A Terrific Day

I woke up dreaming about Georgina, so I emailed her to see if the baby had arrived, (I figured if I don't hear from her, it would mean B-Day!!), but I heard back immediately, so not just yet.

Then I had an "Aha!" moment about how to work efficiently, so I spent the rest of the day sample-weaving, washing and fine-tuning the design of the baby blanket.

I had a terrific day; I hope you did, too.

Step Into My Office

I have to change the way I work.

Georgina asked me to weave a baby blanket sometime before my Exhibit; I think the baby is due next week, and I finally have an idea.

I did have trouble sourcing weft yarns to go with the the warp yarn we agreed on, and when I finally found something very nice, the weft was to be about 6 times as thick as the warp, so I've been trying out, inside my head, designs that might work in this combination, but nothing on the paper or with yarns. Then it came to me at around 2AM this morning, and I'm away working.

But I have to put more effort into designing more efficiently, quickly, rather than waiting for an idea to come to me. At least I do carry my notebook everywhere. Still, I don't want my commission pieces to be ordinary, but I want the client to take one look and know it's a one-off piece of work. And I think this one is going to be like that; I hope so.

The baby being her first, it might come a little later than expected? I hope so.

It's About My Perception

I haven't forgotten my promise to "bookend" (and yes, I coined it; it means to give some kind of a closer to something I started; part 2 of 2,) my post about the local calligraphy school. I've been thinking about it, which turned out to be some kind of a self-analysis, which became rather boring, but here it is.

First of all, I've never met the woman who runs the school, so for all we know, she could be just the loveliest person, a credit to my country, counterbalancing my brashness. So my gripe has to do, mostly, with my own perception of certain things about my culture, upbringing, experiences.

Next, did you read about the Iraqi calligrapher who was killed recently? It's not just me, but in parts of the world, good handwriting, stylish calligraphy, whatever, still commands respect and reverence. It's like martial arts; it's spiritual as well as aesthetic/athletic; therefore, I have a hard time sympathizing with someone who purports to teach Japanese calligraphy as an art form; calligraphy is more spiritual than just leaving black lines on paper. Still, I know after years of training, some people get the spirituality of martial arts without having grown up in the culture, and I'm less bothered by martial art school, so this probably comes from the misogynistic side of my background.

Next, the woman who operates the school prances around town (well, she's kind of graceful, really) in kimono; I can see this is a great marketing technique, (and calligraphy teachers do still wear kimono in Japan from time to time), but to me, it just perpetuates the Hollywood/Geisha image of Japanese women, and, well, give me a break!! There's probably a "guilt" factor, too; the guilt I feel for not becoming a lithe, plant-like woman you catch in the corner of your eye, but never really see or hear; my Dad's kind of woman, and what the Sisters at my school aspired to mold us into.

Then there is the small matter of my horrendous handwriting, in any language, so the school is a reminder of my not-so-chipper school days. Beautiful handwriting was as important as the content, so with essays, I felt defeated even before I started. Until my seventh year, when a teacher found my writing rather entertaining.

It's all about my perception; I come from a conservative extended family; my parents were liberal and education-mad; my school was a prestigious, old-fashioned Catholic school. I've not only lived in Japan, but studied and observed its history and culture from both the Japanese and Western perspectives. And I've often been labeled "unique", "difficult" or "well-read" (not necessarily a compliment when it's said of girls) by other Japanese, family or otherwise, because I have opinions and I voice them.

This subject is now closed.

Is It Worth Asking The Questions, If There Are No Answers?

Dianne's comment, "Galleries, what can we do to have you appreciate our fibre (sic) art??" keeps me pondering a cluster of thoughts I have about handweaving.

In one respect, I was seriously disappointed/discouraged/disheartened I got no deal out of the Expo. The way I saw it before the Expo, my work may be different from what gallerists might have imagined, say, compared to something off of their grandmother's loom, using natural-colored, handspuns, (or what do they expect in modern handweaving, anyway?). On the other hand, sitting amongst painters and sculptors and jewelers, I thought even in their eyes handweaving might merit some kind of a vicarious artistic credence, albeit temporarily. Well, apparently not, at least not my stuff.

Nowadays fiber art seems to point firstly to impractical objets d'art using fiber as primary materials, and a distant second to felted or handpainted articles. Successful Golden Bay fiber artists Morag Dean (go about 1/4 way down from the link to view her delicate work) confided a year ago, quite honestly and bluntly, that the moment she mounted her pieces onto frames, they started selling.

There is possibly a perception utility takes something away from aesthetics or artistic merit; consider the perceived "class" difference between potters and ceramic artists. Likewise, fiber art, good; weaving, bad.

So, where do we go from here? Lloyd once mentioned the hard work ceramicists and jewelry makers put in to elevate their crafts' status in the eyes of the consumers; maybe I am part of a group on a long and arduous path to elevate the perception of and appreciation for handweaving?

Oh, whatever!!

