Good and Bad being Relative

Yesterday, I wasted a lot of time playing computer games, loitering in the kitchen, but I managed to wind the new tied-weave warp at the end of the day. And that got me back on the figurative loom bench, encouraging me to tidy up the basement a little, assessing my downstairs stash, (I brought down a lot of my default merino and all cashmeres so I can think ahead, and also keep busting Mom's wools and some silks in combination with them,) and generally look forward to weaving in the next little while.

 

Today, I wasted more time gazing at an art supply store's 20% off everything sale, even though I have enough for now and honestly had no intention of buying anything, but I managed to go downstairs to either start threading the warp, or continue weaving a brown piece I abandoned in September. 

This is the brown piece; it's on the four-shaft. In real life it's less gray, true taupe; pretty but unremarkable, more like fabric; very fine I can't see the design well; slow at 25cm/sitting; and the wool warp is sticky. It was Number-something in the series I was weaving with the intention of sending the whole lot to Ukraine, until I stumbled upon the issue of whom/where to send, and postage. But this piece broke my inertia. I didn't even want to look at it for a while. 

 

I tried to get back to it today because I need the four-shaft loom for a possible leaving-work-thank-you present in March; I'm about 83cm into this piece, hooping for 150-180cm, and there is another piece planned for this  short warp. I had "good" notes, so I didn't think it would be a big deal getting back, other than the slowness.

 

Well, sometime before or during my for-Ukraine phase, I gave the loom some TLC, and for whatever reason, possibly because it suited the project I was about to weave, I changed the tie-up. Not a great idea, when I've had the same tie-up since I got the loom in the first few years of this century. 

 

Strangely, I can't remember how it used to be tied, but a) I changed the plain weave treadles either from the outside treadles 1 and 6, to inside 3 and 4, or the other way around; and b) I changed what I call my twill treadles, which was always 1&2, 2&3, 3&4, 1&4 from the left, but stupidly I changed it to 1&4, 1&2, 2&3, 3&4. On top of that, in my notes I always write only my twill treadles. So with the current piece, the order is 4-3-2-3-4-1-2-3-2-1, which would be Treadles 5-4-3-4-5-2-3-4-3-2 if the plain weave sits on the outside, or 6-5-2-5-6-1-2-5-2-1 if it sits in the middle. See what I mean? Of course you don't! I was confused, too. Whereas when I was younger, I would have laughed out loud at my stupidity, in my dottage, (I've been collecting information to apply for NZ pension this week as well,) I couldn't see right away what the difficulty was.

 

And I couldn't remember what I had changed; I vaguely remembered switching back the plain weave to where it should have been; and instead of lifting to see where the plain weave treadles were, which would have taken 10 seconds, I kept weaving to see if the cloth looked right. After some weaving and unweaving, I wove with orange and yellow cotton in the treadling I thought was the correct one, so I can see the design better, but by then I was so frustrated I had to walk away. I want to re-tie to the way it's always been, but my body isn't telling me how it was. 

I thought I'd thread the cotton instead, and I knew the scheme for this project by heart, 1-P-2-P-3-P-4-P-5-P-4-P-3-P-2-P and repeat. Except I started looking at some old tied-weave drafts, thinking about how I wanted the diamonds to appear, and I found an anomaly there, too. This is an easier hole to climb out of because the main thing is to choose the appearance of the diamonds from the drafts I created some years ago. Oh, goodness, what is she on about now?? Well, I'll talk about this more later, but here are some pictures where I hope you see some diamond shapes. 

So, all in all, I made no progress today. Nada.

 

* * * * *

You may have seen the weather has been wreaking havoc on many parts of our North Island. They had one of those once-a-century rain and flooding, and a few earthquakes, and then came Gabrielle. There have even been death this time. Terrible! Meanwhile, we've only had some intermittent rain in Nelson when North Island was flooding, plenty of warning for 100km+ Gabrielle wind, but got a few showers, otherwise eerie quiet. 

 

Now let me move on to the title of this post. Hay fever started early in August this season, and aside from four or five days in August we had the rain and flooding, and an afternoon or three since, we had dry weather with more than usual wind. 

 

Symptoms started mild, which is why I didn't go off caffeine or dairy as I do some years. I was uneasy it started much earlier than usual, but with default meds at the ready, this was going to be an easy year. Until it wasn't. I noticed sometime in October/November the meds stopped working; again this has happened before, but usually much later in the season. The symptoms were still relatively mild, but I couldn't get rid of them regardless of the weather. And then the itchiness of the face, especially around my eyes, started to feel like a dozen paper-cuts; my usual non-descript face cream stung a little; and at times one or both inferior lacrimal puctum (lower tear duct) was/were red, hot, and kind of bulbous and a little painful to touch. That was a first in my 50-year career as a hay fever patient. 

