Reality

The "heady" me thinks I live life recklessly and stupidly; the hedonistic me thinks Heady is all talk and no action; the two feel annoyed and embarrassed by each other. On a rare occasion, they agree; in this particular case, they are both terribly embarrassed.

At the opening of Craft 08, I was horrified by the "waves" in my hung pieces. These were woven in frenzy prior to Re:fine selection and I don't remember much about the tension, but I do remember it was terribly humid on the day I pressed and packed them for Craft 08, so I asked if I could come and press the three pieces and hang them again; Deb Hunter said yes.

First thing Monday I went to Refinery to press the three shawls and employ wee tricks to make them appear straight and flat. I was relieved they didn't look as bad as I remembered when I arrived, but it still wasn't a good look. (If you have good tension, and use a drum, you won't know what I'm talking about. Basic stuff, but I struggle with it sometimes.) Deb helped me hang them again, and we got a little trigger-happy and over-corrected them. The two larger pieces seemed to be shouting, "We're terribly warped, so we've been Botoxed," when I left.

I went back today to see how they were doing, and they weren't as bad as I remembered. As it appears often to be the case, things are never as bad as I imagine them to be. Nevertheless, this is an area I desperately need to improve.

That is my ironing board in the corner; these two are awaiting Botox. They are possum/merino/silk both ways, my chunky rugs.

On Not Being an Artist

This is where I'm a weaver/craftsperson/artisan, and not quite an "artist".

In two weeks, I will be going to a weekend workshop on designs. For the course, we've been asked to research a subject, i.e. collect visual material, take notes, write impressions, perhaps even draw or do collages using different media. We are free to choose a subject, but it needs to relate to landscape; it can be an interior, or even an imagined one, but a landscape.

So while I wasn't feeling great, I toyed around with the idea of investigating the interior landscape of a depressed mind. Seriously! I didn't think it would make a visually stunning research, but I thought it might help me understand where I am; you know, along the lines of gathering material from one's childhood experiences or attacking the decline of social mores in one's work. I started reading up on van Gogh and Munch for starters.

Well, that was last week. I think it was a hideous idea, and this is where I'm not an artist but am firmly in the other category: I'm interested in weaving beautiful textiles, not questioning, attacking, demonstrating or otherwise influencing your thinking in any way. I want my pieces to be nice to look at, not trying to get inside your head.

And then I thought, even if I ended up with an ok design, would you ever want to touch a shawl or a scarf, let alone buy it, if I told you I arrived at the design while investigating the landscape inside my head during a depressed spell? Gee wiz.

Artists do strange things. I remember going to our favorite potter in Marlborough. She's known for quirky shapes and bright colors, but one time she had just finished an exhibit and had brought all of her work back. Most were black and white or some such, with amoeba-like designs painted all over them. Now, even though I am drawn to amoebas, the potter made the mistake of telling us she'd been fascinated by illnesses and germs!! Needless to say, we didn't buy any plates or bowls that time; come to think of it, we haven't been back to see her since.

And the landscape research; I haven't thought of anything else yet.

Art-Form Envy

I can't draw or paint, so in my youth I tried photography; I still enjoy it as a hobby but I never worked hard enough to become more than a hit-or-miss armature, and in my pre-auto focus days, my eyesight became too big of an obstacle.

I like the structural restrictions loom-weaving presents and am comfortable working within these limits. Having said that, sometimes I suffer from art-form envy, art forms of the more "freehand" persuasion, and the people who can work in those forms. Initially I envied those who could draw, paint, make prints, sculpt/carve, and make jewelry; then I envied milliners, textile mixed-media artists and felters, but most recently, (though loom-weaving is definitely the art-form of my choice,) I've been envying the free-spirited creativity seen in visual diaries and crazy-imaginative bookbinding, (the last being a composite of visual diaries, scrap-booking and bookbinding.) I have a hard time thinking outside the square, so some of the books I've seen on these subjects boggle this tiny mind.

My visual diaries are practical; they are more notes and doodles to remind me how I did something, or wobbly line drawings of outcome I hope to achieve from my projects. And because I can't draw or paint, my books are bulging with magazine clippings and photographs, fabric swatches, yarn samples, and occasionally, leaves and feathers. Naturally, my books are spiral-bound.

I still pine for those seductive, gentle pages awash in watercolor and drawn in ink, though, and would love to try it. So quite separate from my normal visual diaries, I bought a hard-covered sketchbook today. It might take five or ten years to fill it up, but I think I'll give it a go. Mind you, this is going to be strictly for-my-eyes-only unless I decide I want to give you a good laugh.

