I'm Dressing the Loom - The Slow Part

The next step of dressing the loom is slower but I find it meditative, and if it weren't for the physical discomfort, could do it for long stretches. Before I can get into it, however, a brief explanation of how my loom works may be necessary, requiring more weavers' jargon. Sorry. 

I said, "b) the vertical warp yarns are either up or down, and weaving is the simple act of sandwiching the horizontal weft yarns between warp yarns." How do I make some warp ends go up to create the gap, called the "shed", in which to trap the weft?

I have white polyester heddles on this loom, old heddles were made of strings or metal, but they all have "eyes" in the middle to thread one warp end through. Each heddle is attached to a shaft, and every heddle on the same shaft go up together, or come down together, as a group. Since selected shaft/s go up, my looms are rising-shed type. Traditionally two-, four-, and eight-shaft looms were mainstream, but increasingly, 16-, 24-, 32-, and 40-shaft monsters have become available to home weavers since the 1990s. That means, depending on the loom, two, four, eight, etc, sets of strings going up or coming down together.

The order in which warp is threaded, (Shaft 1, then 2, then 3, for e.g,) and which shafts are lifted in a particular shed decide the line/shape of a design, in the first instance. So greater number of shafts, the more complex designs can be woven.

A project requires as many heddles as there are warp ends, or pairs in this case, because every end has got to go up at one time or another, lest it will stay under every weft right the way through the cloth without interlacement, and then that warp end will come away from the cloth after the cloth is taken off the loom. Many looms have many heddles, and they can be removed from one shaft and transferred to another easily if the design requires, as long as there are enough.

Every warp end must be threaded through a heddle eye, so we call this task "threading". Some project are quick to thread, depending on the complexity of the design and number/size/characteristics of warp yarn. This one is has been smooth sailing.

This is my view. (Not my laundry, silly.) I sit on a tiny canvas camping/fishing foldy seat between the heddles/shafts to my left and the warp and back beams to my right.

The heddles are stretched between one of the 16 shafts, Shaft 16 being closest to me at the "back" when I'm at seated at the bench weaving. Below is the threading portion of the draft, (and on this rare occasion, with colors,) I mark off as I thread. Because I thread from the back, I read the draft upside down, but in most if not all drafts I weave, if I mistake the top from the bottom, this is easily rectifiable when I weave.  

Warp ends/pairs are to my right slightly above my head, waiting to be threaded; it's the last 1 or 2 meters you saw danging in the last pic in the last post. Close up you can see the cross, green arrow,  (i.e. the order in which the warp ends/pairs went on the warping board,) between the lease sticks. Seen from the front of the loom I start threading from the left side on this loom, (because the right opening is easier for my unsmall self to get in and out of,) the far left warp end/pair, pink arrow, is the next to be threaded. 

If for some reason I lost this cross, although the warp is already wound on the warp beam, I still have the second cross I made at the top end of the warping board as consolation.

I take the next end/pair, and thread it through the eye of the next heddle in the appointed shaft. One of the worst thing about aging is eyesight; I am severely near-sighted and switching short- and mid-distance is not happening. A lot of weaving, particularly theading, is done by feel. I can see which shaft I'm choosing, and I actually make surprising few threading mistakes, but I sometimes thread not in the eye but the slots above or below them in these modern heddles.   

This is one step that may be unusual. Because my sitting/threading position is uncomfortable, I come out every once in a while to the front of the loom and "sley", or pull a set number of warp ends/pairs through the slots in a reed, a tool that regulates how close warp ends to sit to each other. I find not only is this better for the body, but I have also been able to spot threading mistakes by sleying incrementally.

In the last post I wrote I wanted 20 ends/pairs per inch, but while threading I changed my mind so I sleyed at 18 pairs. This reed has six slots, "dents", to every inch, so I am pulling three ends/pairs into each slot in the order I threaded, starting at the left end of the cloth. I don't know if I should call this 18 "end"-per-inch, ("EPI") or more accurately 36EPI, but higher the number, the more warp ends are used in every inch. And if you thought the weaving width on the reed is going to be ever so slightly wider than in the raddle, well done, pat yourself on the back and treat yourself to a small piece of sometimes-only treat. (And after sampling, I even re-sleyed to 24 pairs/48 EPI!)

After ever warp end/pair is threaded and sleyed, I pull and tug on each carefully, and make a knot knotting together 18 pairs, i.e. one inch in the reed, and lash it on to the front/cloth beam, and adjust the tension. I want even, universal tension, and for this, feeling the warp with the back of my hands with my eyes closed works best.

Now I'm ready to do another of my favorite parts: sample weaving.

Here are some bits I excluded to keep my explanation "simple".

*Some techniques require the weaver to pry open a gap in which to insert the weft, (think prototypical tapestry looms.) On a vertical loom the warps are not up/down but front/back. And while some techniques don't insert one long weft but only portions of it to achieve a different effect, (think cut pile, for e.g.) But the fact remains the weft yarns are sandwiched between and held by the two sets of warp in any shed.  