Long story short, the wind kept blowing, the face kept itching, I kept scratching, and the areas around the left eye looked and felt horrible almost all the time. But it's hay fever, right? Sooner or later it's bound to quiet down with the season, yes? Do I really need to go see a doctor? Well, I'll go talk to the nurse next door, but she said the next step may be steroids. Ummm... No! 

 

I got in the habit of washing my eyeballs in the shower, like I used to as a kid after a day in the swimming pool. I hate that, it hurts, but I did. I knew it had something to do with the tear duct, so several times I chopped onions and stuck my nose right into the mound on the cutting board, but be it the eyes or the onions, nothing happened. I swallowed a huge chunk of wasabi paste, too, a trusty emergency hay fever remedy in dire cases, but that only gave me a stomachache. Meanwhile, other I think we had a relatively mild spring and a pleasant start to the summer, weeds growing everywhere and fairly robustly. 

Sometime in December, when my left eye continued to look, at times but not always, dreadful. One morning the right eye decided to match the look, which is when I told myself I needn't feel bad about the weeds, but to stay inside until this thing cleared. That was after another morning I had a hard time opening my left eye in the morning. This decision was a little disheartening but plenty freeing because as bad as our garden always looks, it's been ever so slightly better since Covid with marginally more year-round TLC dispensed. Now it's back to pre-Covid badness. I did contemplate seeing the doctor, but decided against it, again, because after all, it's just hay fever, isn't it? (If it happens again, I might reconsider, though.)

Anyway, last week, we had some rain; this is when North Island had the once-in-a-century rain, before Gabrielle. The air was moist with intermittent showers, temperatures high-ish with little wind; I noticed my left eye had been OK for a couple of days for the first time in six months. The paper-cut like feeling was gone, my face wasn't so itchy. I even worked outside for half a day, though I decided to come in before I overdid it. And it was like that for nearly a week. 

 

Then wind came back, blowing all the moisture away, and with it, my usual symptoms of less concentrated itches, stuffy nose, and sneezes returned. But the eye drops work again! I've never been so appreciative of run-of-the-mill hay fever symptoms, but hurrah for small wins! 

 

And when I chopped onions yesterday morning, at least the right eye filled with tears. 

Still, not a bad life when I find serendipitous harmony: a piece of paper I decorated in January to try to use up some paint and a ceramic bowl Esther gave us for Christmas a few years ago both prove I like blue-and-orange together.  

Further Thinking of Syrie

In early- or mid-February 2020, I hunkered down to reacquaint myself with the long-on-hold Syrie project. I imagined it would be a great 2020 project. I spent a week hunting down my notes, posts, and relics connected to the project; read; relearned; sorted loose ends to keep/discard; re-label relevant posts; and finally started a draft post.

At first it was a good distraction from the yet-named plague, too, which I didn't think would be a big deal in New Zealand, like the others in recent times, but with a lockdown imminent in Italy and the constant reminder diabetics were in increased danger, my attention moved away from the project.
 

My life-long interest in the plight of the Palestinians has remained, but news, and especially still photographs of refugees everywhere, wars in Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, Sudan, Rohingya genocide, the Southern border of USA, and Ukraine, Türkiye/Syria earthquake, and the plight of women in Iran and Afghanistan, strengthen my resolve to work on this project, maybe more than one, while my focus/attention shifts from war to refugees to women's place in society.  

 

For whatever reason I revisit the project, and the draft, this time of year like clockwork. In 2021, I did a massive revision of the draft, ending up with a skeleton of what I had deposited in 2020, erasing the many segue identifying the meandering paths I had taken. To avoid  further culling of my thought-history, I'm posting what's left of the Feb 2020 draft for the record.  

 

* * * * *  

 

 "Syrie" has been on my mind, without urgency but making its presence known, hiding but also making sure I see her face in my periphery vision, or right in front of me blocking my way, sneering at the neglect it suffered, in the form of a small angry girl. I need to record how we got here in order to progress the project.

Origin:
Middle East was often a topic at our dinner table due to Dad's interest in this history and politics of the Middle East, the Holocaust, Palestine, Gaza, Golan Heights. As a kid, I was aware modern turmoil was never discussed in my convent school, even as we studied biblical Levant. As a youngish adult I was for a year a translator at the Syrian Embassy in Tokyo, a month after Syria ousted Palestinians to Lebanon.

I've wanted to work on a project based on all Dad taught me, what I've subsequently learned, how history continued in that region, but I wasn't sure what to focus on, and what to make on a loom. Then came Arab Spring, when I genuinely thought we were witnessing one giant step forward, but it was instead followed by a spate of government retaliation, military coups, and civil wars. Which as you recall lead to explosive numbers of refugees in all directions, citizen groups helping as well as opposing them, but in the worst instances, the media reducing their plight to a handful of photogenic children. 