Do you keep artwork-like visual diaries?

Liz Kendrick

Liz Kendrick sings with my mate Kath Bee in their adult-contemporary duo Zilk, and in their fabulous foursome, The Nancies. (She's the tall one, in the black skirt.) But she's also a funky jewelry maker.

When she rang last year to order a shawl for a friend and asked if we could do a swap, I was worried (because I don't wear jewelry) and excited (because Liz is so lovely and funky), but I went ahead anyway, because I'd decided I never want to miss a chance of interacting with other artists.

With the shawl, I had a couple of new experiences. The first happened while listening to Liz tell me about the giftee Warren. During a face-to-face conversation, I usually pick up clues from facial expressions and body language, but on the phone, especially with someone I don't now well, I concentrate on the words and the facts. However, even though I didn't know Liz too well, I was so used to listening to her and picking up her voice during performances that I was hearing nuances and I became aware of feeling surrounded by Liz's voice. (And, oh, what a lovely voice it is!)

I took a lot of notes that evening, and doodled a little, but felt overwhelmed by the amount of information; I didn't collect any more facts than I normally do, but the depths of friendship don't come through on normal phone conversations or emails usually. That was Friday night. On Sunday morning, I woke up with the exact picture of the piece, and the rest was almost mechanical. Well, besides the unplanned tension problem. Anyhow, enough about me.

In January, Liz was part of an exhibition called Klustre at the Refinery so I went and had a look at her work. They were funky, styles I would usually not consider, but I was excited about having something made for me that I might never have chosen myself.

I've been interested in brooches these last few years, because they seem most complementary to textiles. We discussed a design for a brooch that won't catch easily, kept the contemporary feel of her pieces in Klustre, and smaller than her normal pieces because I'm short. Other than that, I picked every option that felt counterintuitive.

This week Liz popped into Sue's Gallery with the piece photographed above. The silver is shiny and smooth (the colors seen in the photo is a reflection of the woodwork,) whilst the copper part is dull and spiky (though filed down more than it appears). I adore the amoeba-like center (I've always been fascinated by single-celled creatures as well as deep-water creatures), and the silver bits look like wings. I haven't named it yet, he has a feel of a primordial (and mischievous) guardian angel who is going to lead me into all kinds of artistic (or aesthetic, if you prefer) sideways and alleyways. Guardian devil? Delicious!

And I thought you might appreciate how beautifully the reverse side is crafted.


* * * * *

Liz Kendrick's work can be found at Lustre, on Collingwood Street, which is right next door to Sue Bateup's Weavers Gallery on Ajax, along the Maitai River from the Information Centre, or The Suter gallery shop. If you'd like to contact Liz directly, drop me a line.

A Gift

It's the start of autumn here, and the sun is suddenly just a little kinder, and though we have strong sea wind from time to time, even these bring wee gifts.

I like to keep my front door open at times like these. This morning, I thought there were tiny twigs on the floor, but when I tried to pick it up, it was something different. And there was another one.


(I try not to think of these as somebody's former body parts!)

We All Do It, Don't We?

A couple of weeks ago, we were queuing/lining up to get into the Opera in the Park, the biggest music event of the year. This year we had Dame Kiri Te Kanawa as the main guest.

Four or so persons ahead of me was a smartly dressed woman wearing a vivid blue-red shawl. The body appeared to be a standard 4-end Herringbone in fine but not terribly soft wool, but on the ends were this fantastically intricate knotted work, apparently in synthetic cords.

Naturally, once we were inside the gates, I approached her and asked if I could photograph it. She thought it is from Ecuador.

Oh, sigh, oh, sigh.

Weaving Books: What Are Your Favorites?

Halcyon has a book club. Did you know? I had't read her newsletter emails for a while because I've been so busy, but I had to register right away. And there's is a Handweaver's Pattern Directory!! Save me, Weaving Goodess, not only am I poor, but I haven't got any room on my bookshelf...

So, weavers, what was/were the first weaving book/s you bought, or were given, do you remember? I bought my first three from Amazon after I test-drove a few from the North Shore Library in August 1995, and they were:

* Sharon Alderman's A Weaver's Notebook,
* Betty Linn Davenport's Hands On Rigid Heddle Weaving, and
* Susan Gilmurray's Weaving Tricks (1981)

Alderman's book I liked so much I bought three; I gave one to my mother, and had (and still do) her save the third in her house, just in case mine got lost or damaged. My first copy is pretty tatty now, as it lives under my bed.