Duncan the Metal Bender at the Expo

Metal Sculptor (would that be the label you like?) Duncan Leask, at the Expo, last month. I met Duncan when he came to submit his application for the Expo in January; I was waiting for Martin at Arts Marketing for an appointment; Martin was late, so I got to meet Duncan.

From his artist's statement: "My eyes and hands are my best tools. Steel is easily manipulated once heated; I am of the earth, fire feels natural, metal melts, I sweat, my muscles burn, my eyes see, my heart pounds, the hammer sounds, a smile on my lips, I enjoy the hits."

One of the things I discovered while talking to others was now that I, too, am a person who makes things, I appreciate the process as much as I do the finished artworks, and I've stopped (or at least try to) judge works and artists by first impressions. This is me becoming open-minded; it's new and it feels great.

In Duncan's case, the physicality of his work, of heating and bending something I normally think of as cold and hard, intrigued me. His process sounds so "opposite" to mine. And very masculine, (though mine is not feminine.)

His station was only three down from mine, and whenever I turned slightly to the right from my seat, his giant Tiki, unintentionally lit perfectly by the florescent lights under the pelmet, stared back at me. That's an image hard to forget.

Ian Longley

I carried Ian's business card in my wallet since 1998 until last year when I finally went to see him and ordered a Christmas present for Ben. So it was a great privilege and pleasure to be stationed next to him at the Expo. In New Zealand, it's bad luck to buy your own Greenstone/Jade, so Ben's been begging for a Greenstone fish hook for years. But then if you knew Ben, you could never imagine him with any kind of jewelry, ergo the delay. Ben hasn't taken this off since Christmas, and Ian said when the cord goes, I can bring it back to him.

Towards the end of the one-and-a-half days, he was sketching his next idea.

Working with stones is a slow process; even slower than weaving. The pieces on the wooden boxes are "holding" pieces, or what I think of as meditation pieces. Ian said he didn't look at them but felt them while he polished, not knowing what kinds of shapes they would end up, but they came out beautiful to look at as well as to hold. I like to imagine Ian working on these pieces.

The front piece has my name on it; don't anybody go and buy it.

The Art Expo

I got no deal. In fact, in the one and a half days there, I spoke to only two-and-a-half galleries; some gallerists didn't want anything to do with weaving, some didn't even want to make eye-contact with me. So, about an hour after we opened the venue, I was deep into Paranoia-land. Is it weaving in general, (I stuck to this line while talking to other artists); or is it my stuff, or my display, or me? My display looked dull compared to others, but unrolled the shawls ceremoniously to drape them over people each time. I was in a good position, between two successful jewelers and next to the water cooler, near the entrance, but that didn't help.

Sue did better; two out of four places she spoke to were interested in her pieces, and good on her! There was another weaver, also Sue, and I hear she's done very well; she's possibly one of the only two weavers in Nelson who make a living out of what they do, though, so no surprises there.

So it's me, isn't it?

I ran into Tim Wraight the first night at the Expo dinner, and got to thinking this "no deal" might not be such a bad thing. In 2000, while setting my goals in conjunction with the Small Business marketing courses, I resolved, as a weaver, I wanted to bake cake, not bread, and everything I've been doing indicates that I'm heading that way. I mean no disrespect for what other weavers weave, but maybe mine's not a gallery/shop kind of stuff, (at least I'm sticking to this theory for now,) and thankfully, I don't have to make a living out of this. I'd just like to be able to finance the venture, though.

Oh, I did sell a cashmere piece to a smartly-dressed painter Kathy Reilly of Golden Bay. In fact, I've been buying her cards for a while now, and discovered she does a totally different type of drawings as well. In fact, it was wonderful to connect names/faces to the artworks; I've been familiar with so many of the artists' works for a while.

Am I Weaving Professionally?

Lovely Win Currie asked me the last time I was in Marlborough if I am now weaving "professionally." Yes, in as much as one beautiful gallery has my stuff and occasionally some of the pieces sell, and that's my only income. That, and some commission work. But to say I am weaving "professionally" is an exaggeration.

What I don't understand is, I do love every single process involved in weaving, (except winding the warp onto the back beam.) I revel in the simplicity of each task, and the repetitive physicality. As soon as I start one or another of the process, my body remembers it, and I'm on almost-auto-pilot. So why do I avoid work so often?

I'm beginning to see I will never be a prodigious weaver, or a prodigious anything, but will forever be distracted by lots of things, blogging included. I still find the required transition between the word world and the design world difficult, and I have to move between the two deliberately. Sometimes I just need to shut up and stop reading words and go to my stash room. But sometimes, lately, it happens without my intending to, and I find myself in the other place, like Scotty beamed me up or down or sideways without my asking.

Years ago, I saw a documentary in which a young Russian woman said in Russia, before you go somewhere, you sit down on a chair by your door and relax just for a minute before you leave. I want a mental chair so I can travel back and forth at will.