 
Buildings and Windows:

Early on, I was irate when image search of "Syria" yielded photos of eerily silent, almost interchangeable achromatic photos of city scape, buildings and rubble. (I should have kept screenshots, because in 2021 the situation is different.) Not that I wanted to see them, but I found so few of crying, screaming, bleeding, fleeing, and dyeing people; only the bombed out buildings.

I observed how the media covered Syria and the subsequent refugee crisis, and began contrasting what they reported vs. what they showed. I didn't record what I observed, but I grew more aware of the emotional manipulation and twisting of the coverage. 

 
Silent photos of the charred buildings stuck in my mind, and this is how I started developing my first idea of tall buildings with gaps where windows used to be. Rather than a monochromatic, monolithic, clean version in the news coverage, I wanted to use all the colors of flames/fire for the walls of the burning building, and gray and black for the windows for the absence of humans and noise. I also contemplated inserting shadows of humans or ghosts in the windows, or spilling out of them.  Not all the panels/buildings would stand straight up, some would be falling uncomfortably on top of the viewers, while others will have fallen and crumbled and obstruct the viewers' path. The media went with the silent photos, I was aiming for the bloody, sooty, loud, messy, smelly uncomfortable version.

This would also be an easy transition from Pillars visually and technically; the buildings could be in fancy Syria-inspired twill, (Umayyad Mosque, shell-inlay, Damascas Ware patterns, Palmyra archeology...) which would have taken some time to work out, but all structural elements, panels and the windows, would be rectangular.

Refugees:
Following the Middle Eastern and African refugee influx into mainly Europe, (as covered by MSM) came refugees on the Southern boarders of the US, child separation, families divided, records "lost", separate deportation, babies on trial, sicknesses and deaths, "undocumented", dreamers, aliens, (I was a legal alien for a decade,) documents, testimonies, words, how law categorizes/labels humans. How the heck does a babe in diapers testify in court in a foreign language? However you categorize, each and every human has a life story. How do we record them?  

I started to see another option for the project. I became obsessed with visualizing a two-year-old's testimony in court: how does the court stenographer type it? What does it look like printed out? I see a lot of spit, /m/ and /b/, blank terrified stares, chubby finger pointing, perhaps. I smell milk and pee and maybe even a little sick. 

I tried to visualize ways I could represent great number of refugees' stories, their testimonies. A big red, (blood, but why?) scroll with text lines in charcoal/black, sometimes mixed with childish doodles. And drools. Perhaps maps. Texts/lines in different languages, sizes, orientations. Maybe many smaller "pages", perhaps even bound in a "book". Perhaps with torn/burnt, or missing parts. For exhibitions, I do like to submit whopping big pieces, as large as the venue allows.

How much research am I willing to do to learn other languages and scripts, albeit in a narrow context?  *Do I search the Internet for real stories?

*How about the bureaucratic intermediaries' influences? 

*How accurate are their recollections? Have the stories changed in the retelling? Have details been forgotten?  

*Have the stories been colored by other factors, like difference in perspectives, influence of accompanying adults, interpreters and other government workers? 

*Border/social worker/interpreter/bureaucrat may not have the cultural understanding, in part or as a whole; have they maliciously changed the stories?

*What about the untranslatables?

*What constitutes the true testimony? 

 

Does the languages/scripts need be real? How about acemic writing?Is it still true if only represented in acemic writing?

 

What about that old idea of hiding codes in the structure of weaving?

The Name:
I wrote previously I call this project "Syrie" temporarily to get away from the 1980s American "Syria/Libya=Bad" mentality. Of course, Syrie is French; France colonized the country, which brings a whole different set of baggage, but for now, it's a handy, symbolic label that covers all kinds of thoughts/ideas/feelings associated with this project, so I shall keep it until I need a different one.

Brown Serviettes/Table Napkins and Kitchen/Tea Towels

This warp took a bit longer, but I'm finished. 

 

I wove two tea towels, one being extra long, and 10 serviettes, warp end piece shorter than the rest. From a 10m warp, I thought I'd get heaps, which is why I started with tea towels, but it was darned close at the end. Good thing I didn't weave more towels! At another time, in another headspace, I'm thinking of making an ultra short warp, or a skinny one, to use these up the rest of cottolin and some cotton to make useful things. These yarns make wonderful pieces, but they are dusty weaving and, goodness me, winding on the pirns, I'm happy to take a break for now.

