Twisted Bouts

I went back to Peg's blog to re-read about bout-twisting, and I realized my problem might be a unique one. At one point, Peg seems to have twisted a bout while putting the lease sticks through, ergo the twist.

In my case, I warp a whole bunch of ends, say 250, off of one cone and make my chain. As I wind the back beam, sections within one lot of the warp chain appear/are/become(??) twisted. I was going to keep this a secret until I figured out how it happens, but since I've inadvertently outed myself, I'll have to bite the bullet and show you a picture the next time it happens. Then you can solve my problem for me?

OR, at last might I have come up with a unique, first time ever weaving problem? And is that a good thing or a bad thing??

Now THAT'S an Artist's Studio

Would you like a tour of Bonnie Tarses' studio?

First go to Seattle, then select QuickTime or Flash, then wait to download. When downloading is completed, move your mouse a little to "walk around". (Yeah, don't just stand there forever like I did!!)

The thing I'd like to know is, how did she get to be in three places at once? If I could do that, too, I might be a little more productive.

A Joint Virtual Exhibition, Anyone?

Randy said that Sharon Alderman said she is inspired when she's walking, weaving or ironing. Now I know the first two can bring an adrenaline rush, but I had thought I was the only one who felt a bit giddy while ironing because of all the images and ideas flooding out of my head.

I gave up the idea of not talking to myself while on long walks alone, and wave my arms around like an Italian speaker while trying to get the feel of my next shawl. As to ironing, I'm hopeless when I start grabbing my calculator, playing with the software, lining up yarn cones that I seldom get through my pile at one go. (That's why Sunday morning while watching 4 straight hours of Star Trek derivatives is a good ironing time.)

As for while I'm weaving, the ideas in my head become too noisy I often have to blast the stereo to drown the thoughts so I get on with the ... weaving. Anyway, while working on the Little Man's blanket yesterday, I got this idea, and I want to run it by you.

How would you like to have a virtual joint exhibition? Here's what I'm thinking.

* Weave a small scarf, say 6 inches wide, give or take a few inches, or get one that you've woven, say, since the start of this year.
* These scarves must be handwoven, but can be subsequently embellished or felted.
* Send me up to 3 photos showing different views of the piece, plus some blurb, either about the scarf or about you or both.
* If you like, send me also your headshot, or hand/s-holding-a-shuttle shot.
* I collect all your info, arrange them in visually pleasing manner and upload it either here or on my web site for all to see.

If I can get all photos and blurb by around the end of May, the virtual exhibition can open early-ish June when it starts to get a little chilly down here. I'll make virtual invitations to let you know. It would be nice to get all levels of weavers from different places. I've been toying around the idea of dressing my Rigid Heddle again and have some fussy hand-manipulated fun. It would be nice to get, say... more than four of us?

Would anybody be interested? Please either leave a comment or contact me by email. I look forward to hearing from you.

PS - Ben came up with an alternative idea. If you do have your own blog, we could all agree to post on the same day, and put links to each other, much like the City Daily Photo theme day, and he can easily whip up the link to copy/paste. I'm still very happy to post the scarves of anyone who isn't blogging.

Oh, Bless You, Peg

I am of the belief there is probably not a lot I can do in weaving that is totally, entirely and absolutely original; rather, I'm happy with the thought that somebody somewhere, maybe 500 years ago, did something darned near what I've got on my loom at any time.

Except for "The Twist". For a long time I thought I was the only one who could manage to get portions of my warp twisted. When I wind, say 250 warps from one cone in one go, it would make sense to me for all 250 to get twisted together, but NOOOO. At times I get two or three lots all looking curly and lovely.

Peg said it wasn't my fault, but I read on and she was talking about silk's propensity to twist. Anyway, you'd better hear it from the horse's (sorry, Peg) mouth. Go to "Talk about Weaving" and start around April 1.

And these are called... bouts? A terminology used in boxing and weaving? Live and learn.

Just off the Loom - Southern Man

I finished weaving the "baby blanket" and took it off the loom; it's now hanging in the basement until I tidy/fringe/wash/press it in the next couple of days. You know the drill.

This is the second time this client asked me to weave something; the first was a wedding present in late 2005. The baby blanket was ordered first in late 2006 for her expected first grandchild, but I had my little exhibit coming up so I was unable to comply. Late last year she ordered it once again, in time for the said grandchild's first birthday, which unfortunately was sometime in February. But she had been informed.

Meanwhile, my client sent me a couple of pictures of the little boy, and I was astonished how manly he looked even when he was only a few-months-old and even more so around his first birthday. I knew he lived in the south of New Zealand (the cold end) so I wanted something sturdy and not baby-ish, but the more I looked at his photos the more I knew here was a Southern Man in the making.

