you’ve seen the fiber that has a ton of vegetable matter in it!
HH: You have to front load time and effort into preparing the wool. That’s the invisible work. There’s so much dirty work. And you can’t use “chemical free” as an excuse for not being careful with your product.
SR: It was the experience of paying for roving that was filled with veggie matter that really pushed me into preparing my own wool. Now I’m selling kits and supplies and it’s kind of exploded!
HH: What’s your favorite thing to do now? If you’re looking to spend the day however you want, what would you do?
SR: Making a hat. Making whatever kind of hat I want and not worrying about it if it turns out.
HH: What’s your favorite hat you’ve made?
SR: I have two: the felted Gnome Noggin hats, and the Ratagast hats. I love those two. Those are original designs. I make my hats with wool that some would not use for that purpose, but I line them with fleece. You know, I think I’m different than a lot of felters because I think merino is overrated.
HH: What fibers do you like to work with right now?
SR: Border Leicester, Gotland, Romney and Icelandic. With Icelandic- if you take the time to separate out the outer and inner fibers, the under coat is just as soft.
HH: Did you do handwork when you were young?
SR: No. My entire family is like, who knew?! I think what it was is I was never interested in the packaged craft kits available for children when I was young. I was always into the arts, but not in a very public way. I did win a poetry slam when I lived in the Carolinas and I was always around artists and musicians. I did do a lot of theater, too. But it wasn’t until I found felting that I found my medium. I did teach myself how to sew and knit, and I had the ability to put things together, but this really was the first medium where I knew what to do with it without having any prior introduction.
HH: What’s on the horizon for you? Anything you are looking forward to tackling?
SR: I want to fool around with very freeform clothing. I took with Linda Veilleux that was incredible; she’s an amazing artist. I am not as meticulous as she is, and I am learning why it is important to take careful measurements, but I want to play around with shapes and turn them into wearable, freeform clothes. I’m not really interested in making vases. It needs to be wearable or functional. If I’m going to do a sculpture, I’m going to needle felt it. I do like the idea of marrying wet felting and needle felting. Anita Larkin is a wonderful artist~ she stitches pieces together and wet felts them. Those types of ideas are interesting, but I’m also figuring out how to support my habit.
HH: So, you’re done with the holiday fairs…
SR: Yes, but I’ll be at the Stowe Renaissance Fair in the spring. I’m going to make hats for that.
HH: I know where I’ll be seeing you in the spring! I love a good Renaissance Fair and seeing your hats, and you!
Check out Susi’s links to her Etsy shop, her Facebook page, and her website. She keeps them up to date on where she’ll be and what classes she’ll be teaching.
Thank you, Susi, for taking the time to talk with me!
I’m excited. In a nervous in my belly, hopeful, anticipatory and grateful kind of way. Tomorrow, I’m going into my daughter’s kindergarten class to do a felting project with the children. Felted Rocks, to be exact. And later in the week I’ll do the same project with two 2nd grade classes (my son is in one of them). I have come to seriously appreciate the benefits of working with, touching, experimenting and playing with fiber, and I feel utterly compelled to teach things to do with fiber-craft to kids.
The felting rocks project begins what will be a five- to six- week journey that picks up after the holiday break, and I will keep track of how it all goes here. I am calling my unit From Farm to Frame. In January, we will start with a dirty, smelly, lanolin rich fleece (or part of one), wash it, dye it, card it and in the end make a felted “painting”.
Over the last few weeks, I’ve been gathering materials for this project, thinking about why this is so important to me. One memory came to mind; the first time I skirted a fleece on my own. It was the big, smelly, creamy fleece of a Border-Leicester sheep that my friend Susi secured from a local farmer. I remember thinking, “dang, that smells”. But it didn’t offend me, and really, I got used to it very fast. I remember, after picking debris out of it and removing a lot of the gunky stuff, noticing how soft my hands had become. I was delighted to realize that it was lanolin! Lanolin had made my hands soft and shiny and smooth. I stood there in the warm May sun and it occurred to me that in the process of doing hard work and getting my hands dirty, that I had been softened, conditioned and made-over. I’d say that was a turning point for me, about two and half years ago. Since then, I’ve wanted to know more about why and how working with fiber can be so grounding and therapeutic in all of it’s stinky and at times tedious moments.
I want kids to have this. I want them to see a whole process through that involves fiber from a local farm. I want them to experience the rawness of the material and experiment with what they can turn it into. I want them to have an antidote to stress, pressure and worry. I want them to have a chance to touch nature and maybe appreciate the animals they pass on many a Vermont road.