* There are looms with more basic heddles, e.g. a long string wound around warp ends and a stick alternately, (I've not tried them,) but the theory is the same.

* Rigid heddle looms are two-shaft looms. At the other end of the spectrum, Jacquard looms allow manipulation of every single heddle separately, which is why they can weave oh-so-dreamy pictures. They are the ones to end all shaft-envy. Then there are draw looms, which I understand to be between a Jacquard and a shaft loom, but I've never seen either kind close up to tell you any more.

* All of my looms are rising-shed looms, i.e. the selected shafts are raised while others remain horizontal, to create a shed. There are also sinking-shed looms, as well as countermarche looms where selected sheds are raised while others sink, creating lovely big sheds which makes weaving easier. 

If you are serious about knowing more about types of looms, how they work, etc, there are far better teacher-weavers-explainers online and in books than I. If interested, leave a comment and I'll try to find some, or better yet, look it up yourself, or if you're lucky enough to have either, ask your local weaving guild/group or weaving supply shop.

I'm Dressing the Loom - The Fast Part

My new warp, in two parts, 10 meters each, folded and hung until I'm ready to dress the loom.

 

Some weavers make chains, but a few ends always snag which can be problematic later, so lately I don't make chains with skinny yarns but fold and dangle. (As you can see, I like making warps and, gee, I have a few I haven't woven.) 

Now that I have this warp, I want to put it on the loom so I can weave it. Dressing a loom means affixing the warp on to the loom, winding the warp on the warp beam at the back of the loom so I can pull, or "advance" the warp threads forward as I weave.

There are as many ways to dress a loom as there are weavers, dependent on how you learned, the loom, position/direction of various equipment and the space available, the weaver's body size, and preferences. Even though I have one basic method, I modify it to suit the loom/space/project, but the basics stay the same. The most crucial thing is for every warp end/pair to go on the warp beam under the same tension. Or, not loose one here and tight one over there. If I spread out the warp to roughly the width of the cloth, and place the very first end/pair I placed on the warping board at far left or far right of the cloth, the second next to it, the third next to that, etc., there is a better chance the warp will yield uniform/even tension without tangling or breaking. 

This is the back of my loom where there is very little space. Remember the cross I made while making the warp? It preserves the order in which the ends went on the warping board, and here I'm using two dowels B we call lease sticks, (they can become something-else sticks another time,) to keep that order. Warp ends/pairs goes either above the top B and under bottom B or the other way around, alternately, and they cross near b. Stick A assists all warp ends/pairs travelling from the front of the loom to enter the cross in the same angle.

I put a rod D, (or sometimes a slat depending on the project/fiber,) through the loop at the end of warp and attach it to a slat attached to the warp beam. The warp is uncut at this point, so it's still one, (or in this case, four,) long pieces of yarn.

I now spread the ends roughly in the width of the cloth on a tool called raddle C. A raddle has spaces in one inch increments, (I use inches for width and metric for length in weaving,) and I'm weaving this project with 20 pairs of ends per inch, so I count 20 ends/pairs for each slot. The original position for the raddle was at the top of the loom F, but it was too high even for the previous owner of the loom so she attached parts so the raddle can rest at the back of the loom above the warp beam. Otherwise I tend to prefer strings, yarns and other more temporary setup so I can accommodate different fibers, thicknesses, width of the projects, etc. It could also mean I change my mind often and have a fear of committing. :-D

This is the view from the front of the loom. I pull the warp as far back as I can, and put some weight. I used to like pulling the warp over my cut pile carpet, but for skinnier or delicate yarns, I prefer to pull it over smoother surface. This time I'm using a thin foamy sheet that must have come as a packing material because I'd love to have more of this but haven't been able to find it.

To my right is the warping mill with the red Syrie warp still sitting on it. To the left, (and I'm surprised it didn't show up in this photo,) is the back of my four-shaft loom. I've been "thinking out loud" different configurations/storage schemes since I've come home from Japan and haven't been able to come up with a solution, but no matter what I leave a gap here so I can always put a warp on the big loom.

I unlock the brake at the side, and I wind the warp beam backwards, placing slats or thin flat sheets of different material to separate the layers. As seen above, I'm using corrugated card board E this time. I keep my eyes around the cross b and environs where it's easiest for yarns to tangle and break.

I leave a meter or two hanging at the back so I can work on the next phase - the more time-consuming part of dressing the loom.

I'm Making a Warp

I posted on Facebook about making a warp, one of my favorite activities weaving or otherwise a former colleague asked me what a warp is, so I promised her some pics.

So often I tell non-weavers a) most of "weaving" is prepping the loom, and b) the vertical warp yarns are either up or down, and weaving is the simple act of sandwiching the horizontal weft yarns between warp yarns.