These were woven with the same Swedish cottolins, 394 ends, 21EPI, just under 47cm wide on the loom, 40.5cm after wet finish, hot regular machine cycle, double rinse. They are rather genteel-sized serviettes; "Afternoon Tea Serviettes" if folks still lead that kind of life, but too robust in texture. What can I say, I made them, so they are functional. Ben thinks they can be used as lunch mats. 

For serviettes, I like no plain weave showing on the A-side, but to add that extra length, I hemmed it like tea towels. When I was pressing the very last piece, I realize I could have added warp ends to the two selvedges to add another inch to the width. Talk about too late! :-D
 

It may be difficult to detect, but I managed eight different color orders. (It's hard for me to see, holding them in my hands, too.) I had two weft colors, B and C, of large spools and two, A and D, smaller. Each serviette had 16 weft "repeats" (strictly speaking, not repeats, but variations; is there such a term as treadling blocks??) Using three colors in a piece, the color used in the first block and the last were the same, so I came up with eight ways to combine them, with B or C at the start/finish, so eight pieces are similar but not identical: 

 

  B-A-C-B-A-C-B-A-C-B-A-C-B-A-C-B

  B-C-A-B-C-A-B-C-A-B-C-A-B-C-A-B

 

and so on. Piece #5, I thought I'd be cleaver and weave backwards, (from the bottom of treadling,) which made it just in the reverse order of weaving from the top, Piece #3. Duh!

 

The previous lot of towels were slightly gappy at 21EPI, and I read on FB someone was planning towels at around 5 per 10cm, 25EPI, but these being serviettes, I stayed with 21EPI for softness. 

The two tea towels. The orange is ours, pure stash-busting, and I used up two oranges; I had to use some thrums for one. The four browns: my sister has been a pottery enthusiast forever, who, like my brother and I, started her dream hobby in her 40s. Her personal favorites are natural, earthy colors. In her clothes as well. For ages, I thought I'd like to weave a piece of cloth for her to put her work on when she photographs her pieces; I vaguely imagined undyed and naturally colored wool. I was thinking about that again when she sent me a care package a fortnight ago, and, one day while weaving I looked down at the current project. She may be a more plain weave kind of a girl, with less busy colors, but now at least she has one option.

Onwards!

2023 Resolution

When I was a kid, we had to announce our resolution/s to the parents in the morning of New Year's Day before we received New Year Money. Our resolutions weren't critiqued, nor was progress monitored, but not being able to announce one, or two, or five, was met with scorn. Well into my adulthood, I thought seriously about what I hoped to achieve in the coming year, starting around December 1. From memory, (though mine is super dodgy,) 2022 was the first time I had none and I didn't even fret about it. So, I was a little surprised when I woke up on New Year's Day this year and thought, "Yes, in 2023, I will get rid of stuff."

It came not from some abstract notion of decluttering but pragmatism, because I was having a hard time cleaning this house. Getting rid of stuff doesn't just mean discard; it means use up; use and don't replace, or replace with one rather than three; plus give away/donate/recycle. And I'm serious because, other than the kitchen and my closet, we have not cleaned our abode thoroughly, completely to my hearts content since probably the start of the pandemic lockdown. (We did a cracking job of the garage a year ago, but never got to Ben's tools because he just didn't feel like it. That quadrant is plagued with old cobwebs as a reminder.)

As such, I was pleased I got to work right away, starting small but rather consistently, discarding things we kept because they could be made into something interesting, but which for whatever reason had not been put away. And ceramic dishes and cups I broke but didn't have the heart to throw away just yet. At the same time, although tiny, I used up a few watercolor and acrylic paint tubes and mediums. (On another crusade, I'm trying to wean myself off of acrylic paint/mediums, and fancy pens, except perhaps a few gel pens.)

Then came that fateful last Monday. Ben and I had a moment. We admired, held our breaths, flittered hither and thither, whispered, stepped back, sighed, caressed, and had to make sure our feet were still on the ground. It lasted 80 minutes. 

See, we were going to drop off some lemons at Esther's, then go to the supermarket, and rush home so I can weave. Except she was in the front room, saw us and came out, in a handsome olive green mask, and lamented we were still in a self-imposed semi-lockdown, else we could have had a look at her pottery. I don't remember what I said, but half a nanosecond later, we were in her shed. I can't even remember if I asked Ben what he wanted to do. It was so easy to break our own rules. (Also, we hadn't seen her in person probably since late 2021.) We made ourselves terribly comfortable examining her work, opining, comparing, and ogling, and long story short, we came away with beautiful plates, bowls and cups. 

It's not that I didn't think about where we would store them. I was aware I was un-ridding stuff. I felt an acute shame how much I loved these "material things". And yet, and yet, her work is captivating. I could not suppress stories arising from somewhere inside me about the pieces. I was definitely on some kind of a high, but also appreciated the pieces dispassionately. 

