RD Workshop Feedback?

I have it on good authority that the latest Penland lot was kind to Randy. I take it nobody ran after him as he walked away to seek a few seconds of quiet, yapped at his ankles a mile a minute, squeezing out every last ounce of whatever wisdom or blessing he could impart, or just to hear his voice. You are better persons than I.

If you have a blog or photo site where you are reflecting on or sharing your experience as Valerie has, please let me know. And if you don't have such a platform, but would like to impart your thoughts, or just to share incoherent delirium, please email me.

I was looking at Valerie's photos, particularly of the sample warps, and was struck how some of them look so much like the ones from our workshop. The first things I noticed were the colors, of course; similar warp colors seemed to produce strikingly similar samples from a distance. And where I could see some details, it seem quite a few of us tried similar things in making the color changes gradually.

Of course all this makes sense because we probably had similar (although ours could have been abridged, ours being a week-long course) principles explained in the lectures, but I'm still struck more by the similarity than individuality. So does this mean, while we learn and take in the RD philosophy, we first follow the "instructions" closely in a strikingly similar manner, and then as we start to make this new knowledge our own, we allow ourselves to interpret and show our individuality? Gosh, when I type it out like this, it sounds terribly "Duh!!". But I am still surprised at the sameness, from a distance.

I am struck by the bold yellow warp towards the right - that one is very different from others, not exactly along the lines of the instructions for the warp prep we received, but decidedly individual, clean and crisp. Gutsy stuff. If you were in New Zealand, you might have gotten a chocolate fish!

Sometimes I Kick Myself Really Hard

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"A" indicates the location of the Weavers Guild of Minnesota; it's there today, and it was there in 1977, when I started college, on Snelling and Hewitt, on this map the blue square near the number 51, an inch above Midway Market Place but below the railroad line. Lalla Jones, a sophomore and a diplomat's daughter who lived all over Africa in her childhood, used to ask me at least twice a week if I'd like to join her in weaving. She went at least that often, if not more, to weave, and she loved it.

I was into boys, booz and a little bit of books back then; I was interested in weaving, but not just then. Sometimes I think "if only...."; sometimes I think it's good I didn't because I might not have liked it then (I was terribly impatient) and might never have picked it up again.

I just had a few Minnesota-things pop up in my life lately, which made me look up where the Guild is for the first time. I knew it was somewhere on University, but now that I look at it, I must have passed it gazillion times because I used to go to the University's Wilson Library to study, or to Dinkytown to socialize, and for a year I lived in an apartment two blocks from Dinkytwon. I don't know if I'll go back to those days again if I were allowed to; Minnesota's winters were brutal. But it is one of the periods I look back and feel nostalgic.

Almost There

All the scarves received (except mine) have been hung and labeld. If you sent me files or links, you should have heard from me today; if not, please contact me. If you wove the scarf but but haven't gotten around to sending me the info, if you can manage in the next 24 hours, send them in, because I still have room.

I have to figure out why mine isn't uploading, but I'm a little tired and much too excited after handling all your scarves. So I'm turning off the light, locking the door, and going home for the night. The scarves are giddily awaiting the opening in the darkened gallery tonight.

(The poster used the very first entry I received, from La Crumpet of Minnesota.)

Santa Fe Weaving Gallery

Tapestry weaver Pat, who lives in Nelson, offered to take some of my scarves to Santa Fe Weaving Gallery when she visits there in July. From the looks of their web site, they appear to be a high-end gallery with lots of contemporary/art garments, and not just ordinary rectangles. But they seem to like Asian textiles, particularly Japanese, or is this just what's happening this month?

One of my dream goals from the very beginning has been to have an outlet in the US, so I'm jumping out of my skin with excitement, but I'm also very worried. Have you ever visited the gallery? Do you know what they like? Please help!

And Here's Valerie

Valerie is back from Penland, and here's her Report; I hope this is the first of many. Then there's her Flickr link here.

To me, the yellow/orangy bits hanging form the white fence, on her blog post, is particularly evocative of how I remember my Randall Darwall experience. I'm very interested to see all the scarves in their entirety, with indication where you started and where you ended up, Valerie, to see the changes/progression over two weeks.

