balancing act

Well that settles it!

At least, I hope it does.

Anyway we’ll call it as done as possible for a short tapestry on a long warp—

—and hope the sweet thing doesn’t mind being upside down (and at the back of the loom)—

—until whatever is ready to manifest in these still unwoven inches makes itself known.¹

In other words, I have to wait (not so patiently), for material, imagery, and that all-knowing triumvirate I talked about last week (The Norns, The Moirai? The Erynies? Graces? Wyrd?)² to make a few decisions.

Happily —

—there was a new diary to make—

—and move into.

And then (because a good sweep never hurt anyone and a gal has to something with excess creative energy), I noticed that the “blue Room”³ could use a little tidying up—

—which in turn released a couple of tapestries from where they had been languishing in a the cedar chest—

Rough Copy 11: Villa Algernon; hand woven tapestry; 44" x 30"; wool, natural dyes ©Sarah C. Swett 2012

—and they made me think about running off to Palouse by the Sea.⁴

(I mean, what better way to ignore recalcitrant ideas and the seasonal hoopla than to disappear into a fictional world that is itself an idea—and where there might not be any seasonal nonsense. Or it’s a different season. Or something).

I didn’t manage to actually go, but I did re-read a thing about tapestry finishing from of one of my characters who lives there—because naturally any novel of mine would include at least one tapestry weaver⁵ —and that made me wonder what she would do between projects, out there in her wee water-logged studio.

Ellie's Attic; hand woven tapestry; 9" x 9"; wool, natural dyes ©Sarah C. Swett 2008

Except that it didn’t take much imagination because I know exactly what she’d do: she’d start another.

She, however, is young and fictional and has hands that never get tired while I— well, I’m about to be sixty-three and have flesh and blood fingers that, having woven more than she ever dreamed, need to be taken into consideration.

Of course I’m terrible at this kind of restraint (I mean, guess who said fictional weaver was modeled on), but luckily Beryl is not so we headed outside for lots of long, wet and sometimes icy jaunts to explore the liminal moments when the magic of night vision, the potential safety of walking with a headlamp, and the beauty of a grey winter dawn (or dusk) coincide with a seriously long sentence.

And one day while out there I remembered that it was three years ago this week that I wove my first four letter word⁶ as a way to embrace the dark.

And because you never know where ideas come from or what they’ll turn into or how they will open your mind—

—I also noticed that I actually love these murky times —and even one aspect of the seasonal hoopla— and recalled that somewhere in the basement there lived a string or two of lights⁷ —

—and while foraging for said lights there came to light —

— a couple of cones of mill-spun linen that wanted to be woven.

And while I realize that that was not the kind of foraging Beryl had in mind—

— it feels like a fine place to begin.

And yes Beryl, we’ll head outside very soon! ⁸

If you know anyone who might enjoy these meanderings, please do click the button above and see what they think!

And remember to comment with the button below rather than by hitting reply, for if you choose the latter I won’t see your lovely words.

1. This is a continuous warp which means (as you can kind of see from the images) that it circles around the loom frame. Initially I thought I was going to weave one long tapestry on it, but the yarn or the Wyrd (see triple goddess footnote below), have decreed otherwise. Or so it seems right now. I’ll know for sure once the hypothetical next one is underway.

2. The Wyrd (see the link above), are actually my favorites (having woven a tapestry with that name), but would also love to hear about other triple goddesses you might know of as I feel dreadfully Eurocentric with my list.

3. Once In A Very Blue Room — a post about, well, painting that room blue last summer.

And for no reason other that this footnote already has a link to a Gusset Post, I want to add the link I forgot to put in about the making of the paper shirt shown in the first image last week : It’s Only A Paper Shirt

4. An imaginary place I’ve woven often and about which I wrote three unpublished novels and wove a series of tapestries .

5. Each tapestry had once been an empty warp, a pile of colored thread, a collection of possibility, less than an idea.  Each had grown as an extension of herself.  She had made decisions -- chosen this color or that, curved shapes to the left or to the right at a precise moment, built each element, strand on strand until it was done.  Then hardly daring to look, she had cut each from the loom, finished its edges, plunged it in a bucket, laid it flat dry and finally pressed out its imperfections in spurts of scented steam— a feverish lavender mist that signaled the end of  a relationship and after which she could no longer think, "what next,” but rather "how ever did I do that?"  And begin again.

The thoughts of Love Miranda Poole, emerging tapestry weaver, as she beholds her work in a gallery for her first solo show: Notes From A Tower

6. At this point I’ve woven 80-something little tapestries of what I now call the 99 noun series, but when I warped for that first one in December 2020 we were 16 months into my husband’s non-stop chemotherapy treatment for pancreatic cancer, 10 months into the pandemic, and I was almost desperate for a way to embrace the dark that seemed to be closing in around us. As it happened, those first four letter words were more helpful than I can say.

7. I was going for a ball of yarn effect but my light string is a little short. Or my willow orb a little big. Or both. Though I do like the way the lights glint on the other branches of the lilac.

8. But first I’m off to hear my friend Rochelle’s Colloquium talk about her search for Mongolian felt-making deities for the book she’s writing about mythologies around the world involving weaving and smithing.