I’m so grateful that teachers are letting me into their classrooms with these projects. Let’s just hope that the kids enjoy it. Tomorrow’s project will be a good introduction for all of us, I think.
pictured above: rocks gathered from Lake Champlain, felted rock experiments, many bags of wool and a whole lot of roving to be organized for the classes, more roving because I thought it was pretty, and some of the colors that the kids will have to choose from.
I’ve been quiet on this blog of late. This is for a few reasons, some to do with simply being very busy raising my two young children and working. Others to do with starting a new endeavor bringing fiber and handwork to kids. The big reason, though, the reason why it has been tough for me to just sit down to write about handcrafting and all of the joy it brings is simply being Overwhelmedby all that is happening in our world. I do not want to talk politics on this blog, so I’ll refrain from discussing who I want to be president and who I think should be quarantined on a very, very remote island with no internet or phone. I will say, though, that I am sickened by the vitriolic, violent, hate-mongering that is dancing around in full sunlight of late in the good ole USA. The underbelly of racism, fear and projection is turned up and rather than it shocking our country into peaceful and humble reflection and sorrow, it seems as if it’s actually opening the floodgates of racism, violence and rage.
I am feeling deep and untouchable powerlessness. As I raise my children in a comfortable home, with plenty of food and with all that I need, in a state where I feel safe and as though I fit and am accepted, I understand that I am in a privileged position. I am not fleeing a war zone with my children. I am also not profiled or targeted due to the color of my skin. When I am pulled over by the police, my heart beats faster and I am nervous because of course I am, but I’m not afraid I’m going to be treated unfairly or acted upon with violence. I don’t fear that my children are going to be treated unfairly or with suspicion because of the color of their skin. I do know that I have a responsibility to understand my place in this social story and that this work on myself has only just begun.
I do fear “active shooters” in my children’s school and in any school. I do fear “active shooters” in malls, movie theaters, doctor’s offices, mental health organizations and airports. I fear becoming too afraid, and I fear enjoying the comfy position I was by chance born into, forgetting to remember that it’s all a fluke, a luck of the draw and that we are all, all of us human beings, in this living our lives thing together.
Tonight I got angry as I was thinking about yet another mass shooting, and I got really angry when I thought about my daughter asking about whether or not a bad person will enter her school to try to hurt her and her classmates. This question came following an active shooter drill at school that day. (Note: the school does not use that terminology when explaining the drill to children). I got angry when I realized that the assurances that I give my children about their safety are backed up in my mind by fear and doubt. As I thought about that, I thought about the brave mothers and fathers that travel by foot and over seas to bring their children out of war zones to a safer place, only to have borders closed.
I thought about how hard it is to do things I love to do when it’s not helping anyone, or contributing in any way to solving any of these problems.
And then I decided to think about love.
You know what happens when you google things like, “knitting for love”, “crochet for world peace”, or “knitting for healing”?
You find out that people all over the world are knitting and crocheting, quilting and felting, braiding and weaving to help people, and to bring people together. You find out that there is a lot of wonderful stuff going on out there that directly relates to a desire to foster peace and love between religions. You find out that you can participate in peaceful protest using yarn and fabric, and that there are women of all different colors, cultural backgrounds, religions and minds who have in common an idea that through gathering and creating for others items imbued with love and peaceful intention, that we can heal. You find out that there are numerous organizations that want and depend upon handmade gifts of love.
I think that as I organize myself around political figures and get behind movements, ideas and rallying cries for change and appropriate response to mass- and micro- violence, it will be important for me to be able to make something. It will make tangible the overwhelming, and bring feeling, longing and loving into an item meant to leave my hands and enter another’s who I likely will never know or meet.
And I must say this: to all of you who are activists and writers and artists, brave voices for those who are not heard or listened to, and creators of change that force us to look at the truth and honestly reflect on our own positions in life, thank you and keep it up. And to all of you who are teachers, who practice drills with children so that you can keep them safe in the event of violence, you are brave. Thank you for what you do. You have energy and vision and patience beyond measure.
In Vermont, it is still hot. Too hot. I never thought I’d say that, but maybe after all of these years, the longing for the change into winter has evolved and grown. I’m catching up now, with projects begun in the early summer and late summer months, so that I might get some things in order to prepare for the coming autumn. I have a lot to make for the Women’s Festival of Crafts at the end of November, and there are new things I want to try. I would love to attempt weaving again, and I would love to try to knit something a little bit complicated, with color pick-ups, maybe, where gauge matters. I do worry a bit about getting frustrated or feeling defeated, but I think that’s exactly why I should try these things. If I want to make it, I gotta learn how to do it!
Anyway, before I wrap things up for the summer months in this blog, I wanted to document and share with you more about my plant dye experiments with wool. And I guess, writing a post that includes a “Part 1” in the title suggests that more is coming on the topic, right? Well, here’s Part 2.