I thought I'd record how I make a warp, and later how a loom works, to show how time-consuming the prepping phase is, and because this is where the physical process of weaving starts, and also, because of the unique situation with my house, it's the one process that suffered no big change over the years so I don't have to think too much to write abut it. :-D   

A warp is a collective name for a set of yarns, individually called warp "ends", measured to a specific length to become the vertical set of yarns attached to the loom while weaving. Before I can make a warp, I need to plan a project to know the specs of the warp. Sometimes I start by designing a project, which includes the overall look of the piece; approximate finished size, (a piece of weaving morphs several times from when it's on the loom under tension, off the loom and relaxed, and especially in case of wool, after the very first wash;) texture, (sometimes called "hand";) and a gazillion other things. Then I select the yarns to best realize the plan. Other times I select the yarns I want to work with based on the fiber content, size, and colors and amounts I have, then plan. Usually these decisions are made together organically.

Only after I have a plan, I know which fiber/size/color yarns goes into the warp, (and a fairly good idea of what yarns to audition for the wefts;) how many ends are required to achieve the finished width; and the length of the warp to accommodate not only the project but a rather large amount of loom waste, portions of warp necessary to weave the project but won't become part of the finished piece.

This is part of the plan, called a "draft", for the warp I'm making this week. I'm not sure if I want the navy border at the sides, but I make that separately so it doesn't matter just now. The colors in real life is darker as I'm paring each of the Marine, Sky and Teal yarns with a Navy, treating each pair as one warp end. These are four colors of the same skinny New Zealand merino wool.
(EDIT: I swapped the above picture. I don't know what I was thinking but the draft was three times the width of the planned project.)

This is more like it. I'm going to make the final piece, an adult-size couch blanket, by weaving three panels and stitching them together side by side; each panel's warp color distribution looks like this. Now I can count the number of warp pairs I need; it's a little hard to see, but from the right, it's 8 pairs of Marine+Navy, 13 pairs of Sky+Navy, 29 pairs of Teal+Navy and so on. I need to wind 428 pairs, or 856 ends, of yarn.

Lengthwise, although I probably need between 7 and 8 meters of warp, I love to weave samples and I don't want to run out of warp while weaving the project, so I'm going for the maximum length I can on a tool called a warping board, a little over 10 meters. With leftover warp, I'll probably get a shawl, but if not, I usually weave warp-end fabrics in the hope that some day I will actually turn them into something usable. (I have a rather large stash of these warp-end fabrics, though.)  

Finally I can make the warp; like many things in weaving, the actual physical work is simple and repetitive. Key here is to pull the yarn off the cones and wind it around the pegs under the same tension for every single end/pair, and count accurately. From the top left to the bottom left-of-center makes one warp end; when I turn round and reach top left again, that's the second warp end. Wind, wind, wind... Can you tell, at this point, it's just a pair of long pieces of merino going around the wooden pegs? If I'm using only one color, an entire warp can consist of one long piece of yarn.

When making multi-colored warps, I cut and tie different colors and keep going, but depending on how I've combined colors, sometimes I make separate warps for each color, then blend them when they go on the loom. 

Some of us use contrasting color yarns, (sometimes loom waste from previous projects,) as counters. There is also the small matter of making crosses, which are super important when we put the warp on the loom, but for now, I'll just show you one; I make them at the start and the end, or the top and the the bottom of the warping board.

I mentioned the unique situation of my house. Yarns come off cones easily when pulled up rather than sideways. There are gadgets to help with this, but conveniently I have a wee landing near a small wall-mounted heater in the hallway, which together works treat. (This heater is very old and and inefficient and we once tried to replace it until I remembered the morning it was supposed to come out that I needed this more than a new, efficient, undinged heater 10cm taller. Also, the heater is in front of the loo, a fact I don't like to advertise, but if needed, I have one immediately behind me.) The cones sit on the landing, yarns are pulled straight up, I stand in front of the board/heater/(loo) so the yarns travel a good distance upward.

I used to listen to music on the boombox, but these days it's more often podcasts, audiobooks or even videos on the laptop, but you can see I have everything I need, including CDs, an ice cream container of loose strings, and tall cup of milky chai.

The rest is just repeating, not even rinsing. The pegs on the warping board may fill up and I may need to split one warp into two "chains" but otherwise, I keep winding and counting. I like to make a warp within the same day so the tension remains the same, but light is the most important element and as I get older I started to have difficulties seeing, (i.e. counting accurately,) under artificial light. If it is a big warp, say 1600 ends, I have to do this over a couple of days because, again, I start to make counting mistakes.

OK, I must get back to winding. More in the life of a warp to come, though.

Dear Me...

I just spent more days than I care to remember in bed because of hay fever, possibly also the Australian bush fire smoke, partially due to bad prescription meds, And because I'm ill-disciplined, instead of reading books, making drafts, I gazed at drawings and dyed fabric on Pinterest some of the time, (not bad,) but read and listened to podcasts on Brexit and Impeachment, (bad!)  I changed my meds regime and quit the antihistamine on my own initiative, on the premise I can tell when something is bad for me, (the meds, not all the screen stuff, :-P,) so today at least I'm not walking into doors and pillars.

