The Rebuttal

I was a wee bit taken aback with the strong words in the comments to my previous post. If it's semantics, I can't help it; English is my second language. If it's my Kiwi expressions/sentiments, I congratulate myself in becoming more fluent in my third language. (The fourth word in the first sentence is a case in point.)

Craft 08 is a tiny exhibit in a tiny town at the edge of the world; this is hardly my West Side Story, and in fact the very lack of satisfaction from my pieces prompted me to think.

That we chuckle at the thought of "chunky rugs" is because we visualize the hefty hand-spun-natural-colored cloth I understand were prevalent in the 80's in New Zealand, not because I think my work is better than what he described; in fact, I found the passage rather complimentary.

"Achingly beautiful cloth is not always synonymous with complex cloth." "I don't want my cloth to be a gimmick simply because I have these tools." Same thing.

Whilst I acknowledge the value of showing up at work every morning, and of the basics in color and design, I need physical maps when I travel, and metaphorical maps in life, and I don't apologize for that. I am the kind that creates happiness, because that's how I find it all my life.

We say in Japan, "Ten people, ten colors."

As to "laughable", I'm pleased I've been able to entertain, because it's doubts and apprehension over here.

Most important for me is Craft 08 was the last of a string of exhibitions I committed myself to in 2007; the next time you see my stuff, I hope to show you something one level up.

Raising My Game

While at the opening of Craft 08, I was overcome with an incredible desire to raise my game. As to how exactly I am going to do this, or in which direction I'd like to go, I can only come up with words.

I have been unwell for a while now; nothing serious, only exhausted by the constant output of the last year-plus, with no serious down time to replenish ideas, imaginations, inspirations. And my eyes don't focus well. It's what I call my debilitating laziness.

The cotton pieces, from design to finish, was done on autopilot, and I didn't get the usual satisfaction I receive from the process. I was also unable to press and wrap the six pieces as carefully as I think I normally do, and was unhappy with the way the pieces appeared at the Refinery. (I wonder if Deb would let me iron them after hours.) So this kind of technical/common-sensical thing is easy to fix.

Colors are something I need to be more comfortable with. And dyeing.

I have a 16-shaft, computer-controlled loom, and together with my Fiberworks PCW, I am able to create complicated-looking stuff, but I don't want to end there; I don't want my cloth to be a gimmick simply because I have these tools. I would like the end pieces to be more than the sum of design, texture and colors. I want my cloth to be inevitable, not incidental.

I long to create what Randall Darwall calls "achingly beautiful" cloth.

And that's going to take a few more throws of the shuttle, I reckon.

Craft 08 and Chunky Rugs

With the cottons taking much longer to complete than anticipated, I had to dig up some other work to submit. Luckily, neither of the Pacific pieces had been exhibited before, and coincidentally, I had the two designs in a smaller scale, so those four and the two cottons made up the requested six. They were due 5PM Monday, but I was allowed to bring them at 9AM Tuesday.

This exhibit, Craft 08, was the idea of furniture-maker John Shaw, who got sick of being called an object-maker. He insists he is a craftsman, and he makes furnitures, but no matter what they are called, his work is not subservient to what is usually regarded as objet d'art.

Apparently craft enjoyed a strong resurgence in the 80's in Nelson, and he wanted other craftspersons to join in showcasing crafts that are alive and well in Nelson today. We are hoping this might become an annual exhibit.

So, an exhibition right up my alley.

Painter and curator Deb Hunter opened the exhibit; she's also responsible for hanging my pieces so beautifully. (I must stop telling everybody to go ahead and feel my textile as curators take such care in hanging them beautifully.)

I was so tired, but I am glad I made it to the opening. My pieces were hung in a great position, and I felt a tad more comfortable in the "art opening" environment. Both Ben and I are getting to know some of the "regulars" so we no longer stand in the corner as if we're being punished.

Yesterday, The Nelson Mail did an article on Craft 08. On me, writer Peter Gibbs said I showed "different strings to her bow with chunky rugs in possum, merino, and silk contrasting with incredibly fine gold-colored cloth in cotton."

Incredibly fine? They are only 20/2s... But "chunky rugs"? Ben and I can't stop laughing; we've been saying "chunky rugs" out loud every chance we get.