Davenport's is still good when I want to look up hand-manipulated techniques, though I haven't done them in a long while. Gilmurray's is a used copy even in '95, and has little notes penciled in by the previous owner/s. It saved me from many predicaments in my early days, and still now I love the drawings and the explanations.

At one point I got New Key to Weaving, and upgraded to Key to Weaving, but I find weaving books without photos or drawing excruciatingly difficult to understand, so it sits in the best position in the bookshelf, and gets pulled out whenever someone refers to it, or I have to learn a new structure and other books fail.

When new weavers ask me to recommend a book, it's been Deborah Chandler's Learing to Weave, except I have to tell them to ignore the Front-or-Back treatise until they've dressed the loom a few times.

Madelyn van der Hoogt's The Complete Book of Drafting for Handweavers catapulted me from plain weave to multishaft when I recklessly signed up for a Bonnie Inouye workshop in 2002. I love the graphics in this book. I arrived at Weaver's magazine quite late, (in fact, I paid for my subscription and received two copies before they shut it down), so this and their Best Of series give me a taste of the excitement that magazine must have brought to weavers when it arrived in their mailboxes.

Three books I keep carrying around are:

* Bonnie Inouye's Exploring Multishaft Design,
* Alice Schlein's Network Drafting: An Introduction, and, though less frequently,
* Deramay Keasbey's Designing with Blocks

A short while ago I was invited to join an on-line study group of Bonnie's book, and you know I did. For the first time I'm reading beyond Chapter 1, and it's really an excellent book, but I must admit it's the musings, questions and comments by my "classmates" that help me understand the text. Left alone, my eyes would tend to glaze over the text and settle on the drafts. And naturally I'm quite behind in the study group.

The one I had to buy relatively recently is Carol Strickler-edited A Weaver's book of 8-Shaft Patterns from the Friends of Handwoven because everybody around me refers to it, and it's a great gazing book, as well as to learn new structures.

Don't get me wrong. I have heaps more on the bookshelf, and I've justified the purchases because I learned to weave from books, but I never said I read them all. I think I've read ... four of them from start to finish. Others I've started and put then down, or read only pertinent chapters, but I can tell you I have looked at the graphics in all of them enough times that I remember many; it's almost creepy when I go back to a draft or a photograph and can recall exactly when and where I saw it last.

I have enough weaving (and other) books to keep me happy for the rest of my life without requiring additional purchases. At least I can stay happy reading them for the first time for probably a decade. (I'm also a slow reader.) But since I've been good the last few years, I think I might get a couple more this year. And at the top of the list just now are two conflicting choices: Allen A. Fannin's Handloom Weaving Techology Revised Edition (and there's not a lot of graphics to gaze in this tome), or Matisse, His Art and His Textiles: The Fabric of Dreams, which I had a chance to drool over at the local Polytech library. I think I'll get more enjoyment out of the latter, but I'd also like to learn the type of information inside the former.

For now, Bonnie's study group is keeping me busy. I'm reading it, with the assistance of my new friends, and lots of extra "stay behind class" correspondences with Bonnie. I'm so lucky.

The Inevitable Cloth, Part 2

You know Madelyn van der Hoogt's color/texture vs. structure weavers distinction? Mom and I thought I was firmly in the former, and she in the latter, when I started to weave. And in appreciating other weavers' work, I still am absolutely, undoubtedly and hopelessly in the former, though texture has become just as important as color lately.

However, I swear I read somewhere in Sharon Alderman's swatch book, A Handweaver's Notebook, where she asks, "why not both?" (I've been looking for that passage ever since I started Unravelling, but haven't found it yet, so I might be mistaken about the origin.)

At first, the thought upset me, it was daunting to think of so many variables in planning a cloth, but post-Randy, I agree completely. (Not that I'd ever disagree with the Goddess at any time on any point, you understand.)

Looking back, that we were required to put on a warp with "dynamic proportions" on a loom in preparation for Randy's workshop with very little explanation on "dynamic proportions" was the starting point. Though I'd always designed shawls with the human body and its movement in mind, I never considered an observer's eyes gliding over cloth itself; for now that's my interpretation of "DP".

Then when I did my first Randy experiment and learned abrupt and even not-so abrupt color changes and undulation didn't produce attractive results, I started to look for, make, and save Randy-appropriate drafts.

Now this next bit, I swear I posted once before, but I can't find it, so if I'm repeating myself, so be it.

