This Book

 

I 'discovered' Joanna Johnson because she does short videos and they appear on the 'reels' on Facebook.  I watched one, and began to watch others.  Recently I found out that she has written a book and out of curiosity I ordered a copy.  It arrived this week and I thumbed through it.

It's a 'slim' volume, but the Preface grabbed me right away with this comment:

Just like a tapestry woven with threads of different colours and textures, each of us carries within us a rich and intricate collection of stories, experiences, and perspectives that shape the very essence of our being.

How could I not continue?

Joanna Johnson is, first and foremost, an educator.  She is not 'standard issue'.  And while I had many, many good teachers in my school days, I wish I had had someone like Joanna.

I'm not going to talk about the book too much except to say that is a very personal journey and she shares some of the people, times, and things that is Tapestry Joanna.

I think there are many lessons in this book that others could benefit from, not just children, but even some adults that who are dealing with their own tapestries, some of which may be worn or damaged by life.  Like me.

Lives are not all that different than a textile, be they tapestry or tea towel.  We experience life through the experiences that we have, the trauma we have dealt with, and we get worn (down) and at times we need to make some repairs.

I don't have any young people in my life, but I know plenty of my readers probably do.  It might be good to take a gander at this book.  Maybe you have some young folk you can share this book with.  

At the ripe old age of 75 I am once again examining the tapestry of my life and attempting to make repairs.  It's never too late.  But maybe 'better' if it is done sooner?  Dunno.  This is my tapestry and this is where I am.  If nothing else, I am learning it is never too late.

Book Review

 

I wound up fairly high on the request list at the library and started reading Guy Gavriel Kay's latest book last night.  

I've been 'following' GGK for a while, now, and I think I've read every novel he's written.  I wait (not so patiently) for the next to be penned and published.  I would even do a re-read of some of his books, in parts because I like the characters he crafts, and his observations on 'life' have only gotten better (IMO).

(Another author I will - eventually - re-read is Dorothy Dunnett, for much the same reasons.)

The first few pages of this book are a masterclass in setting a stage, and developing a character.  

One of the things I enjoy about GGK's writing is that he includes points from the historical record.  If you know the history that he is referring to, you know which real events have been rolled into his stories.  And sometimes?  I find out that something that I thought was fantastical, was real.  (I follow another writer who has a similar approach and it's always a delight when the penny drops.)

So, picture a young man in the dark of night and some of his musings as he waits for...something.

"He was young, of course.  He might grow into something different, someone different.  You weren't the same through the whole of your life, were you?  Not marked by one thing.  If you lived long enough to change, of course."

That paragraph on page 2 snagged me, and now I'm curious.  What happens to him?  What kind of adventure is he to partake in?  Above all, will he survive?

I know that there are likely AI 'written' (stolen) books that will be drawing upon GGK's writing because he *is* a best selling author.  I will not be reading them.

I want actual human experiences, created by actual humans.  I want stories that make me think.  To include actual history (when appropriate) and lessons to learn from.  I don't want LLM scrapings from actual writers.

But that's me.  As I thought about this book, I thought about what I hope to accomplish by continuing to write about weaving, from my 50 years of experience (and if that sentence doesn't make me feel 'old' I guess nothing will?)

My approach to weaving has always been to try to discover the 'why' of the craft.  Explore the characteristics of my materials, the physics involved, and try to work out the mechanics of the equipment.  None of which I've been 'trained' in, but tried to learn.  Because all of that was part of the question of 'why'.  

It's the same with human beings.  Why is this person acting like this, when it is so against their own best interests?  At times I find out why and can be sympathetic to their situation.  Other times I find out why and walk away.  Muttering 'not my circus, not my monkeys'.  Sometimes I have to accept that I do not have the skills or the patience to help them try to wend their way through their life.

And that's the thing with a book.  If you find the characters are too nasty or too...whatever...you are not compelled to finish reading the book.  You can put it down and walk away.  But I do NOT call for it to be banned because *I* did not like it.  

GGK's characters are not all 'good'.  I know that every person has flaws as well as good points.  And sometimes the best thing they can do is be a really horrible example.  But they are fiction.  I can take the lesson and walk away.

Will the rest of this book be as good (or better?) than his previous books?  Based on the first few pages, I would say yes.  

Book Review - Knitting Yarns, ed. by Ann Hood

 

For some reason I had been unaware of this book, published in 2014, until recently.  When I discovered my local library had it, I requested it because it was a book of essays on knitting (and other fibre crafts, as well.)

All of the contributors are writers, and each of them has told a 'story' about knitting - how it has helped and enriched their lives, even when it might not be themselves doing it.

I knew Barbara Kingsolver was a well known writer, although I had not actually read anything by her (that may change now!).  Other writers in the book were known to me, like Sue Grafton, but most of them I did not know much about.

This has been a very pleasant book to read.  The essays are fairly short, which suits my current attention span.  Some are amusing, some tug at the heart strings.  Some are eloquent, some more 'essay' or 'scholarly', some delving into the history of knitting or the psychology of doing repetitive 'work'.