Weaving with Cotton

Weaving the cotton scarves was, as Kiwis say, a hard slog. With the first scarf I had so much problems with tension, I should have stopped and restarted, but like a machine I kept on weaving. (And I now have a not-so-short scarf-length of cotton cloth, which I'm going to cut up and frame, and from which I will make postcards and little purses.)

The right is the second scarf, which was the easiest to weave; the weft is what I think is a Delft blue, but in the daylight, it looks almost light-blue-brown in combination with the yellow. The draft is a straight twill in network treadling, tweaked to keep the maximum float at around 9.

The left was the last; the weft is in a bright teal, and looking at the warp and the weft separately, I wondered what kind of a deranged mind would use these two in combination, but together, they take away each other's brashness, and take on a copper-like appearance. I was tired and couldn't remember if I had enough warp, so I had to unwind to make sure; I wouldn't have had enough to pull to the front to tie the next one on. This is a plait tie-up treadled in network, again tweaked in the lift plan to keep the float under 11.

The colors are truer towards the bottom of the less-than-exhilarating photo.

This was a labor of love. I loved the way the cloth looked. This is exactly the kind of cloth I had in mind when I "pushed" that stick shuttle for the first time on my rigid heddle in August 1995. I would love to weave a wider cloth of this style and have someone make me a vest or use it in parts of a jacket some day. So in that respect, it was a joy.

But I was unwell, and had little previous experience with cotton, and it was a struggle to push on. And I wasn't sure about the viability of these scarves as a product; they look either traditional, ("waistcoats!" my art historian friend Rosie said,) or South/Central Asian, and I would be competing with the lovely but inexpensive textiles from that area in that case. And the material is cotton, so I won't be able to command as high prices as merino or cashmere. So even if I weave these for the gallery, they will remain a true labor of love.

Not that the others aren't, but you get my meaning.

While weaving the teal piece, I started making a mental list of how many things can go wrong in weaving. I'll post them separately; it was "you gotta laugh, or else you'll cry" kind of a day.

I was exhausted after this, and after finishing the teal piece, I decided not to tie on the second yellow warp, not that there was much left to tie on. In fact, on impulse, I did the sensible thing (I know this sounds strange) and started to partially dismantle the loom and oiled it and washed the heddles.

I bought this loom in July 2002 and it was only the second time I oiled the entire loom, though I had been doing so in dribs and drabs. I thought I better show my appreciation for the hard work it has done for me, especially in the last couple of years.

I was in autopilot after that.

Sue Bateup and Weaver's Gallery

I've been struggling with this post since October because it involves telling Sue and all of you what a nasty, narrow-minded, judgmental person I am. But instead of disguising or covering anything, I'll give it to you straight. I just hope I don't shock you too much.

Sue Bateup has had a successful handweaving business as long as I've been in Nelson. She has a lovely little gallery/shop in Ajax Avenue, by the river, just up from the Information Center. She also sells her work, most famously her colorful jackets, all over New Zealand, (and possibly beyond.) Her name is a brand, and is synonymous to handweaving in Nelson.

Sue hand-dyes her yarns, but also has had other weavers help with the weaving and a professional machinist make them up into garments. Hers is a serious and successful business.

It's also a fact people whom I meet casually, as soon as I divulge I am a weaver, all ask if I weave pieces like Sue, if I dye like Sue, do I know Sue, aren’t her colors absolutely beautiful, perhaps I should go see if Sue can give me a few pointers, etc., etc., etc. And though Sue has nothing to do with these people, other than being a reference point for handweaving in their minds, I began to resent the constant and relentless comparison and well-meaning advice.

Since I started to weave seriously, my work have been finer (skinner) and more varied, and more importantly, most of mine are one-offs. I wanted each piece to be special, and "fine" in every way, and a “work of art/handcraft”. (I’m not saying Sue’s weavings look manufactured, though.) I started to feel the success of the Sue Bateup brand cramping my style and not giving any room, for any other weaver's work.

I started to run into Sue in person, in a mixed media drawing class or at Arts Marketing dos, but we rarely exchanged more than a cursory hello. I thought she thought I was beneath her.