Thank you, Valerie, for such prompt posting. (Pant, pant!!) Anybody else out there who was in class with Valerie who blogs or has a Flickr-or-similar site? Or, would like to email me your impressions, thoughts, affirmations or unrecognizable dreamy babble, please do so; I'm keeping my inbox wide open!

Good Morning, Everybody

It's been June 9 for about 8 hours here, meaning, if my math is right, for the next 40 hours someone somewhere on earth will be living June 9th. Anyway, it's not a big deal if you are a day or so late, I decided; the more the merrier, so don't worry too much, but I had to tell you I am very excited about our exhibition.

Meanwhile, if you ever get a bit confused about my time/your time because of my confusion, this is where I go.

During the Writers' Retreat this weekend, I made some new friends, among them executive chef Marie of Marlborough Vintner's Hotel, who was writing non-recipe parts of a cookbook, (pure ear-candy, Ben and I put in two separate advance orders promptly; this is a fund-raiser project for the Marlborough Hospice in 2009), and a book binder from near Sydney, Carol, who has the Barnacle Goose Paperworks blog. I also met Deidre, who now lives in Marlborough but grew up in Northern Ireland, and who wrote about a most shocking, moving real life experience I've heard in the 13 years of going to Joan Rosier-Jones's workshops. This story, and more, will be published some time, somewhere, we're all very sure, so I'll keep you posted.

Reminder: Small Scarf Virtual Exhibition Submission

Dear friends, it's Tuesday over here, and your SSVE submission is due Monday your time, so I thought I'd post a reminder, for myself perhaps more than for you.

I amended the original Guideline a few times after I posted it, so if you are unsure, please check it once more.

If you are sending me a link to your blog rather than photo and blub files, please schedule to post it sometime during June 13 either your time or NZ time (UTC/GMT +12 hours), and please, if you can, plan to have it on the front page of your blog for at least two weeks. If you are posting your piece on your own blog, please remember to email me so you are included in the link, and so I can send you the same. If I have the time to make a small exhibition "poster", I will also be sending a JPG file of the poster which you may or may not choose to post.

I reply to everyone who has emailed me to acknowledge receipt of your information, and I've been checking my Gmail Spam folder as well, but if you have already contacted me, but have not heard back, please contact me again.

Entrants I have on my record so far are:

Bety Antonio, "Deep End of the Loom", Miami, Florida, USA, posting on your own blog
La Crumpet, Minnesota, USA, photos and blurb
Connie Rose, Eureka, California, photos and blurb
Rose Pelvin, Marlborough, New Zealand, photos and blurb
Betsy Frizzell, Marlborough, New Zealand, photos and blurb
Judy Bool, Marlborough, New Zealand, photos and blurb

Having said that, tomorrow noon-ish, Ben and I are off to my annual Writers' Retreat, and will return late Sunday, so if I miss your email before I go, you will hear from me on Monday June 9 or Tuesday June 10.

My SS is looking rather different from what I had planned, and though and I'm happy with it, I still want to make what I had in mind originally as well.

So, happy weaving/knitting/embellishing.

My Brithday Brooch

I thought I had posted my Gavin Hitchings brooch Ben got me for my birthday on this blog. I was wrong; I hadn't. We actually got this a few days before last Christmas, but it was commissioned as my 50th birthday present, so I didn't wear it until this April. Ben made me the wooden case on Boxing Day, December 26.

"It's a scarf, and a time line of your life," Gavin said when he handed it to me. Do you see the shuttle? We joked whether the shuttle appeared towards the first part of my life, or more towards the end, and Gavin said it's all what I make of it.

In light of my love/hate-with-Pekka-Kuusisto post, I thought you should see it. That this "finding my thing late in life" thing has been a mixed blessing for me, and perceptive artist like Gavin has picked it up in our conversations. Or not; he might have simply thought it's nice to have a shuttle featuring big in my life. I didn't ask.