Top of the South Arts Expo

That's where I'm going to be for the next three days - at the Maitai Room of the Rutherford Hotel in town. I signed up for it back in January, got on their E-Catalogue, (PDF download link under "How It Will Work"), but there weren't enough gallery interest, so I was out, until after Easter, when Sue and I were told there were late responses and we qualified. Well, great; then, I just went my merry way, while Sue toiled and troubled over business cards, photographs, a portfolio and a resume.

It was only yesterday morning I realized this is going to be like a mini-trade show, and no wonder other artists have been thinking, planning, and spending money on rigging and lighting and such!!! So I got a bit worried, and this weekend, I put my label on every piece I have, wrote a tiny brochure (A4/letter-size-folded-in-3-type) with some recommended retail prices and photos, and, (this is the most pathetic part), I rang Jay at the Red and asked if I could borrow a couple of pieces for three days because I didn't have enough cashmere scarves with me, and I didn't have time to whip them up.

But then I am the artist who finished her last piece after her first day of exhibition, so I'm almost proud of procrastination/recovery skills.

It'll be exciting to take part in the Expo, even though I've got appointments with only two galleries/shops. Weaving in general is not the most popular art form, so I'll just cruise along and learn from other artists.

I've got a huge project, a proposal for which is due Friday, and have accumulated over a dozen half-finished draft posts, too, so I'm thinking and working, but it might be later in the week before I can sit down and report back.

My E-Catalogue entry says I started exhibiting and selling in 2004, but that's wrong. I've been doing this seriously since August 2005 for the Wellington exhibit; now I know this as one of the benefits of having to write up a very short resume on the back of the folded brochure.

Corkscrew Weave, Or Something Like It.

As promised, here are my samples of Corkscrew Weave. Or are they?

This is the first time I encountered a weave where the definition differed from author to author; it happens with weaving, I've known this, but it was still unsettling.

I consulted Strickler's 8-shaft book first, then Oelsner (always a big mistake for me), and Bartlett's Shadow Weave and Corkscrew Twills. After becoming throughly confused, I consulted with Rose Pelvin of Blenheim, and I went back to Strickler and summed up these elements/requirements for Corkscrew:

* Twill threading: I went with 7-ends, (so I use my usual 14 shafts) and asymmetrical undulating for interest, (which is a result of Problem 2 below);
* Batavia, in 2-2-3-3-1-1-1-1 to create long floats as well as stitched parts;
* Woven as drawn in, for simplicity; forgetting that my picks are often more packed than the sett might have contributed a little to the Problem 1 below.

I designed the drafts so I needed only one color in the warp and another in the weft; when measuring the warp, I promptly forgot this. So while sampling, I tried using warm colors that may diffuse the different values of the two blues in the warp. In the end, I chose the darker, third blue of the same constitution, 100% merino, because of the familiar texture and finish, to submit to the sample exchange.

The colors in the drafts below appear reversed; I used white wefts in the drafts so the designs show up clearly, but I wove with a blue weft darker in value than the two in the warp in the samples. And drafts, by nature, appear upside down against the sampled fabric.

This is the first draft I created. Maximum float is 7 ends, and after sampling, I discovered Problem 1: the woven shapes are not in the near-uniform width as they appear to be in the draft; I've check the threading several times, but my eyes glazed over, so I haven't located the mistake; the slaying was uniform. And this is why, although I've finished weaving these several weeks ago, I haven't sent them to the members of my group yet! Ouch.

The sample on the left is woven in dark blue; the one on the right with an orange wool with value close to the darker blue in the warp, and shows the reverse side of the textile.

Below is the second draft, and here's a trick I most likely picked up from Bonnie Inouye: the two drafts are identical, except the direction of the tie-up; maximum float in this case is 5 ends.

Again, the left is woven with dark blue weft, showing the A side; the right is woven in a very wiry yellow wool, and shows the B side.

On paper, I like them both equally, but I preferred the clarity of the first draft in the samples for the purposes of the exchange. And here comes the funny bit.

I spent a few hours reviewing the books and making notes and discovered Problem 2; I am suddenly not sure if these are in fact corkscrew weaves at all.

My draft used Shafts 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, 11, and 13 for the first set of twills, using Shaft 1 as the first shaft. Second set of twills used Shafts 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, 12, and 14, using Shaft 8 as the first shaft.
For those who are interested, most examples show, I now realize, the use of all shafts for all sets of twills, meaning, on an 8-shaft loom, we intertwine 8-end twills, instead of reserving specific shafts for a specific set of twills. However, if you look at p. 68 of Strickler, weaver Kathleen Bradford reserved Shafts 1-3 for the first set of twill, and 4-8 for the second set. And there lies the seed of my confusion. And if you don't get it, don't worry, I'm not 100% sure how to fix it, either.

At any rate, after consulting with Rose Pelvin for the @#$%th time, I decided these samples will be sent as they are. Whatever the name or the nature of this particular way of combining twills that I've just experimented, I do see some design possibilities; in particular, I see some shape-related designs with comparatively short floats and, therefore, structural stability. With this second draft, I even see some warpwise Randying possibilities.

I'm trying to tell myself I'm a genius rather than a total looser just now. You have to excuse me while I go away and laugh hysterically.