I'm not quite finished the book yet, but have found more than enough of interest and value to highly recommend it.  Rather than say more about it, I'm going to include the final paragraph from Kingsolver's contribution.

"And in the gloaming, when the ewes high up on the pasture suddenly raise their heads at the sight of you, conceding to come down as a throng in their rockinghorse gait, surrendering under the dog-press to the barn-tendered mercy of nightfall.  It starts where everything starts, with the weather.  The muffleblind snowstorm, the dingle springs, the singular pursuit of cud, the fibrous alchemy of the herd spinning grass into wool.  This is all your business.  Hands plunged into a froth of yarn are as helpless as hands thrust into a lover's hair, for they are divining the grass-pelt life of everything:  the world.  The sunshine, heavenly photosynthetic host, sweet leaves of grass all singing the fingers electric that tingle to brace the coming winter, charged by the plied double helices of all creatures that have prepared and justly survived on the firmament of patience and swaddled children.  It's all of a piece, knitting.  All one thing."

Nuff said.

14 years

 

This morning Facebook showed me this photo from 14 years ago.

(my gawd have I really been on Facebook for *14* years????)

As I looked at the photo I thought, hmm, I think I still have some of those towels in inventory.

Sigh.

Doug suggested that if I do, I should add them to my current BOGO sale, but I've already got plenty of inventory on sale and to add more would become cumbersome.  So I told him, maybe for the December BOGO sale.

By then the autumn sales events would have happened and who knows, maybe some of them will sell during one of those.

Today is a 'light duty' day.  I have massage and usually feel like I've been run over by a truck afterwards.  When you go for therapeutic massage, it is NOT like having a spa massage.  At all.  Not one bit.  But it is necessary to keep this body from breaking down completely, so I go and hope that things will continue to get better.  Or, at least, not worse.

As a young(er) weaver, I saw an interview about massage and a patient on the table who was asked about why she went for massage.  "I'm a weaver" she said, which caused my head to whip around to pay more attention.  She explained that weaving was very physical and massage helped to keep her functioning in a way that allowed her to keep weaving.

It wasn't much later that I found myself on the table, beginning a decades long practice of getting a regular massage.  I credit my continuing ability to weave partially on doing this kind of personal maintenance.

So, today I will go for massage, pick up a book at the library I put on 'hold', then come home and finish sleying the current warp, then press the towels I wet finished two days ago.  Because yesterday got derailed and I ran out of time and spoons to tackle the pressing.  I don't like to leave damp towels in the bin for more than two days, though, so it works out well that I have massage today and try not to weave right away after that.

The weather forecast says hot weather (for us) is coming.  I'm glad we have a/c.  Not everyone this far north does.  But I needed it in order to keep weaving during the summer, so we installed it then and benefit from it now.  Even though I'm no longer weaving like I used to do.  With climate change, increasingly causing massive wildfires and the smoke pall (of which we have had little so far this year, thankfully) we keep the house closed up and stay comfortable during the hot - and cold.

I am currently reading The Pain Project by Kara Stanley and Simon Paradis.  For anyone dealing with chronic pain, there is a lot of information about what pain is, how it gets treated, and ways to manage it.  And lots to think about.  It is well written.  I'm finding it helpful, although mostly it is cementing my belief that I needed to get off the opioid.  The new medication (*not* an opioid) I'm taking *appears* to be helping.  I'll know more as time goes by.  I'm told that it takes two weeks to fully kick in and I'm at day 8.  Fingers crossed.

Words of Wisdom

 

I just finished reading The Real Work; on the mystery of mastery by Adam Gopnik.

It was not a quick read, in spite of being a fairly slim volume.  Some books look deceivingly 'simple' or 'small' but contain gems.

Such was the case with this one.

Gopnik talks a lot about 'mastery' and examines the role of knowledge, of learning, of teaching.  He uses stories to illustrate the examples he has plucked from his own experience, and I love a good story!

But there is much to think about, consider, especially as someone who has, for most of her life, taught - in one way or another.

I even have a certificate that says I have 'mastered' weaving.  But I still learn something, almost every day.  And examining the process of learning, of *mastering* something over the course of a lifetime has been both illuminating and affirming.  One of the things I have learned is that there no end point in the journey of 'mastering' something.  There is always something more, something different, to learn.  (Change one thing, everything can change.)

If you, too, are interested in learning and teaching, you may find this book of interest.

I would like to quote the entire book (or nearly) but instead I will encourage people to go find it.  I 'found' it while looking for something else entirely, and kind of wish I had found it 40 years ago.  But it wasn't written.  Yet.  And it's never too late to stop and think and consider such things.