Setts

A bunch of very accomplished weavers have told me over the years that to get a really nice drape I just have a closer sett. Is this true with wool, also? I can kind of understand that pertaining to silk or cotton, though I tend to weave loosely rather than tightly, but with wool, wouldn't I need to let it breath and expand a bit?

Suddenly I felt as if I've been missing something so blatantly obvious to everybody else. Like I've been standing rather naked in front of a bunch of nice weavers in a big guild room!!

Risky Business

I like Cally's fire; check out her comment here.

"Risk" is a term used by artists quite often, isn't it? But like "fear", the concept doesn't feature in my life often. I fear car accidents, so I don't jump in front of a speeding car, but I don't even use these words often, particularly pertaining to weaving.

Two or three years ago, I noticed I became matter of fact about my weaving. Before that I loved every single piece I wove and didn't want to part with any, ever, but now once they're washed, pressed, dried, labeled and passed quality inspection, I can't wait to see the back of them. In fact, I now have around 10 pieces from the last 14 months and I don't know what to do with them; they've been shown, they didn't sell, they're not exactly Red Gallery or Sue Bateup's Gallery material, so they sit in a neat pile on the floor of my stash room, and I walk around them felling annoyed they still live here. I've given away few to charity. They're not ugly or bad pieces; I'm just over them. I check them with objective, critical eyes, and then I'm finished with them. (It's a good thing I don't have kids or pets, wouldn't you say??)

I need to weave between three to five warps to understand the characteristic of a particular yarn before I feel I know them. So I think it's stupid of me to use an unknown yarn when I have two weeks or three days for an exhibition or commission. But I do, and that's stupidity, not risk. I also change plans at the last moment, or decide to redo something at the last minute, but these are bad planning, not risk.

What I think I'm thinking is, I don't think I'm particularly reckless, but I don't think I stick to safe things only, either. I don't understand what artists mean when they say they are taking a risk.

It's been a very strange weekend, friends. To make up for not posting earlier in the month, I started writing about quite a few things, but couldn't finish any. I have over 20 drafts now, some with just the title and some with a paragraph, others with a bullet list of ideas or few photos, but I can't concentrate on any.

I keep thinking about Pekka Kuusisto and his ability to love his art so passionately, and wonder how on earth could I feel about my work even 1/100 the way he feels about his. More urgently, I am envious of him having found his thing, or having been born into his thing, (his grandfather, father and brother were/are musicians/composers), and how lucky is he to have had his thing in his youth.

I know I would not have been a good weaver if I discovered it in my teens and 20's, because I was much too impatient and hedonistic to try anything as slow as weaving. I remember a time in my life when one afternoon was forever. But I do remember, surrounded by cousins and friends who started piano and ballet such from age three, that the sooner I found my thing, the happier I would be, and the more I could contribute to the universe. In my teenage years, there was a time I was almost angry because even He didn't call on me, (I went to a Catholic convent school). I worked hard to find my thing, I studied reasonably hard and minded my parents reasonably well, but I couldn't and I knew that in the greater scheme of things, my life was being wasted, ergo I wasn't pulling my weight.

I look at Pekka's clip and envy the energy he pours into his art, and for his knowledge that is his purpose and the reason why he's here. He probably works hard at it and is undoubtedly immensely talented. And I am not deluded enough to compare my ability to weave to his ability to make music. But I am finding aging hard. Not the emotional stuff, I prepared for it for over a year and I thought I was in a good place, but I never thought the body would go so suddenly. I'm not seriously sick or injured, but all the minor complaints I've had in the last decade or so have all come home to roost, with gusto, at once, and I realize this physical decay is a one-way street. I will never have the kind of energy Pekka displays, or indeed I once put into my sports and poetry writing and my studies. And I want it so badly now that I've found my thing and am about to embark on living my life.

It doesn't excuses my spending two days gazing at the short YouTube clip. I could have woven several small pieces instead. But I feel sad and guilty having wasted my life to now, of having been deprived of my vocation. I feel angry, and I find this anger unpleasant and unproductive, because I thought I was emotionally prepared.

I hate being 50. I need a new identity.