We've had rain which usually help, but during and in between we also have strong wind, so in terms of freewheeling particles, they cancel each other.

I've been dying to finish the elephant warp on the big loom, thread the Klik for the another blue blanket sample, and make a draft for an orange-to-yellow cashmere warp I put on an 8-shaft, but haven't been able to, because the antihistamine prevented me from sticking to a thought or operate my body in a more-or-less coordinated way.

Before it got so bad, I managed some dyeing with different degrees of success; you've seen these if we're FB friends.

Ben's summer T-shirt; he wanted a Hyotan gourd shape. It was so out of the left field I had to practice drawing a hyotan several times.  

He wanted a smaller one on the back, but it looks more like a peanut. :-D

I did this in a new-to-me honeycomb method; easy in the first instance but tons of room for improvement. This winter-weight cotton top is thick, so when the fabric goes around the rope it doesn't go on as tightly as I like and there is greater space between the left-white parts. I wonder if I want to do another layer on this, and if so, what will I do?

My summer-weight top, i.e. thinner fabric, goes around the rope more closely/tightly so the "stripes" are closer. I used the same sized rope for these two tops and the fabric below.

This thickish purple gingham cotton was wider than my rope's length, so I had to fold it in half. The dye shows up better in this photo than in real life!

Though the dye pattern is too tentative for my liking, the shibori marks are beautifully present, which makes me wonder if I really want to do another layer of color and lose these. I didn't meddle with this photo; the weather/light has been this changeable for over a week; we even had hair on Sunday. :-D

This is a thinner, narrower piece of cotton, wound around a skinnier rope than the three shown above. This is my favorite because of the busy bubbles, except the center where the bubbles line up too neatly. I've been wondering if I should twist the rope/the fabric to avoid this. Dianne, on the other hand, says, "Really like the contrast, boring otherwise," so there's that. 

All four pieces were in the same dye bath but for different duration and agitation. After I took out all these pieces, I dropped this top to soak up as much color as was left in the dye bath. The horrible purple/pink blotches are less noticeable now, but when I have another blue/navy batch, it will go have another bath. I really regret having played with bleach, even though the top was already old and fading on the shoulder and back. It now needs mending around the cuffs and neck as well, and the thick cotton fabric is turning tough as old, scorched leather.   

Ben's summer weight and the most successful piece has three circles on the back. (Don't ask me why on the back.) 

There is a smaller circle on the right sleeve. All three oroange shirts were in the same dye bath, but this for 35 minutes. 

This was unfortunate. I had a circle of the same size in the middle when I dyed this yellow first, too dull and not showing off the circle as we'd hoped. (C. f. the leaves shirt below.) So I added two circles which were supposed to overlap. but the orange obliterated it, and now the shirt has a permanently stunned look. I am going to do another color on this, but I haven't figured out where to put the pattern, its/their size/s, and the color/intensity of the next color so as not to kill the yellow and orange completely, but make it look more interesting. Any advice appreciated!! This shirt sat in the dye bath for 20 minutes. 

This was a calamity. Remember the lacking-in-contrast-yet-pleasing-shaped result below?

I found a tiny tear at the bottom of the bottom leaf, (not seen in this photo but seen as a white dot in the ruined version above;) I must have caught the fabric when I cut the tying threads but it didn't show up until Ben wore it and I washed it maybe three times. I mended the tiny tear and added two small circles just for fun, and stuck it in the dye bath for 10 minutes. I imagined the mending to blend in with the fabric, and perhaps two vague blobs floating around the leaves. 

Well!! 

Neither happened. This one will absolutely have another layer or two, and I've been staring/glaring at it for hours for over a week but I have no idea how I'm going to go about it. 

I've gotten fussier when I'm stitching/tying, but there's still a lot left for luck, and when I look at photos on Pinterest, I'm amazed how well-controlled and precise many of the designs are. Perhaps I practiced more with thin woven fabric rather than knit garments, my shapes might come out tidier? 

In addition to these do-overs, I have one last white shirt for me, and one thick gray I ruined spilling bleach on one sleeve I want to rescue. I have two small packs of Dylon dyes which is what I have been using all along, but last week I dug into my old dye drawer and found tiny packs of sample colors suitable for cotton, so I hope to use some of those in due course. I also have this crazy idea of making baggy, for-home-only pants for Ben and me and dyeing them bigly and boldly, but I haven't told him yet.

Cultural Appropriation Redux

Since our dinner with Deb, the subject has been on my mind somewhere towards the back of my mind, until it pushed its way forward for a selfish reason. I follow an FB page that lists NZ exhibition and residency opportunities; I saw one that for whatever reason interested me. It was for a residency not too far from Auckland and yet way out in the beachy New Zealand wilderness, where I could well imagine all kinds of ideas/clues run/fly/swim freely if only one could sit long enough or breathe deeply enough to capture/glimpse even just some.