The nearest I can think of to the notion of the New Zealand Southern Man is the Marlboro Man, but probably less stylish, says fewer words, and with weather-beaten, wrinkled skin. (Kiwis, feel free to pitch in.) Well, he's a man's man, and this little guy definitely is one.

I imagined a wee boy, at age 1, and 3, and maybe even 5, dragging an old blanket in a cold wooden house, or in the yard, or on the beach, or on a truck, playing, sleeping, crying over a lost fight, and cuddling a dog. (Notice, I didn't say a puppy, and I'm just imagining he lives in a rural environment but I don't know the facts.)

The client suggested a Herringbone, and requested mixtures of natural/cream, blues, navy, and mint green. The warp is in four different 110/2 merinos from natural to mid-blue, with cotton mint green boucle for accent, and the weft is an old-fashioned carpet single in the most delicious navy. The cotton boucle is threaded in addition to the merino wherever the twill changes direction, as I didn't think I had enough warp to test the different shrinkage accurately. The weave is 3/3 dornick woven in double-width.

I felt uncomfortable weaving this, as it's rough and inelegant and not the kind of cloth I like to make; let's just say it's' not "pretty". I'm not sure if the client will appreciate a "baby" blanket that feels more like an old-fashioned itchy wool blanket, though we have been in communication about this, because reading emails about it could be different from opening a parcel and touching it. I am, on the other hand, confident this one will be hard-wearing and versatile. It has been one of the most utilitarian piece I've designed to date.

Shortly before his first birthday, my client wrote me: "He recently discovered the hallway. Up to now he was carried from one room to another, but now that he can crawl, he is fascinated by this space that seemed to have always existed but was never a destination."

I hope she likes it.

Win Currie, Weaver

During the design/presentation weekend, I stayed in the beautiful home of weaver Win Currie. I was billeted with Win back in 2001 when I came out as a weaver and attended my first weaving workshop. Since then, every workshop I've attended in Blenheim Win has attended also and we've come to automatically occupy seats or desks next to each other.

Win is one of the founder members of the Marlborough Guild, but she couldn't tell me what year that was!

She's been very active in Marlborough Tapestry Weavers for a few years now. Though she's worked on abstract group projects as well, for her own projects she likes fine pictorial pieces, often with seabird bird theme. These are about the size of a postcard.

But really, Win is known for her apparently open-weave scarves in fine merino, alpaca and silk. Featherlight, soft and tearfully elegant, her pieces appear loosely woven, but they are designed intelligently and finished heartily, so one need not worry about pilling. These are the shots from her Black and Gold series, something of a trademark and a series Win is rightly proud of.

Next is from a new series of lovely small, casual, unisex scarves. Win has lots of silks, and I got to play with her spools and we selected colors for future warps in this series, so there will be heaps more of these lovely gems.

Win sometimes turns her scarves (and I can't remember what she called them) fluffy and scrunchy. This is one Ben and I fell in love with during the February Weavers' meeting; interesting considering I normally prefer flat textiles. Anyway, need I say more? This now lives in my closet.

The only dilemma I have is this: another of Win's trademarks is the long and elegant fringes. If I shorten and combine the fringes, this scarf can easily be unisex. I have discussed this with Win, so she knows, and I might just do it so Ben and I can share the scarf.

Win Currie Contact

Randall Darwall Workshop Presentation Night

Monday night after the design workshop, I gave my presentation to the Marlborough Weavers. Many of us were still high from the workshop so the presentation proceeded in a jovial, creative atmosphere, and since photos of Randy's scarves can wow even the most cynical, weathered weaver, so suffice it to say the presentation went without a hitch.

Since then, however, I've been wondering about the danger/wisdom of my talking about Randy's workshop, even though I stressed enough times these were my recollections, impressions and interpretations. It's made me realize how little I remember of those frantic five days, and how very little I know him, and I've been feeling somewhat irresponsible about interpreting his words and concepts.

I enjoyed preparing the presentation, going over the notes, and particularly looking at the photographs to select the best ones and cleaning them up, but I feel a little funny about the ethics of it, even though it was a small presentation to my own guild, reporting back, as it were.

But as you see, the weavers had fun putting my RD scarf on Joan in the manner prescribed by Brian Murphy on www.RandallDarwall.com. It really works.

Marlborough Design Workshop Part 2

Here are what I came up with.

