When I discovered weaving, I found my destiny. From the first project, I knew I had been born to weave. I knew then why the sight of a loom had always drawn me like a magnet. I realized why I had such a compulsion to touch fabric.
The art and music classes I previously attended had been leading up to a symphony of color and structure I could hardly imagine.
I had learned in orchestra that the celli and double basses are playing what is called the ground. In weaving there is pattern and there is ground. Once I understood that the tabby weave on alternating threads provides a base from which the pattern threads can do their marvelous effects, I finally appreciated fully the wonderful work the lower strings, woodwinds and brass perform in building pleasing music.
In the garden, plants require nutrients and support which are furnished by the ground. Weaving showed me why tinkering with the soil before I plant is worthwhile. Ground weave is everywhere.
I have begun to see everything in terms of threads, color, and structure.
We got a string trimmer, which I have never used before. My husband explained the operation, the safety measures, and maintenance. I had only one question. "How do you advance the warp?"
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Oops!
It is not in my makeup to do things by the book. When I cook, I look at my ingredients and see what needs to be used, and put those into whatever I am making. For instance, if I see insufficient applesauce for parceling out at dinner, I might dump it into cookies. My regular cookies are called "this and that". I take a bit of this and a bit of that and mix them together, then add whatever I think the batter needs to bake into cookies.
I do the same with meals. I look at cookbooks to get ideas and hints as to proper proportions, then substitute freely. Once a recipe turned out to be something wonderful, and I went to copy it into my personal file. I had substituted every ingredient for something the original specified.
When I am learning a new skill from a book, I should stick to the facts. I don't. I question every sentence. Why is this step necessary? If I cannot see any reason, I eliminate the step. Sometimes this works. Often, it does not. The first time I measured warp for multiple projects, I could not see a reason for maintaining a cross to keep the threads in order. After all, they were all the same color, all the same length, why did it matter which came first? I ended up with a tangled mess. I had to lay out 360 threads, each six yards long, on my living room floor, untangle them, and rebuild the cross. And I had to do it quickly, as several people and four dogs were regularly crossing said floor.
Now I know better than to do that particular thing. But I still look at what is prescribed, and choose another color, another structure, a different sett, vary the treadling and end up with something which bears no resemblance to the project I am "copying". Oops.
I do the same with meals. I look at cookbooks to get ideas and hints as to proper proportions, then substitute freely. Once a recipe turned out to be something wonderful, and I went to copy it into my personal file. I had substituted every ingredient for something the original specified.
When I am learning a new skill from a book, I should stick to the facts. I don't. I question every sentence. Why is this step necessary? If I cannot see any reason, I eliminate the step. Sometimes this works. Often, it does not. The first time I measured warp for multiple projects, I could not see a reason for maintaining a cross to keep the threads in order. After all, they were all the same color, all the same length, why did it matter which came first? I ended up with a tangled mess. I had to lay out 360 threads, each six yards long, on my living room floor, untangle them, and rebuild the cross. And I had to do it quickly, as several people and four dogs were regularly crossing said floor.
Now I know better than to do that particular thing. But I still look at what is prescribed, and choose another color, another structure, a different sett, vary the treadling and end up with something which bears no resemblance to the project I am "copying". Oops.
Playing against a stacked deck
Every now and then, in a burst of insanity, I attempt the impossible. The latest fiasco was signing up to take a quilt class. On the surface, it looked like a good deal. I was going to sew blocks 10" square which comprised only five pieces. I was sure I could learn the technique and then bang out the whole quilt top in a few days, getting ahead before the next grandchild to tied the knot. It was recommended we use batiks. I had them in my stash. I would not have to buy any materials.
So far, so good. I arrived at the first class with my batiks and rotary cutter, ready to do four hours of making small pieces out of big ones. The teacher said to layer the fabrics four deep, right sides up. One of the advantages of batiks is it is difficult to tell which is the right side, so I just layered and cut, carefully placing the "right side", namely the one that I had turned up while cutting, up when I sorted them into piles.
I carried my box of pieces home, ready to mix and match. I took one piece from each of five piles, laid them out to see if they made a pleasing block, and stuck them into plastic zip bags. When I began, it was easy to get five different fabrics into each block, but as I eliminated them, the less favored batiks began to overweight. In order to prevent duplication, I had to raid my plastic bags and exchange.