I wondered what sort of application I would write, in order to justify my sitting amidst native trees and listening to native birds. With minimal weaving equipment at best, I imagined my being the only human in my immediate vicinity, (the venue actually sits in a small community,) and because I was working with the elephants at the time, I imagined working with weavable motifs based on leaves. (Even though nature doesn't motivate me as much as humans and human-made stuff, leaves and sometimes trees interest me.)

Bang!

Am I, as a relatively recent immigrant, (25 years the week I was thinking this,) allowed to use native New Zealand anything? Who do I consult, how do I find these people, what I do think/feel in the first place? I imagined a Japanese, having spent a formative decade in the US, now living in New Zealand, proposing to cogitate cultural appropriation would make an intriguing application. (I didn't apply, though, because I was frantic about the elephants, not to mention I've never applied for anything in the arts, this was due in 4 days, and I would need time to huff and puff about what/how to write and then consult friends experienced in these rituals. But I solicited and got some good reading recommendations.)

I recall a decade ago, hanging around art school teachers, it was a burning issue. It's made the regular non-art news from time to time, often about the rest of the world appropriating Maori images and words. These days my vague and unscientific observation is, generally/theoretically, just don't steal; the problem becomes... problematic when applied to individual instances; inevitable, since the issue won't exist without individual instances. :-D

(Rabbit Hole warning: Air New Zealand's abject stupidity this year, a wee "nice" recently - although using Maori language in wider community creates another problem, some MSM being astoundingly terrible. Since we came to New Zealand, it's great much more Maori language, words, is heard in the public sphere, but the opposition in a way have come louder as well.)   

I've wrote about it once more here. I have read a few articles and listened to a few podcasts on the issue over the years, but I'm not (re)reading today; I want to put down what I know/feel before further reading/influences. (There will be race-related stuff.)

* One end of the spectrum tells me anyone can use anything. The other end is stickier: don't use unless it's yours, or, you are of it. But what is it one owns? Who owns it? Who is the rightful arbiter? In my case, I was born Japanese, spent a formative decade in Minneapolis, and started cogitating culture in art context only in the last 20 years in New Zealand. Growing up in Japan, I didn't pay much attention to the arts/crafts but lived there, consuming craft according to personal preference. There, craft tradition is strongly related to region, (e.g. pottery, textiles,) "schools", (e.g. floral arrangement, tea ceremony,) and in my days one had to be born into it or apprentice to become a proper practitioner. So, what of Japanese removed from all these? Expats? Or Japanese-(insert-national-adjective)?

* If I am not of it, if I don't own it, am I not allowed to use anything at all? Had I adhered this end of the spectrum, was I allowed to use elephants in the Sri Lankan context? In this world today, is it possible to avoid "foreign influences"?? And if we are to stick with our own thing only, goodness, wouldn't our making, our lives, be utterly... narrow?  

* In the most general sense, non-White/colonized/weaker communities protesting/complaining loudly is a good thing. As a Japanese Ive been fed up with Hollywoody take on all things Japanese since I was a kid, but we were so used to grinning and bearing without the concept/language for cultural ownership. Cultural appropriation, at its worst, conveys/normalizes/sustains racism/classicism. And then there is the issue of monetary value, which commands more column inches.

On the other hand, how did I learn, and what do I know about, well, anybody else? How do I know I know the right stuff? Who do I ask? And here's a very modern conundrum: if the majority of websites, in English or Japanese for me, says one things, is it closer to the "truth"?

Japanese versions of Western things, unless/until we know better, we understand as "translations" of the original; literature does well on the whole, but I can only speak of originally-English stuff I've compared. Dubbing of films shown in cinemas are trickier. And how about this for your amusement today?

* How much does "culture" contain? For example, I can related to, without knowing the minutiae Maori ownership/love/anxiety of nature-based visual motifs, as Japan has similar attachments, although probably less spiritual. Or do I just imagine I understand?

* Because my end-product from my making is visual in the first instance, am I allowed to read stories/histories/myths and listen to music for inspiration, rather than designing based on something I see? Alternatively, am I allowed to use materials connected to someone's culture if I don't imitate the visuals?

* Where is the line between borrowing and appropriation, or are they the same? Where does appreciation fit? How about things I don't know I remember, something I saw a glimpse of, or more often, can't remember in its "entirety" but only in bits and pieces, which I didn't realize originated in or were connected to someone else's culture?

* * * * *

This week I saw the Met Opera film of Turandot. I looked forward to the music and dreaded being force-fed something nasty over some weeks. I confess I cringed a lot at the multi-cultural mishmash of costumes; I saw proportionately greater Japanese influences, and then was struck how little I know of Chinese sartorial tradition. It wasn't so much Puccini that disappointed me, but that it's the Met, in New York, in this century, this decade. But then, if one doesn't want to "appropriate"/replicate, what does one do? Is modifying enough and if so how much? Where does creativity/originality fit?

