swatch, swath, swathe

Today they look like this.

Tomorrow (or the day after), they might find themselves doing this.

In the end, there is a good chance they will get here.

I say “end,” but I don't really mean it. There’s life in the old girl yet. The towel in the photo above I mean. An appropriate patch or two and she’ll be—well not like those freshly woven rolls at the top, but certainly ready for many a future bath.

And why not? That stitched-together sandwich and her component parts (once three tattered towels that I layered for mutual support), has/have been drying my back these last seven-ish years¹ and I’m deeply attached.

Not that I was thinking of bath towels when I made them. Gosh no. Nothing as specific (much less functional), as that.

Back then they were experimental swaths—answers to questions—

—the physical manifestation of an unexpected obsession that somehow evolved into a practice-altering exhibition² —lengths of gauzy linen that on returning home from said exhibition chose function over fame and devoted their yards and their years to my bath-damp skin.

In short, all unplanned (at least by me), they managed to become the fabric with which I interact more than any other in my world.

Any fabric, that is, other than the pile ‘o blankets that live on my bed.³

Thus the need for mending.

Thus my recent unsatisfying search for an appropriate swatch.

And thus an idle—then not so idle—thought that I could weave one.

There were, after all, those cones of unknown linen from a passed-on stash.

And I have been wondering how they might behave as warp and weft.⁴

I was also (as I wrote last week), rather in need of something or other to help me unwind after a month on the road.⁵

And how not to be enchanted by the notion of plain weave devotion in the freshly lilac-scented air?

Anyway, it would only take a few hours, so why not?

Why not indeed.

So enchanted did I become—

—that though my days have overflowed with other lovely things—

—the yarn and I have now managed to make enough cloth for many a patching swatch— or even a whole new towel.

Which brings me to today—

—and the discovery that I can’t quite decide what to do next.

But so what? There is no need to insist on anything; the linen always knows what ki wants to be and as in the past (thanks for the reminder Gusset), will eventually let me know what’s next.

As, of course, will Beryl.

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1. I can’t say enough in praise of these towels but to keep this footnote from becoming longer than the entire post above, I’ll try to limit myself to just a few points: sumptuous rather than fluffy, they are mind-bogglingly absorbent (thumbing their nose at all that advertising copy about thick “plush” pile being the only way to dry); even fully saturated, they dry in a jiffy (perfect for travel or hanging on a laundry line, and if you must use a dryer they consume far less time/power than towels with pile); they don’t get stinky from sitting around damp (see previous point); they use less material overall (efficient use of resources, from water for growing the fiber to fuel for shipping the finished items); they feel delicious (on my skin anyway—my husband thought them too rough); they look cool hanging on a towel rack, even when ancient and well mended; if/when they reach the end of their mendable life they will decompose quickly. Oops—this already is too long so I’ll stop, but if you’re a weaver and at all curious, I do encourage you to try one for yourself…

2. I say “somehow grew into” since I never know which ideas will be passing fancies and which will grow into full blown love affairs—or become life commitments?

3. The wooly results of that (first) year of my backstrap obsession (plus, in the video, the swatch blanket I made from, duh, my collection of knitting swatches). I pile them four to six blankets deep (depending on the season) and sleep under them every night.

I also wear hand spun sweaters every day and they’re right up there in the “cloth with which I interact on a daily basis” realm, but I now have enough that the rotation cycle is a little wider than that of the bath towels.

4. The tattered bath towels began with a different collection of random cones of linen to which I said “yes” at a meeting of my local weaver’s guild. They were from the yarn collection of beloved guild member Winnie who was an exquisite weaver, and I brought them home not because I had any current use for them, but because I adored Winnie both for her self and for her support of my then singular devotion to tapestry. Just looking at the cones made me happy.

I’m not sure what Winnie would think of my current more peripatetic practice—or the fact that her yarn was instrumental in its unfolding. But perhaps that was her plan all along: encourage my devotion to one form of weaving till I got pretty decent at it (a thing she said she regretted not doing herself)—and then branch out as other enticing things show up.

5. Strapped In (last week’s Gusset). With extra thanks to Melissa Weaver Dunning for her comment about using Flax Dressing to tame the fuzz on singles tow linen. It worked beautifully on the next warp—though I’m going to have to play with the seed/water ratio as I think I made it a little thin; by the end of the warp the fuzz reappeared. Or perhaps best to simply reapply as necessary?