shadow weaver's happy dance

I’ve just noticed—¹

—that I’ve constructed an entire Gusset—

—with nothing but grey and white and brown.

How is it that in the midst of multi-hued seasonal abundance—

—the photos I can’t help taking—

—and the drawings I can’t help making—

—all contain monochromatic-and-slightly-grubby-string-on-sticks—

—wildly-sproinging-string-off-sticks—

—slowly-simmered-string-in-skeins—

—or clean-but-still-slightly-stiff-string-I-now-call-yarn?²

I have no idea.

What I do know is that as Beryl and I begin to gather this season’s collection of garden thinnings—³

—and the first fresh strands join our flock/band/herd/hoard of fiber—

—the casual, joyful, monochromatic, hedge-bothering,⁴ list-making—

—photographic-comic-rabbit-hole-exploring—⁵

—thing that this summer (my life?) is becoming—

—is really fun.⁶

And my shadow weaver is is into it.⁷

So what can we do but go with it?

I say “we”, but the canine portion of this collective would prefer a little less of the scenario above, and a little more of the one below —

—to which end (because it is still No-Plans-July and I’m making things up as I go along), it feels like a good moment to take a couple of weeks away from the tugs of the world. So we’re going to do just that. I’ve no idea what manner of dog-centric, yarnish, shadow-weaver-inspired adventures will unfold between now and 13 August when we return—but sometimes a gal’s got to do what her dog wants to do.

1. How can I just notice the monochromatic thing when I’m at the very beginning of the post, you ask? Well you know how it is. Raveling, Unweaving, Rewriting—are they not the mainstay of this creative life? Are they not how all things get better (or so we hope)—how (says she filled with trust in future Sarah), we come closer to nebulous fragments of personal clarity? Or maybe it’s nothing so lofty but merely part of the path to the point where things are as good as we can possibly make them right now because honestly it’s time for lunch and your dog really wants to take you for a walk. Whatever. The point is that things are rarely the same at the end as when they begin, and in this nth version of this Gusset the words took a turn of their own amidst images that were already in place and I could do nothing but follow. It’s generally how this word/image thing unfolds for me, truth to tell, though the result are not usually so obvious. So thanks Shadow Weaver—I think I’m grateful.

2. This is the milkweed I’ve finger twisted in the past year: summer 2023- spring 2024 (i.e. one full milkweed season), wound it into skeins, boiled with washing soda and dried. It seems like there should be more (I’d love it anyway), but this is the be-kind-to-my-hands amount for this year—and that is fine. Back when I began my enthusiastic, pandemic-fueled, cancer-side-kick-angst-induced, zoom-meeting-tedium-overcoming, blissed-out-newfound-fiber-infatuated twisting, I was so into it that I wore away the last of the cushioning in both thumb joints and it has behooved me ever since to proceed with as much moderation as I can muster.

3. I keep meeting people who once planted milkweed with delight and hope but find they have to thin a little when the rhizomes crowd out other precious plants. This cautious thinning works well for everyone as my hands can only cope with a few (3-5) stalks at a time. And the other plants are grateful.

4. Hedge Bothering: a term I learned from Sally Pointer’s wondrous and oh so informative videos

5. Good thing I’m a weaver and not a photographer because golly, I could go mad trying to capture the soft creamy grey of this yarn.

6. Fun is the oddest idea and an utterly elusive concept. So many assumptions are sold to us as fun, so many are the absolute opposite. What do you find fun? I’m still figuring it out. For some delicious thoughts on the topic, here’s a link to Liz Gilbert’s Substack from this week subtitled You gotta make your own fun around here.

7. Shadow weaver: In the comments of last week’s post, Nettle Graffiti, Denise had some thoughts about the weaving video there that made me wonder. Who is my Shadow Weaver, what does she want, and most importantly, what does she know and love that I’m not directly aware of? A couple of days ago when I was weaving outside she showed up in a patch of weedy grass below me so of course I got out my camera— and only noticed afterwards that both videos (this week and last), end with my bobbin flying out of my hand. Perhaps my shadow weaver is a little shy and might work more fluidly when no one (including me/ my camera) is watching? Or if not shy, then protective of her secrets. As well she should be. I’m curious though, so will see what if anything happens if I, too, am quieter than ever.