Later in the season, there is Madam Butterfly; I've already been squirming for weeks; it is the one example I cite most often as horrifying-est appropriation. Shall I go and cringe at what I see, or not go and imagine the worst?

Baby L's Elephants - a Long Yet Much Edited Recap

I posted about the elephants here, here, here and here, but I'm recording the project as a whole, for the record :-D, since it was my first "biggie" in many years. I'm also copying pics from previous posts so you don't have to click. While I work, I think of multiple issues at once, as I bet you do, but I'm realigning these thoughts by issue for easier reading. 

Back in June/July Ben's colleague P contacted me about a baby blanket due October for another of their colleague K. I knew K was relatively recently married in his native Sri Lanka because when he returned he gave everybody a key chain with decorated wooden elephants. Ben got two and we've had them in the living room as decoration for fear of damaging the paint work or wood if we used them.

This guy is saturated blue-red; the other is orange. I particularly like the decorative paintwork I've seen on elephants on festive occasions.

I explained to P about mine not being "baby" blankets but up to toddlers, something which hopefully accompanies the kids as they climb into their first Big Girl/Boy beds. This was OK with her and she gave me a very generous budget, the reason I thought it was a departmental gift at first. It wasn't. She continued to updated me, first that it was going to be a girl, and later her ETA and delays. I thought I'd have plenty of time, then I was away for a month.  

After I came home from Japan, I looked up images for "Sri Lanka" and found: 1) Sri Lankan textiles are similar to what I imagine as prototypically Indian in color, particularly the use of saturated jewel tone; 2) Sri Lanka loves elephants as her national symbol; but also, 3) their national flower is the blue water lily. I was weaving hellebores as I researched, so my first instinct was to take on the water lilies. I also imagined elephants would be far more difficult. But I changed my mind when Ben put the key chains in front of me; abstraction of an already abstract form shouldn't be too hard? 

Transferring the key chain elephant on to a grid was straight-forward, but pencil marks are too nuanced. I put this piece of paper next to the telly, and we voted several times, then I replaced it with this flatter version for a fairer representation.  

After a few more votes, we settled on the version with a proportionately bigger head and shorter legs, seen at the bottom. 

In the past I wove every blanket double-width, folded at the left selvedge; in 2004/2005, I could manage <>80cm wide on the loom without much trouble. My maximum width progressively, (or regressively?) narrowed over the years, and these days I try to keep it approximately 60cm on the loom.  In double-width weave, this yields mere 120cm before wet-finishing, not a satisfying size for a toddler blanket. Not to mention the elephants would be diluted on eight shafts, as I was not going to weave with two shuttles.  

It was, in a way, no-brainer to opt for three panels on 16 and join them, (thought the weaver who never joined pieces before;) on the other hand, scrupulously (or unscrupulously,) reckless because: 1) my weft would probably wet-finish with inconsistent shrinkage as they had in the past, (see more below,) and 2) my beat is reliably inconsistent. But have you known me to be sensible?

 

The favorite shape was translated into weavable 5-block/3-end patterns. Top row right, second row middle, and bottom row left were ready to be sampled on Klick. 

I auditioned different merino and cashmere wefts while editing the size/shape of the motif for the best proportion. At this stage I was slightly taken aback how big the elephants were, as I had envisioned them to fit inside giant postage stamps. Our favorite, the babies with short legs, is closest to the sample middle of this picture, the upper row in the tall blue and white sample. I also sampled a few different ways of joining pieces.

This is the final shape after I sampled one last sample on the big loom. I made the elephant taller and gave it longer legs to improve the width/height balance, which Ben didn't like; he prefers the shorter legs. I still can't decide if I made the right choice. 

I already had a few cones of 2/30 merino for the warp, but bought a few bright, saturated colors. Because of range of colors and the tried, (only in the weft previously,) soft finish, this was the only warp yarn I had in mind from the start.  

Weft choices followed. I stuck to 2/20 100% cashmere and excluded all other sizes or silk/cashmere, from two sources but manufactured by one company, knowing even with the same size specification, shrinkage and texture varied in the past depending on the color and time of manufacture, sometimes quite a bit. Some had Mom's or my hand-written notes rather than the store label/wrapper so I knew I would have a wide variety of results. I selected the bright, saturated colors and a few pale ones to balance the hue; I had a lot of oranges, reds and purples, not many blues and greens.

In making the warp I avoided colors similar to wefts I chose, to introduce as many colors in the piece as possible. The warp stripes consisted of two yellow-greens, yellow-green+pale marine blue, medium marine blue+teal, two teals, and red+hot pink for boarders. I treated each pair as one end, so 18EPI in the threading, but 36EPI in the reed. 