When I was weaving the Big Ribbon and swapping weft colors, (but in this case, following a loose plan,) I learned that not only do I want to use Randy-appropriate drafts when I changed weft colors, but I needed a certain inevitability in where and how the colors changed. Not by logic, based on color theories, (though I think it's entirely possible, even probable, arriving at the same conclusion from different paths), not by plan or design, but by some overwhelming, sentimental urge or whim or fancy. That's the best explanation I can give you on what I mean by "inevitable". And it's this inevitability I look for.

Perhaps the "IC" are innate in threads we choose, perhaps inside the weaver, or perhaps they float around the Universe and Weaving Angels deliver them to only those who are receptive. (Seen any cherubs with pale blue ribbons in your studio lately?)

As Valerie commented, "Achingly beautiful cloth is not always synonymous with complex cloth." The Alderman book has many "inevitable cloths" in my eyes, and they are not always complex.

Now, there was something Bonnie Tarses said about the three (?) key elements of textile she was taught at Rhode Island School of Design and these, too, helped me develop this concept of "IC", but darned if I can find that particular post. I'm done looking for reference and passages today.

And would you believe this train of thought happened well outside my depressed moments, which is amazing because in my usual state I'm much too practical and can't cope with concepts; perhaps I should read quantum mechanics the next time I sit on my blue couch for hours.

On to the ugly warps.

Truely Laughable

Just to clear the air and my mind, I misread Valerie's comment in my post about raising my game; I read "laughable" not "laudable", even though I went back and checked it half a dozen times before posting my rebuttal. I apologize to Valerie, and to everyone else who thought, "So what high horse is she on now?"

This is typical of what happens to me during a depressive episode, a bad patch, or whatever the correct term. On the one hand, I go deep inside my head though I don't notice it and can become paranoid and overwhelmed. One of the most daunting and tearful conversation at times like these is Ben asking me what I want for dinner because I can't get my head around such weighty considerations. On the other hand, I'm not bothered by the mundane, (the house goes to the pits!) and I do get a few Zen-like moments which help me see things clearly. I mean, meta-cloth? I'm too scatterbrained to come up with something like it in my usual state.

As well, I do so love to learn about how others think, see and work, and I'm not offended by your letting me know that you disagree with me, or that I'm way off kilter. OK, for a short time, I fuss and fume, but not at all offended in the long run. Disagreements and differences makes me try to see how you think, see and work, and force me to clarify my thoughts, and at the other end, I may completely change my way because yours is heaps better.

I make no secret of a life with depression, but as far as the problem goes, I'm at the lightest end of the spectrum, and I have a great doctor who is teaching me to spot the triggers and symptoms, and to learn coping mechanisms. And as I said, I benefit from it by being able to have uninterrupted thinking time. Joy!

So you have been warned; if I get far too conceptual, imagine me sitting on the smaller, blue couch in the living room, not fidgeting or moving at all for hours staring; Imay just be cooking up my next "serious" post for Unravelling.

On the other hand, if you all think I'm way off and too far gone, or just wrong, or if you know a better way, I'm setting you to task to put me right. Please. And thanks.

The Inevitable Cloth

The word "inevitable" has been popping up in my journal a lot lately, as in "I want to weave the inevitable cloth, not the incidental". I see conflicting urges in such mutterings.

I want to improve my technical skills so I don't have to worry or spend time remedying mistakes; that's a given. I also want to know more about colors and structures and characteristics of the yarns I use. Beyond that, I eventually want the ability to create optimum color/structure/texture combinations to weave what I call the inevitable cloth. As to what constitutes optimum combination is so personal I don't know how I'll know if and when I happen to weave it/them, but I trust I can start in this direction by studying and weaving.

I've also come to believe in the existence of meta-cloths, cloths where the constituent elements meld together so beautifully and naturally that they are far more than the sum of their parts. I've seen them in workshops by Bonnie Inouye and Randall Darwall. And though people's tastes differ, there is an unspoken understanding and awe of the merit of these cloths.

I marvel if sometimes these meta-cloths come to weavers, not through hard slog, but by some divine impartment. No doubt these weavers work hard, but I can't help wondering if a certain degree of forfeiture of control is necessary to "receive" inspiration and weave such cloths. And in this way, I, too, aspire to be an agent of such fancy.

I see a change in my outlook; weaving and the cloths I weave are starting to invade my personal space. Perhaps this is what is called art-making.

After all is said, I put on another warp on the loom and will be on my merry way. I have two less-than-exhilarating dye experiment warps to go on my 4-shaft tonight, where I'll try to make the unattractive warp colors disappear.

I do show up at work, you know.