open studio

From Frederick, by Leo Lionni — From *Frederick*, by Leo Lionni

In contemplating what to offer his first grade students remotely, by husband pulled out my childhood copy of Frederick, which was my number one favorite book from the age of about four. And this is my favorite page of that book. Granted, the poem at the end is a bit insipid (sorry, Leo,) and I was never much impressed with it. But the idea, the role of Frederick as poet - as someone who noticed and listened and stored things that became invaluable to the hungry mice in winter - this was a powerful idea to me even when I was very young. And this page illustrates that idea best: the warmth and light generated by the calm, inspired words of the poet, causing the very stones to glow.

Throughout my life, the power of that notion has stayed with me, that artists are gathering, observing, collecting, and creating a storehouse that will come to the aid of people in times of need. The system of consumer capitalism would tell us differently, but I’ve never stopped believing that poets and artists are vital.

Now, of course, I’m finding the truth of this confirmed, as I seek out and am fed by the warmth and beauty of words and images created, collected and shared by friends and fellow artists. It is essential nutrition right now.

~~~~~~~Erika Blumenfeld~~~~~~~~~~~~ Sarah Swett~~~~~~~~~~~ Thérèse Murdza~~~~~~~~~~ Jite Agbro~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything is disrupted, but the work of the artist is not much changed - our duties remain what they have been all along. And I want to beg my artist friends to stay faithful to your duties! Keep on with the work that makes you whole, and brings forth beauty and truth, because it is needed.

~~~~~~~ Helen MacDonald~~~~~~~~~ Camille Charnay ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bryan Whitehead ~~~~~~~~~ Sharon Kallis~~~~~~~~

Plainweave on the backstrap loom, with commercial cotton warp, handspun wool weft. Bamboo reed controlling the sett.

Especially while isolating, conditions are ideal for immersion and intimacy with our own universe of intent and exploration. Mine is focused on weaving right now, with backstrap projects multiplying, and study of both plainweave and Andean pickup in full swing.

Loraypo pattern in handspun yarn. Continuing my Andean pickup education, and trying to memorize this pattern.

I had the realization today that my studio is now never locked. I only lock it when I’m getting in the car and going away somewhere and no one else is at home. So now, the studio is always open. That’s an excellent thing, and it’s time to make it sing for everyone, for the love of this world.

Studio activities include making a new bamboo reed for weaving.

P.S. I finished the band from the last post. It is now covering and protecting my phone.

Phone cover, woven with #10 crochet cotton. Pattern from Laverne Waddington’s Andean Pick up book.

spindle, bobbin, shuttle

I started out weaving this with a two-ply handspun, churro and Icelandic. But the sett is too close with this reed, and the weft did not show through enough and I didn’t like the result, so I tried the churro singles. It was still on my spindle, and I discovered that this particular spindle (from Allen Berry) is of a length and whorl shape that works perfectly as a shuttle. Convenient! And I like the look of this weft, so I just kept weaving with the spindle as shuttle. Allen, who also carved the beautiful yellow cedar sword/beater, mentioned that he’d heard of people using spindles as bobbins/shuttles before, and this rang a faint bell for me, too. I knew I’d definitely seen people winding a warp directly from full spindles, and I found the video: winding a warp directly from spindles, in Western Ladakh.

It does sound familiar, though, putting a spindle into a shuttle as bobbin…. maybe a quill spindle, for cotton…? I can’t remember where I saw or heard of that, but pipe up if you know anything.

At any rate, I’m enjoying having a plain weave project with the reed on the loom again, and this time I’ve wound the far end, so I can weave a longer length without dealing with the full weight of a 3+ yard warp between me and the loom bar. Seems to be going ok. I have tension issues, but what else is new?