I made the warp, dressed the loom, and made one last sample as cloth from the big loom is always tighter than those from smaller looms; this is when I lengthened the legs slightly, which made the elephants look older.  

This is me selecting the weft colors for the last piece. I loved the orange, third from the bottom, for example, but I was a couple of grams short so that changed a few things. A burgundy went in instead, which caused all kinds of havoc.

I was careful to readjust the water bottle frequently for the border; this paid off as, for me, the selvedges were tidy. Or so I thought.  

I wove the middle piece first, added the boarder to weave the left piece, and finally moved the boarder to weave the right. About half of the time, I weighed the weft used so I can mix even the colors in smaller balls. Throughout I measure the height of each weft repeat, aiming for 14.5cm, which was... hard. Though all wefts were labeled 2/20, there were such difference in the size, (not a rare occurrence from our main source,) in addition to bad beating. Here, the two in the left had hung downstairs for a few days, while the far right had just come off the loom, so it was longer. Even with inconsistent beating, however, I was surprised all three ended up roughly the same length after resting.

I joined the three pieces with one yellow-green and one teal yarns from the warp. I ignored the start/end of the weft repeats, (i.e. the top/bottom of each row,) but basted, (I thin this is the correct English word,) at the top and bottom of the piece, then the halfway point, then eighth, etc. along the length of the pieces. Then I joined them, picking where the wefts turned, tugging the yarns but not pulling too tightly to make the seam as invisible as possible. Then I hemmed the top and bottom and wet-finished, steam pressed and dried.

 

A is the rogue burgundy that did not full/shrink, and is more or less wrinkled forever. B is a lovely lime green that did not full much, either, but more importantly it had a lamb's wool-like coarseness; disappointing as I had used this color before with good results, but this ball was from Mom's stash.

Worse, the joins were nowhere nearly as tidy as I had hoped, even though they looked OK before washing. In about a quarter to a third of the seams, the wefts had been pulled towards the other piece.  I've not had time to investigate the reason, but one consideration is different tension as joining was done over three days to prevent backaches. Here you can also see how I varied the beat to try to make each row 14.5cm on the loom, too. Yikes. 

After a good part of a day of shock, horror and much woe-is-me-ing, I knew I had to obscure the original join. My first choice from the sample was simple and looked identical on both sides, but since these pieces were already joined, it didn't look identical and in fact rather disappointing on the back. As well, my problems were caused by joining by looping the weft loops at the selvedge, I thought a stitched that hooked around warp yarns might work better. I joined the A-side with the biggest, fattest stitch from the sample, using red and hot pink cashmere so as to accentuate the join.  

The back, though, is decidedly less attractive and not unlike the back of my favorite stitch.

Tuesday, the day of elephant delivery, (the baby had arrived perhaps a fortnight earlier,) started early. I steam pressed one last time, made sure there were no loose ends hanging, folded and sealed, then realized the piece would fit into one of my calico bags, so I put that in the box as well. (I was going to make a big one and give it to them later.) I did a few more rounds of woe-is-me, and finally took a few pictures. The final size was 149cm wide * 144cm long, though it may shrink just a tiny bit further as it had been raining for about three days, while Nelson is usually extremely dry. 

I enjoyed being completely immersed in a project for two months, the last fortnight neglecting even the basic housework. I was pleasantly surprised I could slip into this making mode so easily. The physical toll of the actual weaving was a different matter. I found myself monitoring back pain and energy level, balancing the number of hours I worked vs rested. Rugby World Cup was taking place and I even wondered if athletes lived like this all the time, being so aware of one's body. Mind you, in our case, we did the regular grocery shopping but I didn't cook, so either we ate well when Ben cooked, or grabbed the many, many giant bags of potato chips.

My designs tend to be abstract rather than being about something, (at the top of my head I can only recall two instances of heart-themed weaves, but hearts are abstract?) so that was new. Overall, I did a good job of being a head-down-bum-up artisan.

However, techniques have become insurmountable as I age. My vision is narrower, I run out of steam quicker, and I get physical aches from weaving in a fraction of time I used to weave in a normal course of the day. Surprisingly I'm not less patient, but I forget, and I can remember/concentrate on fewer things simultaneously. And yet my creative imagination is ballooning disproportionately. I don't mind so much that I'm slow and I can only realize a portion of all the ideas in my head, but in a way I'm becoming adventurous/reckless in planning and starting projects I don't know how to finish.  

I can pretend I'm being unnecessarily critical of my work, or that I'm making "art" rather than craft, but that's, (I'm going to swear now,) pretentious bullshit. I have eyes and I see how things are and how they should be. I don't know how else to work after experimenting over the years with tension/selvedge and beating. Being a short person on a large loom may be part of it but there is no more we can do to modify/accommodate the two floor looms. As a Japanese, technical skill is where one starts and I can't forgive myself for scrappy work. I wish my weaving is all parallel and perpendicular and equidistant, but this problems is my every present albatross, and he's getting bigger and fatter!