In June, I was gripped by the pull of flowers, trees and all things planty. I longed to see what came of what was all around me in my yard. Here is a part of my dye journal:
“I am at a stage of dyeing wool where experimentation and flexibility are key. The mystery is so much fun, but I know that around the corner is more discipline and study. This morning as my children played with a friend, I wandered around our wet yard and gathered purple clover and buttercup flowers. I filled a small basket my mom gave me; purple on one side, yellow on the other. My daughter occasionally ran to me with small bundles of flowers. I saw little grasshoppers and butterflies and I breathed and felt the air and heard the laughter. I was aware at one point of my own hastiness and then remembered there was no reason to rush or to apply urgency to this job. Urgency is everywhere. I carry it on my shoulders like a silent, heavy monkey. Once I realized my company, I uninvited it with each little pick and pinch of the lovely weeds. I could feel my belly relax and gratitude enter.”
What I did:
~ Buttercups with a few evening primrose flowers thrown in, plus stems from both. Mordant- alum.
~ Purple Clover, flowers and stems. Mordant- alum.
What I got:
It’s not especially easy to see, but trust me when I tell you that the buttercups made a lovely, light yellow, and the clovers made a very light brown. I was delighted with the outcome!
Around this same time, I did an experiment with horsetail. With this, I just poured almost boiling water over a lot of horsetail in a pot and let it sit in my garage for a few days. It was the boiling of that in my house that resulted in my moving my whole operation out into the garage. It sure did smell bad. Real bad. I didn’t admit it then in the face of the rebellion on my hands, but it did. I’m sure the soaking weed worked up a bit of gunk in those few days. The results though, were lovely! I got another nice golden yellow with a brown hue.
I’m sure by now, if you’ve read my other posts, you’ve noticed a theme. I seem to keep coming back to the idea of slowing things down. Way down. Maybe some of you are not afflicted by the sense of busy-ness, rushed-ness and too much of everything-ness always shaping a day, but I find those feelings or experiences of life impact even the most peaceful of days if I’m not careful. It’s sort of an automatic way of thinking and behaving. I think the act of going outside, collecting flowers or plants to dye with, when you don’t exactly know what the results are going to be, is an ultimate exercise in combatting that daily life habit.
“A true friend is someone who thinks that you are a good egg even though they know that you’re slightly cracked.”
~ Bernard Meltzer
I like this quote. It is on a card that I bought a while back because I loved it, and it made me think of the friends I have that have kept being friends with me, even after they’ve seen the really me. I thought about things kind of like this as I made a small circular weaving piece over the last few days. The warp thread in this is strong and sturdy. (The warp is the thread or yarn you attach to the frame to hold the tension and to give you something to weave around). When I chose it, I knew it wouldn’t break as I wove the weft yarn through. (The weft is the yarn that you weave over and under the warp thread). Here’s the thing about some of the weft yarn I used. First of all, I used almost all handspun, the majority spun by yours truly. Some of what I chose is from a skein I made using a lot of different fibers. There is wool roving in there, wispy locks and cotton from punis. It is strong in some parts and weak in others, and very inconsistent in thickness. I love this yarn. I love it so much it’s hard to use because I don’t want its texture and variations to get lost in stitches. I love how in some places I could pull it as hard as I might in opposite directions and it wouldn’t break, yet in others, it is so fragile that gently tugging on it would result in a tear.
I chose to weave with this special, fragile-strong yarn because it invites feeling and touching, and I knew that the warp yarn would hold it in place. I knew that using a solid, predictable and consistent yarn would protect my at-times-breakable treasure. And it worked. As I wove, I was sometimes able to move quickly, leading the yarn above and below the skeleton yarn without much thought. Other times I had to carefully push the yarn through so it made it to the opposite side in one piece. It didn’t always make it, requiring a quick repair, or a dedicated wrapping around the warp yarn. That extra twist, done by hand, of one yarn around another reminds me of the way sea horses hold on to seaweed to stay safe and secure in strong currents, an entwined tail around a grounded sea plant. It’s the same sort of thing.
The finished product shows the lovely handspun yarn in its full personality. I honored the weft yarn, though. It is the center of the circle. It is strong and sturdy and sits as evidence of what holds the whole thing together, its many arms reaching out to securely hold the frame with confidence.
We can be all of these things, all at the same time within ourselves. And of course we are different parts to different people throughout our lives, sometimes strong and reliable to another’s fragile and inconsistent fibers. We can also be the ones in need of the sturdy frame on which to lean and around which to wrap in times of frailty and moil. It takes both aspects responding to the other with the right amount of tension and just enough give to make a thing with depth and honesty. Mr. Meltzer had it right.
Healing Handcrafting 