 

And, oh, what joy they have brought to our home. Dinner these days start with Ben and I selecting which dishes we want to use. Together or alone, we take them out of the cupboard to admire them. And we smile. I used to be a staunch "sets" person, but Nelson being a pottery town, it's not rare to be invited to a table set with an eclectic mix of local ware. We, too, have collected these last 25 years; it suits my broad taste well. We liked what we collected so far, but I'm convinced her pieces upped the quality of our collection a few notches.

 

Plus, she's a darn good vegetarian/vegan cook and a superb baker, so we can't help hoping our cooking skills will improve by osmosis.

I've come to the conclusion objects that bring so much joy, make us think and discuss, (quite late into the night,) beauty and utility and colors and weight and texture, cannot be bad; that longing for such objects cannot possibly be anything but good. And if you think I'm hyperbolic, have a look at Ben; maybe it's hard to tell from his laid back demeanor, but something has changed in the way he looks at things, the way he talks about objects. And, oh, what a gift that is. 

This matte black plate with skinny stripes immediately evoked how I feel ab out my fussy twill; I had never felt a direct connection between something, anything, and my weaving before.

As for the resolution, well, thank goodness there are 11 more months to this year.

EDIT: Esther's Instagram, (which hardly does her breadth justice, but a taste.)  She also sells a small number of work at The Suter Store.

Passing

Before I started selling scarves in a gallery, a potter friend told me to never gift my scarves, nor to sell at "mates rates", because scarves where what I made to sell. I adhered to the first rule rather strictly, while the second, slightly less so for commissions pieces.  

I changed my mind about gifting five or so years ago when I discovered an Internet friend was dying of multiple heavy-duty illnesses, while being taken care of at home by his former-nurse wife. The timing followed Mom taking care of Dad, and quite a few friends and family being in the thick of it for their partners or parents. Anyone can guess how hard it is to be ill, but not necessarily how hard it is to care for someone 24/7 without a whole lot of help. 

Anyway, I withdrew a piece I called, "Mother of the Bride" from a gallery, (it was woven on the same warp as a bridal present commission,) and together with a warm, casual, short/wide, (perfect for under a cardi,) plaid piece, gifted them as Hers and His. 

I probably heard back from the Her right away electronically, but what I can't forget is a card I received sometime later, when she wore Hers at her granddaughter's wedding, reporting it became properly a "Grandmother of the Bride" piece. How sweet! 

 

She was great about updating His public, (they had lots of friends,) and they live/d life to the fullest whatever it threw at them for another half a decade.

* * * * *

Friends' mother had been unwell for a while, but declined rapidly in the last year. I'd never met her or her husband, but they live/d just down the road from me; even at my slow pace I could probably walk over in 15 minutes. I had offered our services during lockdown and afterwards, so this couple was always on my mind; so much so I often look/ed in the direction of their house and wondered how they are/were faring, even though friends had things so well-organized we were never called upon.

Anyway, she grew frailer last winter, so, again, I pulled out a comfy His, (similar style to the first His,) and finished a cashmere that had come off the loom but was left unfinished, and gifted them.

Not only did I receive a nice email from her, friends often told me what the mother said about her scarf, I almost felt as though I was there in her house. Apparently she wore it all the time, even in bed as I prescribed, and she treasured the lightness.

* * * * *

The first He, and the second She, passed away on the same day at the end of last year.
 

Awfully lot of friends, Internet friends, family of real life friends, and weavers I know (of) passed away in recent years. I miss them at different times in different ways. It's impossible to comprehend where they went; some don't feel gone at all. Come May, Dad will also l have been gone ten years, but I still imagine him walking around quietly, minding his own business, in our old house that's also been gone half a dozen years. In their absence, I must be good to the ones still around, and make the most of my time using up the stash.

When the Kids Leave Home

Very early on in my weaving life, I wove, probably on a rigid heddle, a spacy, gappy "shawl" using multi-colored fancy yarns with super skinny bits and large colorful bubbles. The ideas was to position these bubbles in a grid, although I couldn't articulate it at the time, let alone have the skills to execute the plan. 

 

I meant it for one girlfriend, who is tall, for one thing, but is more innovative in how she dresses herself than I would ever be. The moment I gave it to her, she scrunched it up and wore it as a scarf. I was startled, but impressed she knew instinctively what to do. The width of the piece suited her longish neck, certainly far better than my normal flat scarves; it was warm because of all the air pockets; and it was far too short for her to wear as a shawl. (I lengthened all my wider pieces thereafter.)