I learned she was studying art at the Polytech, and envied the luxury of having others work for her while she closed her shop and pranced around the Poly with a sketchbook in her hand. (She is tall, lean and has a lovely face; can I help it if I thought she was prancing?) She looked a perfect picture of a happy, successful 21st Century art-businesswoman. I knew she worked darned hard, no doubt about that, and I knew I aimed to be a weaver, quite different from an owner of a weaving business or a brand, (and again, I’m not pretending to know what Sue set out to do in the first place, or what she thinks), but every time I saw her I felt quite miserable, as if the sun always shone on Sue Bateup and I stood in her damp shadows.

One day, after my dismal failure at securing any interest at the Art Expo, I had a debriefing with Martin Rodgers at Arts Marketing, and I blew up, shouting something like, "I'm so sick of people expecting all handweaving to look like Sue Bateup's jackets," to which Martin, ever so composed and non-judgmental, said, "but Sue Bateup the person is lovely." In fact, at the Art Expo, she sat with me awhile and complimented me on something I wrote. Martin also told me she'd been sick and that's why the shop had been closed.

Well, that changed things! Whether I like her brand or not, it's good for us weavers to have her shop open in Nelson, I reasoned; she also deserves a little thanks from a fellow weaver for all she's done to promote handweaving in Nelson. (I note another weaver, Susie Lees, helped to keep the shop open for one year previously.) And Sue has a small child; I can't imagine what it would have been like for him to have a mother fighting an illness. I thought about it for a month, but I had to do the right thing. One afternoon I saw the “Open” sign at the Gallery, barged in, and declared I am happy to open her gallery one day a week over the summer. I was so nervous I tried not to look at Sue and was probably shouting.

I haven’t asked what she thought, but as I spoke to her, I saw in big bold letters it was I who had been a real bitch all these years, not her. As Martin said, she turned out to be a truly lovely person, and an interesting artist, just very quiet and very introspective. So I've been there most Wednesday afternoons since the end of October minding her shop and doing my own thing in the back room. And I get to have my pieces in the shop.

I've had to eat many a humble pie, though. Hers is a business, so her products, though lovingly made like yours and mine of good material, are repeatable. And her jackets are amazingly soft and comfortable. Now it was I who pranced around her shop trying on all sorts of styles and colors in the middle of a heatwave.

I also look forward to the solitude of Wednesday afternoons in her creative space. Until this summer, I thought there's nothing better than working at home because I can do most anything any time of the day or night, but I now know how I'm distracted: Internet, dishes, laundry, TV, hammock, popsicles. Sue's studio allows me to work on one idea for long stretches, and I've been studying her colors, if I so chose; or fringe or write Christmas cards (in mid January), if that's what needs doing.

This has been a summer of redemption. I'm glad I finally met Sue Bateup; one of my proudest accomplishment as a weaver. Martin Rodgers is always right.

Artists are Backpackers

In an email communication with Martin Rodgers, I was expressing my disappointment (ok, bitching) I still have a hard time selling my pieces, but was enjoying a growing circle of artist friends interested in what I do. To this he replied, and I know you all would love this one:

"Artists are like backpackers - they discover the next best thing and then the rest of the world follows."

So you heard it here first. I knew he'd find something encouraging to say. Thank you, Martin.

The yellow warp is looking good. After I corrected two threading mistakes (use to make them so rarely!), and two sleying mistakes (used to never make them...) I sampled and love all the color options so much, I've decided to weave three pieces from this warp for the exhibit, and then make an identical yellow warp (something I never do due to extremely low boredom threshold) and tie on and weave four more.

Oh, the invitation to the said exhibit arrived yesterday. I always feel a little uneasy when this happens, but the gallery is getting to know me well, and when I rang they knew I'd be there at 5PM Monday with my goods. I have to say, though, for a show exhibiting "finely crafted" craft work in Nelson, the invite looks a tad drab, wouldn't you agree?

Designing Backwards

So. I cleaned my closet yesterday. I'm throwing away or giving to charity more than I had expected, but far less than I should. I'm seeing a new closet-cleaning trend, too; every time I clean it, there are items which I keep, even though I never wear them (or they are not even mine, but my mother's purchase/tailor mistakes,) because they are made of beautiful fabric.

This has been the longest creative slump I had: for two or three days my mind was totally blank, even during/after cleaning my closet. None of the magazines inspired anything, neither did the weaving books, not my cut-and-paste idea notebooks, not even my ultimate secret weapon, the Metropolitan Museum of Art Christmas gift catalogs. So in desperation, I began designing backwards.