I like this one because it's so chaotic, layered, and still ordered, and I can't believe this came to being painlessly and quickly. At the base is an abstract "painting" with pale pastel crayons representing good things in life, washed with purple dye representing my life (which on the whole is cruise-y), washed with diluted black water color to represent depression.

On a A2 sheet, I collaged and then drew some more the bright light at the end of the tunnel which I see even in the midst of a bad patch, (this is what makes me the most light-hearted depressed person in New Zealand!). I tore the first "painting" and pasted in a sun-ray like manner. I added more colorful, good bits in life, including fine lines with a gold gel pen, and then painted over the entire piece with gray. Still not happy with the vividness of the piece, I mixed glue, black watercolor paint and water, and pasted a sheet of white tissue paper over the whole thing with my fingers and hands, and ripped out the tissue over the light.

The tissue paper was bigger than the sheet, so I started cutting it with scissors, but I didn't like the clean sharp edges. I also noticed the entire thing was stuck on the one piece of newspaper that was torn in the corner. And that's when I thought life is messy, so I'm going to keep the over sized tissue and the newspaper as part of my piece. (One of the purple collaged strips didn't fit the A2 but this was planned.)

I didn't like the cloudy feel the tissue paper gave, and at show and tell, someone said I could tear some more of the tissue paper. This I did and it produces a nuance in the greyness I found pleasing. (I tore off a little too much torn on the upper right quadrant after I came home, but that's OK.) I can't see the gold gel pen marks any more, but there are wrinkles and dirt and parts that didn't adhere and bubbles and all sorts. I just can't believe I did something so spontaneous.

The tissue paper gives pleasing nuances, and I've found quite a few usable section when I looked through the square.
I have no idea what that brown substance is in the middle one, but it appeared in two areas, and I love the rusty look. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to use these as a design base for my scarves yet; it would be easier if I felted, or wove tapestries, but I see that that's is not the point, and sometime in the future, an idea based on these may pop up. And even if not, I had fun.

The second one is a time line of a depression episode.

The base was a piece of paper where I made all kinds of marks using India ink and different "brushes" made of paper. At first, I tore the marked sheet in strips and pasted them on an A2 size paper in an orderly manner. I added marks with paint, black ink, and yarns to accentuate the good and the bad bits. Then two minutes before we had to clean up, I decided a proper A2 sheet didn't represent a time line, so I cut it in varying width, and made an uneven strip. I think I could safely say that Alison was astonished by my transformation, that I would think, literally, outside the A2 rectangle, and that I would deliberately cut them in uneven width.

Alison suggested I do something like this during a bad patch, a small piece each day collected to and make a series. We discussed this idea further, and I decided to prepare a box full of materials as I can well imagine not being able to muster the energy to find stuff, but if it's already all in one place, there's less excuse not to. And yes, I did say, "I can't wait for my next bad patch!!"

I started one more, where I let the media work their own thing. It has small pieces of the same purple dye piece in the lower center, with black crayon rays extending in all direction. I applied pale yellow, pink, blue and green water colors on top; in this one, the black crayon is literally resisting the colors. I'm not finished with it, and I'm not sure what I want to do with it, but another person who has experienced depression said this is the best depiction of her experience and asked to photograph it, so I shall keep working on it in my own time.

Looking back, I fought all the way through the correspondence course and the 2005 workshop, resisting forfeiting control, protesting rather loudly, and disliking Alison's methods because they are messy. Had I known how much fun I'd have, I would have done it earlier.

Additionally, I think I did myself a favor in selecting a conceptual research subject, where I couldn't hold a mental picture of an outcome. I must have been in a vulnerable position which allowed me to do whatever Alison suggested; I was fully prepared to surrender to her directions from the start and went into the classroom in a quasi-empty-headed state. Instead of asking Alison non-questions in a squeaky voice, I just took a big table in the corner and mindlessly did my thing. It was liberating. I was visually creating my experience but not re-living it, and I was getting down and dirty. I wasn't worried, and I had successfully surrendered to the process.

I also kept thinking Alison had matured as a teacher, (I'm a teachers' kid, so I'm tough on teachers), but I see now that I was wrong; she's probably been the same fabulous teacher all along, but I never got her until now.

I loved the experience so much, I've continued to doodle and play with paint more or less consistently since I've come back. I really shocked myself when I got my sketchbook out of my pack in Otago Museum and started to draw, with my left hand, some of the Egyptian and Greek artifacts.　

What I do, or don't do with these child-like creations are not important in the first instance, but that I did create them is an accomplishment, and I've now had a taste of being mindful in the moment, or what Zen Buddhist call "mushin", ironically translated in the dictionaries as mindlessness.

Either way, life doesn't get any better than this.