 

What a valuable lesson for a new weaver: once you give it to someone, it's theirs, and the piece takes on a life of its own in their hands, whatever I visualized while I made it. I imagine it must be like having your kids leave home. Parents do the best to prepare them for life outside the home, but once they leave, whatever success they achieve, even in unexpected (to the parents) ways, it's on them.

 

* * * * *

 

Every so often I like to watch the clip of Vincent being taken to Musée d'Orsay by Doctor Who and Amy. It doesn't hurt that Matt Smith is my favorite Doctor, or that Bill Nighy is one of my favorite actors. It is a well-choreographed tearjerker, made complete by Tony Curran's astonishing transformation into Vincent; I can't help feeling moved every tine.

 

But the episode doesn't end there. Vincent is dropped off at "Arles", (they combined Arles and Ouvers as one place,) and the Doctor and Amy rush back to the museum to see if Vincent lived longer and produced more paintings. Amy is disappointed he still died after "Wheatfield with Crows", (still disputed if this was the last canvas he painted,though.)

 

I see this as a nice bookend to maker's making. We can project anything we like to artwork or artist, even cook up an elaborate scheme like time travel, to try to convince an artist something they may not know, but we "know" though passage of time, but the artist remain true to themselves and will make/do what they see as best. I can't explain it better, except it's not just about tangible objects but writing/poetry/music/performance also. Something made takes a life of its own, independent of the maker.

 

* * * * * 

 

Of the five blue/yellow/gray tea towels I gave to friends, four are being used for different purposes; I was sent beautiful pics of two. The fifth, I bet, is super busy drying dishes and wooden spoons every day.

Colors of 2023

Sometimes, around this time of the year, or today to be specific, I often write a summary of the passing year, sometimes across multiple posts. In one way I did that last September, and in another way, this year, the latter half in particular, was terribly sucky for me, but because of that, I had spurts of productive periods, too. I'm having a hard time summarizing the different aspects, so I'm going to tell you about one thing I did: my mental health paper work.

There was no one reason why the year was so sucky, but small and mid-sized issues came at me one after another, sometimes in multiples. I suspected mild depression, but I didn't have my usual telltale sign of raising my eyebrows to open my eyes. I think anxiety may have been the main issue; I haven't read much about anxiety, so that's the next homework.

On top of that, I had the longest hay fever season I can remember, (five months and counting.) I experienced problems with my eyes I've never had, and although the weather has improved and the winds not as fierce in the last... couple of weeks, heavy duty symptoms return regardless, like today. I spoke with my nurse friend, who said the next step is steroids. Yikes. I didn't do myself any favor by not giving up caffeine and dairy, either; this really helps reduce symptoms, but I couldn't give up little pleasures while feeling depressed. At one point, I decided to stop worrying about weeding, compartmentalize my life, and concentrate on indoor things.

Last weekend, I cleaned and refilled my watercolor palettes and half pans. I never imagined it would take two afternoons, but it did, and I found it meditative, like Japanese "gokuyoh", thanking tools for the year's work. I used up four colors, but I still have a whole lot of colors in "Western" watercolor, (called transparent watercolor in Japan,) Japanese watercolor, (between transparent and gouache,) and gouache, all thrown in one ice cream container. (A dear friend sent me over 40 tubes when her son moved out and they had a big clean out a few years ago. He, too, used only certain colors in school; many had never been opened.)  I have more greens in the pans for next year, because I've grown less antagonistic towards them, and all the browns went into a smaller palette of their own; I still have so many browns. Very soon, perhaps before the middle of next year, I must buy some yellows. For now I'm sticking with student-grade paints.

In January I signed up for Mary Ann Moss's Sketchbookery. I started out enthusiastically, (top left spread,) but I found it difficult. I knew what I wanted to draw, but I resisted and tried to stick to what I considered assignments. Silly me, when do I ever follow recipes? 

 

I started doodling the Bard's face to relax; it's something I've done from time to time in the past, (I found some paint samples on which I drew a couple of years ago,) and soon, that became my main thing. And then I quit. I thought about sketching from time to time, but didn't want to try. And yet, when anxiety became too much, when depression or hay fever made it impossible to think, I returned to the Bard; when I recovered, I quit. In a few weeks, I was back again.

The kind I like the best are (near) blind contours, the wonkier the better. But because I worked on tiny notebooks most often, my lines fell off the page all the time, so I didn't do as many blind contours as I intended. I never aimed for realism, so everything I drew are wonky. I also drew, blind or otherwise, about 75% of them with my non-dominant left hand. I also tried coloring in in flat colors, and from time to time, staying inside the lines.

As I got more used to watercolor, et al, I started mixing colors as well as putting one color on top of another. I got some fabulous colors, but "doing it" being the focus, I didn't keep records so I can't recreate them, same as my cooking.