It's been a hot summer, and the exhibit will start in the hottest month of the year. So, cotton.

I like the 2/60, but "around six works" need to be delivered by 4.30PM on Monday, February 11, and it would take too long to warp and thread, so 2/20, which I wove at 30 EPI last time.

The venue is the huge and dark Refinery Art Space, so though my first instinct is to weave 6-inch-wide scarves with this yarn/sett combination, I'll go with eight inches this time. And I'll use the lovely gold in the warp so regardless of the weft or structure, the design stand out and the scarves have luster.

Next, a simple threading; point, just because I don't use it much, but it's quick.

16-end point threading, 30EPI, around eight inches wide requires 241 ends, with eight repeats, plus two on each side as a floating selvedge make 245 ends, though I might later decide to use weft yarns as floating selvedge. Wind eight meters and I should get three or four presentable pieces.

So that's what I did, and was pretty pleased that even when I have no vision of what I'm going to weave, I spent my afternoon productively. What a pro! Next I doodle on the computer, or thread and sley.

To The Closet

Re designs, my head has been a clean slate, a blank sheet, a void, as if all the wrinkles of my brain has been smoothed out; I can't move on to the next project. So I started cleaning my closet yesterday, (an activity which usually gives me ideas about the kind of textile I want to weave,) and since I hadn't done it in a while, it's taking me longer than the normal 3/4 of the day. I haven't had the willpower to start Day 2 yet.

Yesterday we went to Tim Wraight's place; the primary purpose was to see Tim's latest piece before he leaves for Wellington to install it in a greenhouse, but the evening turned out to be a bit of a monologue by moi about the "how to be an artist" thing, and the money thing. More on this later.

We don't know much about sculptures and traditional Maori carving, except we are quite sure Tim is talented, and hard-working, and we've been mad-passionately in love with Tim's work. We haven't seen them all because many are outside Nelson, one is at Morris Graves Museum of Art, Eureka; and many are on maraes where we can't barge in and have a look. Even so, we saw a possible shift in his direction or style.

Until last night, we were familiar with his ordered, more regulated designs, seen here, here and here, but this is the first we've seen something more organic and flowing. Aptly, the exhibit this piece is going to is called ShapeShifter 2008, and we wondered if he intended the double entendre that Ben and I saw. In weaving terms, he's moved on to network, I guess.

Oh, my rant. Tim and partner/designer Claudia Lacher have been in the art business much longer than I and not only have they been lovely friends to us, and given me valuable practical advice on exhibiting and much more, and most importantly, they act as a compass when I get lost in "being" an artist. Tim and I both turn 50 this year, so it was easy for me to go on about the discrepancy between where I think I should be at age 50 and where I'm at, especially this week when I've been contemplating getting a part time office job, again, to regain some composure.

And in speaking to them, and typing this post, I see once again the quickest way to get out of this rut is to stop thinking and get weaving. Or just ignore that annoying voice that is mine.

I have to tell you this before I go. You know how kids have dreams or visions of themselves as grownups; some of us can't remember what they were, some of us are amazed and even dismayed at how different things turned out to be? Tim is living the vision he had when he was 10; carving, gardening, and playing the drums. And the nymph-like girlfriend has been the cherry on top. Living in this kind of appreciation has got to push his art forward, and I can't wait to see his next piece.

Enough said. I'm cleaning my closet.

Who Would Have Though You Can Laugh So Much At The Mention of Warping Boards

I know it's 11 more months to Christmas, but I just found this at Bonnie Tarses's Weaving Spirits blog. Without her sage advice, I might have lived to be 90 believing it was just a boring old thing with sticks poking out.

But seriously, here's a "food for thought" post that will make me think and groan and ponder for the next few weeks. RISD's textile course must be a whopper of a course, though I wonder what kind of changes in the outlook they've had regarding textile, studio weaving and such since Bonnie attended.

Crisis in Confidence

I had a bit of a rough week where a combination of events, thoughts and big flops on the loom brought on not panic with which I'm familiar, but a quieter crisis in confidence. Martin's advice, momentary rush of income, and making an appearance at the museum all amount to nothing if my weaving isn't any good, and suffice it to say, it hasn't been good. So I needed a breather.

Yesterday I spent the day in town.