*****

After I finished the correspondence course, I promptly signed up in August 2004 for the merit portion of the design course, which is like an independent study using the methods we learned in the course proper. I'm ashamed to say, but then you know by now, that sining up and paying for it is all I've done so far. No, I take that back, I've had about four false starts, but I still have the instructions and some great research material. I think it's time I emailed the new education coordinator and see if I'm still allowed to work on it and submit it to Alison.

Marlborough Design Workshop Part 1

On the weekend of 15 & 16 March, I went to Blenheim for my guild's design workshop. This is the workshop for which I had to prepare some research material on a landscape theme, and after some to-ing and fro-ing, I decided on "the world as seen by a mildly depressed mind". (We were at the Marlborough Girl Scouts HQ; they must have had a whopper of a Halloween party, don't you think?)

The course was taught by Auckland weaver and design teacher Alison Frances.

Alison and I go back a few years in this battle of the wills. In May 2002, I signed up for the national guild's correspondence course on design; it had six modules and we were expected to start in May and finish in November/December. But because we had to draw (and I can't), and it appeared that nothing I did seemed to please Alison (for a different reason), it took me until July 2004 to complete, and neither of us were happy with my progress. In essence, I can't let go of certain control, and I have a predetermined goal I aim for, so I never experiment freely or tried to get off-track. And to a large extent, this is still how I design my scarves; I see what I want to make and work backwards. I understood her criticism as a concept, but I didn't know how else to do it.

Alison ran a similar weekend course in Blenheim in October 2005 where I enjoyed her teaching and personality, but in retrospect, even then I resisted doing what she was trying to make me do, and looking at the material I can see where I was going, or not going. The one thing I discovered was I learned a lot more by drawing and otherwise using my hands, instead of trying to produce pretty things to show the teacher by using technology. And using my hands was fun and very intimate.

Her methods are not complicated, but challenging if you like planning and control. In this March workshop, we had to select one visual resource from our own collections, and try to reproduce it in different media: crayons and watercolor, ink, oil pastel and turpentine, collage, pencils, whatever. We had to do ripped/torn collage as well as cut ones, and in the course of using these different media, we were to let the media take over and make us reproduce the idea of our subjects, but not necessarily reproduce the picture. These were supposed to be spontaneous and experimental, and we were encouraged to work quickly and make many.

On Day 2, we had to gather all the bits and pieces we made, and put them together using collage, painting over, drawing additional designs, cutting them and rearranging them, etc., in a little more considered, coherent way, based on our knowledge of our individual subjects. Because we had researched our own subjects beforehand, even within our spontaneity, some of the knowledge was supposed to seep through.

And we had a show-and-tell show at the end of the day, where we discussed how some of these material can be used as the basis of a textile project.

Spindle Whorls. Cyprus, Asia Minor, Egypt. Otago Museum, Dunedin.

I've lots to tell you, but I came home from Dunedin with a mild cold, and though I took it easy for the last two days, it's gotten progressively worse. This morning I woke up to a massive headache, with Beloved singing "Happy Birthday" repeatedly, somewhere in the depth of this fog. My eyes are blurry, my ears are ringing, and there doesn't seem to be enough oxygen going into my system. Good grief.

As of sometime later today, I will have been traipsing on this planet for 50 years. (Well, the first couple I might have been carried.) And I've been preparing for this for nearly a year. I'm grateful and relieved I discovered weaving before today, though I wish I'd discovered it earlier so I had time to get out of the murky, desperately passionate amateur stage by now. Or at least I had known a quicker way to progress and improve. On the other hand, I've got to tell you, I've been enjoying the ride, when it was smooth and when it was rough, and the fatalist in me thinks I'm exactly where I'm meant to be today.

Japanese culture places a lot of steps and requirements in aging. By the time you're 30, you should be responsible for your face, meaning you should show age-appropriate wisdom and knowledge. In your 40's, you're supposed to do something big, and in the old days for women, this meant making sure your kids grew up to be descent future citizens with all limbs in tact.

I don't remember Mom or my aunts saying anything about the 50's; they themselves weren't 50 yet, and I never contemplated I, too, could one day be 50. But 50 is also an age when one's supposed to be all grown up and know right from wrong and what duties need doing. Maybe even for a Japanese woman, it's that golden time when we're left alone, because all too soon, we'll be told to "obey our children".

Though it's just another day, a boring old Thursday, I had a few small fun idea, at this rate, it's looking like two aspirins, a tall glass of water, and reading in bed, which isn't bad because I love that very last one. And my parents are 77 and 80 and still living a fairly normal life; amen to that!!