feeling my way
I wove this tapestry in 2004.
That’s what it says in my archive at any ate, and I’ve no reason to disbelieve it. (The version of me who built those web pages spent hours making made sure all the sizes and materials and dates were correct). But the archive also indicates that I wove four other good sized tapestries that year,1 and was in the throes of finishing my book, Kids Weaving.2
What?
No wonder I needed to pause for a cup of tea.
Then again, given that my work usually reflects what is going on with my life and the original cartoon for the tapestry (a detail of which is below), included five images of me doing different things, I suppose it is true. Like so many women through the ages (you too?) I was doing my best to be tapestry weaver/writer/knitter/mother/wife/friend/person-in-the-world-wanting-to-make-everything-better—all at the same time. Talk about too-much-of-a-muchness.
Sensibly (cuz you know how sensible I am), I eventually turned that cartoon into three tapestries:
Miss Havisham’s Cook (at the top), Red Nuns (which I’ve shown here before because of the coracle), and Miss Havisham’s Gardener (below).
(Some of you might note that my dog Sirius made it into the last two of these works cuz apparently some things, like the need to draw me ’n my dog, never change.)
Miss Havisham’s Cook was the first one I wove and, unusually, it was a tapestry I loved from the moment it began until it came off the loom. I only got to enjoy it briefly though, for it went off to a show soon after I finished and never returned. This is a good thing as it sold almost immediately. But I also missed it. Or was curious about it. Or something. Because even as I went on to weave the two sister tapestries, I also painted an egg tempera3 version of the first.
This painting, which I have deliberately not sold, now hangs on my kitchen wall in place of those drawings you can see through the window. Of course it’s not the same as the tapestry—there are so many things a person can do with warp and weft that paint can never achieve and vice versa—but the image still evokes some of the same feelings.
Imagine my surprise though, when a few mornings ago while pausing for a slurp of coffee and a brief think, I turned my head, glimpsed the painting, and realized I was in it once again.
Life imitating art? Art imitating life? Who can say? It’s not mine to analyze my work, at least not today (someone else can do that in the far future).
It is mine, however, to notice that in that moment I was swamped by a wave of tapestry-longing so sharp—
—that nothing would do but to get out the pipe wrenches and see what size loom wanted to be built.
Wait, what? Loom first? Apparently so.
It’s true that once upon a time I wouldn’t have thought about the pile ‘o pipe until I’d spent weeks drawing and erasing and drawing again (and in the case of the Miss Havisham/Red Nun trio, getting out multiple pieces of paper)—not to mention spinning and dyeing and measuring and drawing again.
But no matter. This week, rash though it might seem, I let the pipe pick me.
Now beginning a project from the point of view of some lengths of galvanized steel is not a thing I’d generally recommend. Nor, indeed, would I suggest warping the resulting loom with cotton twine from the hardware store because that is what you happen to have on hand.4 But since it seems to be the approach that works for me just now, I’m going with it.
Why not? It is ridiculously pleasurable. Filled with uncertainty to be sure, but definitely my current favorite kind of micro-drama.
In some ways it’s not surprising; long term plans have often angst-inducing for me (can’t start this thing because that other thing is happening in a year and a half). But I never really thought it was possible to not make them.
Well OK — paying bills and such— of course. But as far as possible, psychic open space is proving to be an enormous relief, at least for me.
It’s not like my brain doesn’t try/want to make plans. It’s very good at it, to tell the truth. Idea Storms R Us.
It’s just that the more I feel the relief of seeing these as suggestions rather than givens, the more relaxed I am—and then I want more of it. What will I weave/write/draw today? Goodness knows. I guess I’ll find out as I go.
Of course my choices in the moment are not always terrific.
But so far there have been an astonishing number of surprising pleasures.
And though I often want to know how things will turn out, I suppose for now I’ll just keep going like this as I can.5
Even if I still have no idea what I am going to weave on that loom.
Remember to comment with the button above rather than by hitting reply, for if you choose the latter I won’t see your lovely words.
And if you know anyone who might enjoy these meanderings, please do click the button below and see what they think!
Published in 2005, Kids Weaving is long out of print though there are copies to be found if you’re interested. Edited by the one and only Melanie Falick (who I first met when I knit a sweater for Knitting in America), it’s a book I’m very proud of, if I may say so after all these years. A kids book to be sure, it is actually for all ages as, presupposing nothing, it has projects that show how to weave everything from a fence for a fairy garden to a blanket and even knotted pile. Also — PVC pipe loom instructions!
Some day maybe I’ll remember to talk about my egg tempera years. A fascinating deep dive into another way of image making which, though brief, ended up leading circuitously, I think, to the comics I’m making now and certainly to painting them with hand made watercolors — cuz pigment!
A firm and passionate believer in the efficacy, importance and pleasure of wool warp, I nonetheless have been weaving my recent larger (non-fringeless), tapestries with general purpose cotton twine from the hardware store (3 lbs working load says the label). It’s definitely not perfect for there are occasional knots and unevenly thick or thin bits, but it is lovely and soft on my fingers and cuticles (vs seine twine which tears them to bits), plenty strong as far as I’ve pushed it, and readily available. I’ll keep you posted how it goes.
Apropos of nothing at all except this is my last chance to fit in a footnote, the weavers among you may notice the string heddles on the new loom (the line of red loops hanging from a dowel half way up the loom), and I wanted to mention that though I thought I was going to talk about them today (why I use them and why I make them short like this instead of as long leashes as in Gobelin tapestry —which you can see in the photo of me weaving Miss H’s Gardener), I somehow got sent in another direction entirely when I sat down to write (a bit meta to be sure given the gist of this post), but am thinking I might tackle this technical stuff next week; please do let me know if you’re interested and/or if you have any other technical questions your’e longing to have answered/addressed — just in case I can actually stick to the point!
Please pass on to Beryl that I think her comments are the best bits. (And I cant wait to see what your tapestry turns into too!)
I might have gasped a little bit when I got to the loom you just built. I mean, the tapestries you made so beautifully - yes, I paused to take those in. Looking at the threads, the mastery, imagining the joy of creating these magnificent works! In fact, yours are high up on the tapestries that I saw which further fueled my inspiration to make my own. Not so many months ago, I was filling my brain and working with my hands to learn ALL THE THINGS. All the techniques. The how of it all. I'm still finding my weaving identity. Yet something weird has happened. Weird and wonderful. I started a couple of sampler tapestries to try out said techniques. And then, I sat down with some bags of various yarns - off cuts from previous learn-by-doing works - and I just started weaving. No plan. No technique in mind. Just letting whatever yarn I pulled from the bag do what it wanted to do. And then, it was so strange... techniques I really thought I had barely a grasp of started appearing from my fingers. Wedge weave, something I'd wanted to try but hadn't learned yet, appeared. Eccentric weaving started happening. Flow started happening. So I reckon, seeing that loom you made me, with a strong dose of giddiness, think of possibilities. What a delight you are! I love that you jump in with both feet. I love that you plan. You're making me see there's a place for both. I think I always knew that. And now I know it better. Thank you so much for sharing these writings with us. They are truly wonderful in a myriad of ways!