I had some attractive combinations, and was every so pleased with myself when I made a warp based on one on a whim. There are many more on the pages. In all, as much as I was able to count, I drew 518 Bard faces this year. They are so fun to look at, and I have no intention of stopping, just not top priority, unless that's required again.

And here we are. Farewell, good riddance to icky, sucky 2022. Fair befall us all in 2023.

The Ukraine-Color-ish Kitchen/Tea Towels

The last time I talked about this project was a month ago. Well, the project went well, and quickly for my old-sloth pace; nine pieces were woven, hemmed, washed, etc., by Tuesday afternoon. One, white, piece left home on Monday morning as an emergency Thank You gift, and another, blue, is about to. If you follow MegWeaves on FB, you may be sick of hearing about these; I, on my part, had so much fun posting frequently, which doesn't happen with scarves and such. 

Of particular interest was how the medium pale gray appeared like silver when combined with orange wefts on the loom. It was so beautiful I hyperventilated while weaving these pieces, but of course this being unmercerized cotton and linen, it looks 100% medium pale (dull) gray now. It was interesting to observe nevertheless. I'm used to how yellow mercerized cotton appears metallic when combined with blues and some greens, but not the sudden sheen in gray, in cottolin to boot. 

The construction was rough, even compared to some of my past towels. Or maybe they start to look not so bad after several dozen washes? I was careful, but also dying to get these done and move on. 

To, well, the last of my towel warps, in... all browns! It's a slightly narrower warp than this one, and the color distribution is symmetrical, but number of ends, not. What was I thinking in 2014?! I figured I got the hang of towels now, I might as well use up as much Swedish cottolin as I can and be done with it for the time being. I'm not sure where to buy them in New Zealand any more, and they are super expensive, so if I want to make more towels, I might look for something else. 

And this is all the cottolin I have left, plus two 100% cotton, and leftovers from a few other projects. 

It was a fun stash-busting project, and these are ever so useful. And this was the last piece from the warp, a bit shorter than others, but real stash busting.

I am posting from a new laptop. And with it I've had to learn a simple but new-to-me photo editor. The pics may look a blurry or crooked or weird, and as I learn more, I may swap old pics with a better-edited one. Meanwhile, please mind the gap.

Retirement Gift

At the start of my life as a weaver, well, actually a bit before that when I wasn't weaving much but trying to imagine what life would look like as a maker as opposed to an office worker, I had a couple of lists which I kept for a couple of years. One was a list of words/phrases I hoped would describe my weaving: elegant, exquisite, expensive-looking, fine threads... I don't remember much else, but it had up to a dozen words; I occasionally changed it, and I occasionally ran a mental check of a planned project to see if some of the words applied. I didn't cancel the plan even if it didn't, because "fit for purpose" was a higher priority, but it gave me a vague sense of direction or "shape" in this brave new world where every single decision was mine. 

 

Another list was scenes/occasions I imagined where my pieces would appear. Birthday/holiday present, collage graduation present, first-paycheck/Thanks-Mom present, wedding present, anniversary present 10th vs 20th, (because back then I thought being married for 20 years was such a big occasion towards, ahem, the end of one's life!) And then it got more involved: 

 

* Is this a date or isn't it? - First walk on the beach; she is wrapped in a not-new piece; emotional shield??

* Work night date - urban scene; she is running in heels and work suit; dusk, possibly raining; a special night for a professional couple. 

* Couch/TV - First staying-in date. Rom-com? Foreign language? Conspiracy? SciFi? Who's choice?
* Couch/foot rub - another big family celebration successfully hosted; everybody's gone home; dishes done; vacuuming tomorrow. Watching and not watching late-late-night B-movie, quietly together, but basking in the moments of the day separately.

* Dignity/Nostalgia - nicely dressed older woman at the head of a long table on a family occasion, possibly autumn, wearing a piece given to her many years ago. Does it look somewhat dated, or ageless? Widow??? 

 

You get the picture. I had loads of these vivid pictures, and they not only helped me plan, but made all the steps in weaving fun, because I could see and feel the cloth. Now that I've written about it, I have got to return to this method, rather than getting bogged down with values and drafts and such which feels all so... impersonal. 

Anyhoo, I was in my early 40s and the majority of protagonists were... 30s/40s, and their bodies were lighter and spirits brighter. 

In the decade I sold my work through galleries, gallerists were very kind in letting me know whatever they knew about the purchasers, and in some cases, their purposes. I discovered many were as souvenirs from New Zealand, either for themselves or someone else, so I started specifying "NZ wool" and "NZ merino". Besides, my prices are more affordable when converted to many foreign currencies.