The lovely Navajo Churro fiber I’m spinning. It was a gift from Amelia, who got it from someone else, so I can’t say much about the provenance. This (beautiful Peruvian) spindle does not work as a shuttle, so I have to wind it onto a bobbin, but usi… — The lovely Navajo Churro fiber I’m spinning. It was a gift from Amelia, who got it from someone else, so I can’t say much about the provenance. This (beautiful Peruvian) spindle does *not* work as a shuttle, so I have to wind it onto a bobbin, but using it allowed me to spin while weaving with the other spindle.

Otherwise, I’m working on the opposite end of the spectrum from plain weave - trying to wrap my mind around a pattern and technique that have been calling to me for years. It’s the typical Central Asian yurt band weaving, which Laverne has graciously explained in various tutorials, under the name of “simple warp floats” (simple because they float on one side only, the top.) I’ve had those pages, and this one, bookmarked and screen-shotted, and photos copied and printed since she started posting about it back in 2010. For some reason, the yurt bands have always grabbed me, and I knew I would have to figure it out someday. Yes, Laverne has explained it nicely and given plenty of ways for it to make sense - BUT, the actual translation of woven pattern to chart, especially with the Central Asian tendency to stipple the background, is really quite challenging. That final link, where Laverne made a wide piece with pickup in foreground and background, has just always thrilled me.

Sample with striped (plain weave) background.

Note that in the tutorials, the background remains striped, which is plain weave with no pickup. Doing pickup on the whole surface is another ball game, and a very different one from Andean pebble weave or complementary warp pickup. The designs look similar, especially on the front, but structurally they are a different technique, and the rules for composing patterns are not the same at all.

I found out how different, and what some of the rules were, while trying to chart a section of a yurt band pattern, based on a printed photo of an actual band belonging to Marilyn Romatka.

Marilyn Romatka’s yurt band, about 13” wide by 15+ yards long.

I was still daunted by the wide yurt band patterns, but I really wanted to figure it out. Recently, circumstances came together that allowed me to sit down, look at Laverne’s images once more, and take on the pattern. I charted a quadrant of a symmetrical design, and started weaving a half-width to test it. So far, it’s working!

One repeat of the design. I took out a couple of rows to correct the vertical mirroring point, but now I think that’s figured out. Cascade Ultra Pima cotton yarn - it’s what I had handy.

I’m continuing to look at the yurt band photos and trying to understand more of the typical patterning, so that I can create border designs in narrower strips. Spending my morning on this kind of thing is deeply gratifying, in the way that finally being able to weave something one has admired for years can be. The next effort at this will be with handspun wool.

Trying to chart border patterns from this image and from Marilyn’s band….

bamboo reeds, continued

Bamboo reed in progress in the dorm room at UVic.

I left the reed half-constructed in the previous post, but it was finished within the three-day workshop, I love how it looks like something maritime while on the stand, with its twin masts and hanging bobbins. There was a scary moment when Bryan discovered a problem with the width, but he corrected it with some selective pounding. Soon enough I had a finished reed!

Don't try this at home. Bryan hammers the bobbin against the bound string to correct a widening problem. Then he showed us how to measure to make sure this doesn't happen.

Bryan double checks and admires the work of an early finisher, before taking the reed off the stand.

My reed, finished and awaiting shoji paper along the edges.

When I got home I immediately cleared the deck to weave with it, rummaging in my weaving yarn bin to find the right warp. I chose an undyed cottolin a friend had given me, and found some handspun for weft.

I wound a long warp, more than 3 meters. When I first tied on, I had to open the door behind me in the photo, and sit in the closet. Some astute observers may be thinking that those two balls don't look like much weft, and that is correct. I was so eager to get started, I didn't even think of measuring for weft, and they were already wound in balls without recorded yardage anyway (I had the idea I would ply them with something else eventually), so I plunged in with about three bobbins' worth of weft. Needless to say, I had to spin more as I went along. But I was weaving! With my handmade reed! Longer, finer, and wider than most of my backstrap weaving so far.