Therein lay the seeds of disaster. Pieces got turned over. They would still sew together, but would not make a rectangular block. Every seam was curved, too. This meant that one could not just match up corners and sew. I found myself ripping out 57% of all seams sewn. Although I have always loved batiks, I had profound regrets for the duration of the construction.
The quilt turned out fine, and my hair was already grey, so no harm came of it.
So far, so good. I arrived at the first class with my batiks and rotary cutter, ready to do four hours of making small pieces out of big ones. The teacher said to layer the fabrics four deep, right sides up. One of the advantages of batiks is it is difficult to tell which is the right side, so I just layered and cut, carefully placing the "right side", namely the one that I had turned up while cutting, up when I sorted them into piles.
I carried my box of pieces home, ready to mix and match. I took one piece from each of five piles, laid them out to see if they made a pleasing block, and stuck them into plastic zip bags. When I began, it was easy to get five different fabrics into each block, but as I eliminated them, the less favored batiks began to overweight. In order to prevent duplication, I had to raid my plastic bags and exchange.
Therein lay the seeds of disaster. Pieces got turned over. They would still sew together, but would not make a rectangular block. Every seam was curved, too. This meant that one could not just match up corners and sew. I found myself ripping out 57% of all seams sewn. Although I have always loved batiks, I had profound regrets for the duration of the construction.
The quilt turned out fine, and my hair was already grey, so no harm came of it.
Dancing with threads
One of the best things about learning a craft is there are so many aspects to master. When I took up weaving I found fascination for a lifetime.
In the early days, the challenge was merely to measure the warp and get it onto the loom, threaded, sleyed, and tied without crossing threads or skipping dents. Then I had to learn to wind a good bobbin and pirn. There were the arts of throwing the shot and treadling the pattern to acquire. It is difficult to maintain a steady beat over a number of sessions, but it must be done. Working with multiple shuttles introduced a whole new skill of thread management.
I had not realized that one loom would lead to another, and another, and another. Each one requires different skills and techniques and brings different satisfactions. Working with a wide range of fibres has led me to appreciate the specific characteristics of each. I am learning which to use for different projects.
Of course, there are many weave structures beyond the one up, one down I learned in elementary school. Some are repetitive so weaving becomes a type of meditation. Others are complicated and require full attention. Some require close setts, others wide ones. Wefts can be as coarse as rag strips and upholstery selvedges for rugs, or as fine as spun silk, so matching the technique to the materials is also a learning experience. Looms can malfunction, warp threads can break, threading and treadling sequences can introduce errors into the fabric, all of which must be repaired or integrated into the whole.
As I have desired more control of outcomes, I have been led to adjacent paths such as spinning and dyeing. There are also a plethora of finishing techniques from hemstitching to fringe twisting to waulking. The more of these I use, the more I can predict the results of my efforts.
Now I know enough to daydream. What if...
In the early days, the challenge was merely to measure the warp and get it onto the loom, threaded, sleyed, and tied without crossing threads or skipping dents. Then I had to learn to wind a good bobbin and pirn. There were the arts of throwing the shot and treadling the pattern to acquire. It is difficult to maintain a steady beat over a number of sessions, but it must be done. Working with multiple shuttles introduced a whole new skill of thread management.
I had not realized that one loom would lead to another, and another, and another. Each one requires different skills and techniques and brings different satisfactions. Working with a wide range of fibres has led me to appreciate the specific characteristics of each. I am learning which to use for different projects.
Of course, there are many weave structures beyond the one up, one down I learned in elementary school. Some are repetitive so weaving becomes a type of meditation. Others are complicated and require full attention. Some require close setts, others wide ones. Wefts can be as coarse as rag strips and upholstery selvedges for rugs, or as fine as spun silk, so matching the technique to the materials is also a learning experience. Looms can malfunction, warp threads can break, threading and treadling sequences can introduce errors into the fabric, all of which must be repaired or integrated into the whole.
As I have desired more control of outcomes, I have been led to adjacent paths such as spinning and dyeing. There are also a plethora of finishing techniques from hemstitching to fringe twisting to waulking. The more of these I use, the more I can predict the results of my efforts.
Now I know enough to daydream. What if...
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