Of the pieces purchased by Kiwis though, via galleries or from me directly, an overwhelming majority have been as leaving/retirement presents, and those responsible for purchases representing a group, the inquiries/correspondences are slightly more involved. And I love it! I get to share a little bit about how I designed it, the characteristics of the cloth, (you know me, "sleeping baby", "big dog leaning on your leg", "wet". That stuff.) It's so hard not to be too gushy. And now I've reached retirement age had I stayed in office jobs, I have been feeling an especially warm connection to purchasers looking for retirement presents. 

A recent purchase was for a nurse who started working right after she finished nursing school. I picture a woman about my age. I picture her working at a selfless, honorable job while I was fluffing around at college, fluffing around at office jobs, and fluffing around at home experimenting with "being a weaver". But most of all, I think of the last three horrendous years at the end of her career. And not just her, but her colleagues, the entire profession, including the person who got in touch with me after an image search. It's been a very humbling few days.

Retirement; not retirement; retirement.

Purples

I've always liked purples, on the blue side, pale and dark, though I don't recall friends/family telling me they liked it, too, until I got older. In the last year or so, I've had three inquiries about purple pieces. So is it more popular now? Have you looked for, or had inquiries? 

The piece sold from the shop page this week was an interesting one. And I'm going to confuse you a little because a) the photos don't demonstrate well what I mean, but I didn't want to manipulate them to make a point, and b) I'm not separating the idea of a piece of cloth looking "more" purple; from another idea of the cloth "popping with colors", i.e. not looking flat very well. Sorry. But I'm in a rush to put down these thoughts before I forget. 

 

I couldn't remember what I used in the warp, I had a very close look when I gave it the last steam press. It turned out I used the same 30/2 merino in the warp and the weft, and for the warp I paired navy blue with medium blue, lighter blue and a medium-light green. (So every other warp end is navy.) I made stripes with these three "colors", though I couldn't remember the order, nor whether the stripes were uniform in width. (To be honest, it's a really rare thing that I can't remember making any warp.) 

 

I can't remember if I made the draft for this warp, but it's more likely I recycled one, or modified an old one to fit the width of the stripes, because, how do I describe this, the center of the pattern stripes seem to sit in the center of color stripes. The weft in this piece is hot pink. 

What I discovered, though, I'm not sure if I can convince you from lat my photos, as I said, but it was a surprise and a lesson to me.

From memory, this is a view of the piece hanging on my front doorway on a sunny day. 

This is taken inside the house, away from the outside sun, and the color maybe closer to real life. Though the same yarns, the mid- and lighter-blue and the green shimmer in real life, which is why I had to make sure the warp was merino, and not possum/merino/silk. The current header photo at the top is of the same piece, too.

 

The issue was, the customer was looking for a purple piece, and I had none, but she was interested in this, and if it proves unsuitable, could she exchange? I informed her this is more hot pink, but with the blues in the warp, had an overall purple appearance. I had nothing else close to purple, and nothing similar in style/price, so I would be happy to refund, but could not exchange. 

 

I might have stressed the fact it's hot pink, because I didn't want to surprise when the parcel was opened. (I guess it also reflected my prejudice against hot pink; I expected others to be shocked. Although I'm the one who chose to weave with it, and it's not a bad combination... Just... pink.)  

I thought that's when the conversation ended and it was up to her to decide. Then Ben came home, and he pointed out: 1) it's not a bright hot pink, but a darkish one; 2) because of all the blues in the warp, the overall look is purple, possibly a more "animated" (my word,) purple; and 3) depending on the person, it might be a good "cheer me up" piece.  So I sent her one last email, clarifying I didn't want to pressure her, but here was another point of view from another pair of eyes.

When the piece is in movement, (I often do this gentle swaying of my scarves to see the cloth in movement,) it is a livelier purple, less flat, in a way more purple when in motion than a piece with a purple weft. 

This was the piece with a purple weft, though here it looks redder than in real life. I recall this piece looked darker/deeper over all, as if the purple and navy were playing off each other, and showed off the sheen in the blues and green of the warp but cloth looked flatter, and "dark" more than "purple". 

Because I no longer have either of the pieces with me, I can't explain this further except from vague memory, sorry. But my thought returned to the choice of making a color using just one color/yarn vs combining variations of hues, values and sheen to make up one color. Interesting, don't you think?

Apropos not exactly of purple thoughts swirling in my head, this was a piece with black merino in the warp and purple cashmere in the weft. The overall appearance was very dark and I had a hard time photographing the design without turning the purple too pale for the purpose. 

Every color/hue merits deep dives, but purple is mysterious to me. The piece arrived at the customer yesterday, but I haven't heard the verdict. Fingers crossed, friends.