Somehow the fabric felt Japanese. The width is similar to kimono cloth, but the use of this tool seemed to put the whole project into a certain cultural mode. I always like the state of mind I have while weaving, but this time it was even more transformative. Bryan had talked about the Japanese aesthetic and the deep roots of the mindset, and I felt tapped in to the sense of making "egoless cloth" with this piece.

The end result feels Japanese to me, too, in an intangible way. I'm grateful to Bryan for helping me access this way of weaving. Although I spent three years in Japan, I was not able to engage with textile making in that context, so it has been elusive for me.

Meanwhile, I went to work on another, smaller reed. We had enough supplies to make a second reed of 8 inches or so. I set this up and tied it slowly, relishing the process. I very much like doing the work of making this tool.

I carved the nearer pair of binding rods myself - they're rough but they worked.

The second one ended up with about the same dent (22 epi), wide enough for 8 inches of weaving. I hope to to some sakiori with this one, using my stash of kimono silks as weft.

Oh, and by now I have my second large piece on the loom with the wider reed. It's handspun wool warp & weft, only about 2 meters long this time, and less than 12 inches wide (I measured the yarn this time.)

Work in progress. Handspun wool two ply warp, singles weft.

bamboo reeds

Antique reed from Japan, one of Bryan's samples

I took a pre-conference workshop at ANWG in Victoria BC at the end of June. Bryan Whitehead came from his home in a silk farming town outside of Tokyo to teach us how to make bamboo reeds for weaving. He brought all the materials, and had spent more than a year preparing them for us.

Workshop materials: whole Aodake, higo strips, blocks of hinoki for supporting reeds-in-progress, and packets of prepared reeds.

The Aodake (type of bamboo) is split and peeled progressively from the whole chunk, about 5-6 cm diameter, to the narrow higo strips used for basketry. These strips are then cut to size for reeds. Each individual reed is about 9 cm long, 4 mm wide and 0.4 mm thick, with beveled edges (the length is variable, the width and thickness uniform because that's important for consistency in the finished tool.) All of Bryan's students received packets of 330 of these small pieces to make our reeds. The amount of effort that went into preparing them is astounding: before the bamboo is even cut, it is dried for months, cured over a fire to release oils, and dried some more. During the first day of our workshop, Bryan demonstrated the methods of splitting and peeling bamboo, and beveling and planing the higo. It looked smooth and easy as he worked, but when we tried we found that doing it right is tricky and difficult.

Splitting the bamboo in half with a machete, after making initial cuts in the top.

Peeling off the outer 1/3 of a 1cm strip. The inner bit will be discarded.

Throughout the workshop Bryan gave us the historical, cultural, and aesthetic context of bamboo, weaving, and cloth in Japan. Since I'd lived in Japan years ago, it was nice to re-immerse in this world, and memories of the place and the language came to the surface of my mind. The block of wood we used as a stand for reed building is made of hinoki, a type of cedar used in Japanese baths. The smell evoked onsen, hot springs, one of my favorite aspects of living in Japan, and I kept happily inhaling the distinctive scent as I worked. I'm grateful that we got to keep the wood. Bryan didn't just bring us a technique - he brought as much of a cultural experience as he could to the physics lab on the UVic campus. When people attend workshops in his home, they're surrounded by the indigo and tea fields, the bamboo forest, and centuries-old silk weaving houses. It was challenging for him to translate both the terminology and the experiences into English, but he succeeded - probably because he's spent the last 30 years bridging cultures.

Antique reeds from Japan that Bryan showed us, pointing out the details we would learn as we made ours.

Our class was unusual for a weaving conference, and more than one weaver asked me why I was making a reed. As a backstrap weaver, I've been seeking this kind of tool-making skill and knowledge for a while, but to most weavers using floor looms, it's not necessary. For this reason, our class was a group of people with interests slightly outside the norm for North American weavers. We were remarkably harmonious, and many in the group have a strong urge to travel to Japan for further study with Bryan sensei.

More to come on what we actually did, and where it has led me.