I dropped off a shawl in a jewelery store. I met young Rebekah two years ago at the gym, and soon after I found out she has multiple sclerosis. I didn't see her much last year, and I read in the paper last week that she spent six months in the hospital. In that time she did some research and would like to go to Mexico for treatment, and her friends are holding an auction/dinner party to raise funds. Nice to be able to contribute in a small way.

Then I met up with Liz at the Turkish restaurant and gave her the shawl she ordered; she was off to Auckland and I had brunch.

At the spur of the moment, I decided to go to the da Vinci Machine exhibit down the street. This has been going on all summer, but Ben and I promised to go once the school started so we can enjoy it in peace and quiet. I needed a strong dose of inspiration, so I went alone, and had a wonderful time imagining not so much da Vinci concocting ideas, but more the Niccolai men/Teknoart trying to recreate/craft the old-fashioned machines. With the use of electronics, new materials and different energy sources, many of the civil and military technology Leonardo invented or improved seem old. But I appreciate the simplicity of the mechanism, (talk about WYSIWYG) and I felt a smug satisfaction knowing looms and spinning wheels probably changed little since his days, (except for computer-related areas, and we weavers are pretty happy about that. The exhibit has been to Palmerston North, but it tours two other cities after Nelson, and from memory, Dunedin might have been one of them. Da Vinci's biography is something I've been wanting to read for a few years, so I hope I get on to it this year.

Then I went to the gym in the afternoon heat, after spending nearly three hours in the air-conditioned museum; it was hidious, but my head was in a good place, so it didn't bother me much.

All hot and sweaty, I went to buy tickets to two upcoming events; one is Opera in the Park, about which I had to give it real thought. It's not often we have a chance to listen to Kiri Te Kanawa live, but Ben is so not a classical music fan, and the tickets were out of our comfort zone. I read the blurb more carefully, and then broke the news to Ben I wanted to go. He knows I've been particularly enamored by the voice of Jonathan Lemalu, and he's not often in New Zealand these days. So we got picnic seats; we bring our own chairs or blanket, a picnic basket, and our binoculars; we get to take part in a big event without breaking the bank, and the casual dress code is definitely more our style.

The other is As You Like It. Grea Burton is one of two guys who have been working tirelessly to bring theater back to Nelson. (The other is Kim Merry.) In the past, he's put on plays in parks and at the top of Trafalgar Street where we have Twilight Market. He secured an old building last September and now has the consent to turn it into a theater. Meanwhile, this year's production will be held in the garage of the building!!! I got to talking with the woman who was selling the tickets, and I put my name down as a prospective "member" to help them with ushering and such.

I then went back and forth between three bookstores for three hours, and found two books I really wanted but resisted, one I think I should read but don't want to now, and two biographies I intend to read later this year, and then one I didn't particularly want but had to have. This last one is pictured above; it is a tiny, cardboard book for kids, and the story and the colors are, shall I say, unattractive, but I've been hitting my head against a brick wall about the Altered Book/Guild challenge, and thought this book might work. The challenge, according to our newsletter, is this: "Take a child’s book, the thick page variety, with only a few pages in it. With sandpaper, sand the pages to remove the shine, and bright colours.

"Then …in whatever way you want ALTER THE BOOK. Rummage in your cupboards, under the bed, in cardboard boxes around the house, for fibre treasures, with a past and story. Arrange these together, stitch glue etc, and decorate the pages.

"The book must have a name, so that you tell it’s story."

I'm not as original or imaginative as my fellow guild members, so I don't think my plan will meet all these criteria, but I couldn't cope with the freedom of last year's challenge and abandoned it entirely. This year, I decided participating, in whatever capacity, is important, so I bought this ugly book. All I can say now is, doesn't the shape look like a handbag?

Then in the evening, Ben and I went to the Twilight Market as sightseers. And I learned these things from a sightseer's point of view: I like to browse, not necessarily looking for something to buy, but to look for artists about whom I would like to know more or even visit later. If I were to buy something, with my small budget, about $35 was the amount I was willing to part with if I found something especially appealing. But since I didn't know who was coming back next week, if I hesitated and decided to come back to have another look, I might have missed the chance.

Food for thought if I decide to do this again next year, or at another time. It was wonderful to know many of the artists participating and the organizers; I was among friends.

Nine more days before I submit "around six pieces" to the first exhibition this year. And my mind is still a wonderful, peaceful blank.