And yet, I persist. Eh. I got feed back from P and Baby Mama M, and they repeatedly used the word, "speechless". I am interpreting it to mean, "Good job."

* * * * *

I went straight into the next project Wednesday after Delivery Tuesday, and even then I was forgetting much about the elephants. That was eleven days ago, and we've had so much spring gale and pollen I've been no good for anything. I hope I covered everything I'd like to remember here, but if not, meh, I'll reinvent the wheel, (or make the same mistakes,) all over again. The End.

Sample 1

In the weft candidates, I included two cashmeres and three merinos, the first set will make a more expensive end product but I have a few not-whites, and the second I don't have enough of for a blanket, but I wanted to see if my memory of these yarn textures were are merely nostalgic. Of the latter I tested 110/2 (<> 2/16) undyed 100% with scale, 76/2 (no idea) undyed 100% with scale, and 110/2 merino/mohair half and half undyed superwash. All I have left of my oft-used 100/2 undyed superwash is one medium-sized ball, so I didn't "waste" that. As it turned out, these three merinos ended up as soft as my cashmeres, but feel slightly heavier, and thus producing a nicer hand, that big-dog-leaning-on-me feel, characteristic especially of merino with scales. I was surprised how merino/mohair behaved similarly to 100% with scale in this context.

All others wefts were supeprwash merino of various ridiculously thin sizes doubled, tripled, quadrupled and in once case, quintupled. These remained too separated/unstuck even after washing, (i.e. they didn't fluff up,) and they don't look attractive in the long floats. The same could be said of the warp, but more on that below.  

I also preferred not very white wefts to take the edge off the sharp contrast with the warp colors, but if in merino, there was only one clear winner, a newer 76/2 "undyed" 100% with scale. (Second last in the first picture. I put undyed in quotes because I can't remember if this is how it was sold.) I bought these from a garment manufacturer who decided to switch to superwash after getting complaints from customers their garments needed handwashing! When I first bought them, I immediately sampled to compare with the four old merinos and was so flabbergasted by the "dryness" I felt I put the cones on the highest shelf for when I could not get "good" merino any more. Until I sampled the elephants. 

Mind you, there is nothing wrong with these, and doubled in the weft they produce a fluffy blankety cloth, but I can't help noticing a slightly dryer feel, as if the sheep was older or the yarn came from a drought year, or the treatment after shearing was harsher than old favorites. My syperwash merino and merino/mohair are still available, but at $300/$350/kg, completely out of my reach.

I sampled this weft the elephant sample as well and you can see it fluffs up nicely and don't look like two unfriendly strands. In the right sett/pick the A and the B sides appear clearly "opposite". 

Sorry, bad comparison, as I made up the network twill as I worked, I expect to weave in this style; you can tell I was getting tired towards the end, but the bottom two repeats is the same as the top four. Portions in long floats fluff up well. In contrast to the old merino of the same size but using one strand in the weft, once steam-pressed this new merino stays flattened rather than fluffing right up again, which I find annoying.

The elephant warp has 2/30 superwash merino, two strands acting as one warp "end", three "ends" per dent in a six-dent reed; that's 36 strands of yarn or 18 "ends" per inch, best approximation with yarns I have of the trusty 18EPI in old 110/2 merino. I doubled the yarns to act as one in the hopes of creating an airier, (i.e. softer,) cloth. In this last/new sample, I tripled the yarn, and sampled three different setts in the hope of creating an even softer/thicker cloth:

Three strands to act as one end; two ends per dent in a six-dent reed; 36 strands <> 18 EPI in yarn size if in 110/2;
Three strands to act as one end; three ends per dent in a six-dent reed; 54 strands <> 27 EPI in yarn size if in 110/2;
Three strands to act as one end; sleyed 2-3-2-3-2-3 in a six-dent reed; 45 strands <> 22.5 EPI in yarn size if in 110/2.

Doubling the yarn in the elephant warp worked well, and the short floats produced a nice, tight but soft, light cloth. The tripled warp in the last sample feels even lighter/softer, but it lacks the weight I'd like in a blanket for a grownup; they, too, stay separated, and the thicker warp "ends" dilutes the scale of the design. This last is a interesting one because Ben said the end-product being much larger than the usual scarves and shawls, the bigger scale is a good thing; I think he's right but I have to get used to the look. 

Next sample, I'll consider the distribution/proportion of colors in the warp; sample  doubled and tripled warp ends, and single and double strands of the new merino in the weft. I'm adding one more sett to the mix to see if I like the scale of the design better:

Two strands to act as one end; four ends per dent in a six-dent reed; 48 strands <> 24 EPI in 110/2.

Warp colors with cushion cover colors it needs to match, but not exactly, and I want the blanket to be more saturated. And one more problem: I don't have a theme for this, making it hard to focus. I might have dream something up.