He frames mastery not just as something that we consciously study, but also how we live our lives.  On page 7 he talks about watching his mother in the kitchen:

"She rolled strudel, and then later traced for me the rudiments of Godel's Proof on a beach, and then taught me step by step how to make a beef Stroganoff, my favourite dish at twelve - steps (onions, peppers, beef, sauce, sour cream) that I not only know by heart and execute today but that were, perhaps my first conscious induction into the deeper truth, which the stories in this book recapitulate: that mastery happens small step by small step and that the mystery, more often than not, is that of a kind of life-enhancing equivalent of the illusion called "persistence of motion" when we watch a movie or cartoon.  "Flow" is the shorthand term that's been popularized for the feeling of the real work as it seeps through our neurons and veins, and, though we may know the flow of some things we do so well by middle age that we scarcely feel them flowing, having to set out on a new current makes us feel the resistance that is essential to the motion. "Flow" we learn again, always begins as fragments.  The separate steps become a sequence, and the sequence then looks like magic, or just like life, or just like Stroganoff."

On page 129 he talks about being good, or not good:

"But the last runner need compete only with herself.  Her heartbeats are well expended even in the loss.  I take as much pleasure from playing "Lullaby of Birdland" badly as George Shearing did in writing it well.  Use Your Hearbeats! cries the Internet meme, and as poet Mary Oliver wrote, we can at least choose how to spend them, decide what is it you plan to do with your own wild and precious life."

We focus, as a society, on being 'perfect' and yet on page 158 he observes:

"We need evident imperfection in order to be perfectly impressed.  All the expressive dimensions whose force in music Levitin had measured and made mechanical were defections from precision.  Vibrato is a way of not quite landing directly on the note; rubato is not quite keeping perfectly to the beat.  Expressiveness is error.  What really moves us in music is the vital sign of a human hand, in all its unsteady and broken grace.  Ella singing Gershwin matters because Ella knows when to make the words warble, and Ellis Larkins knows when to make the keyboard sigh.  The art is the perfected imperfection."

And the last bit I will quote here is on page 233:

"The manufacture of this illusion, short steps into seamless sequence, is not a special feature of the movies; it is a fact of life, the truth of learning.  All the steps seemed to meld together into a single, just syncopated seamless whole - outlines only very slightly blurred, the tracks almost overlapped, with a very small echo audible.  Driving and dancing, the acquisition of "the hand" and the movement of the feet; the jab of boxing and the time-tilt of drawing, form a permanent human rhythm, heart-bound, of small actions building bigger blocks."

These are just a few of the passages that caused me to stop reading in order to savour the words, the thoughts, the concepts.  And of course these observations are hung on the author's stories of learning new things - baking, boxing, driving a car, dancing, just as examples.

But each of those activities were akin to learning how to weave (or do any other skilled task).

For years I have asserted that for me weaving is a working meditation.  With each story Gopnik told about learning something new, I could feel the reverberation of a shared experience, in my case related to weaving (and all the other things I had to learn along the way - from writing, to using the internet, to figuring out how to remotely prepare to teach workshops, how to get there - and back again - quite literally turning into a travel agent - and publishing, then marketing my books.)

There is much to think about in this book, if one is inclined to think about such things.  

Creativity and Mastery

I'd not been aware of this book until a friend recommended one of his other titles to me.  The local library didn't have that particular book in its collection, but it *did* have this one.  Since I've been intrigued by the concept of 'mastery' since I was a kid***, I put in a hold request and yesterday I finally opened it and started reading.

Dear reader, I would like to re-post everything I have read - so far - but instead I will suggest that if you, like me, are a teacher, or a student, or just interested in how people learn, I bet you will find this book thoughtful.

Now, I've only read a few pages and I may become disappointed in it (if it gets repetitive) but so far?  I'm hooked.  

I also like his writing style, using stories to make his points.  A form of teaching that I embrace.  (As any of my students will confirm!)

One of the things he talks about is that before you can achieve 'mastery' you have to spend time on the learning curve and what you make initially isn't going to be very good.  As a weaver, I have tried to explain to my students that expecting 'perfection' the very first time they try to weave is unrealistic.  So yes, his message is on point, as far as I'm concerned.

So, I'm going to keep reading and see what else he has to say about the topic of 'mastery'.  And if nothing else, I'm sure I will enjoy his stories.

***as a kid my father would frequently watch someone who was a 'master' at doing something and comment something to the effect of beware of someone who made something look 'easy'.  Took me a long time to understand that what he was pointing out was that the person doing the 'easy' thing had 'mastered' what it was they were doing, and to not assume that just *because* they made it look 'easy', it was.  It was a subtle observation, but once I understood it, I began to really respect people who made something *look* easy.  And I also understood that in order to make something look 'easy' they had a lot of 'failures' along the way.  So failure was just part of the process on the way to 'mastery'.

Believing in Yourself

 

There is a certain amount of...hubris...involved in being a creative person as your profession.

I mean, society is quick to tell someone when they have overstepped their boundaries, tried too much, failed in the process.  

The internet seems to have ramped up that dynamic even more, perhaps because when you don't like what someone else has done, you can tell them, but do it from the distance of the internet.  You don't tell them to their face, so to speak, which seems to make it easy to let people know they have 'failed' you in some way.

You don't like what they did, so it becomes extremely easy to let them know of their 'failing'.

I'm old enough to remember Thumper's mom who advised that if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.

Instead, someone will post something they made, something they are happy with, proud, even, and someone will come along and yuk all over their yum, as someone commented the other day.

In the nearly 50 years I have been weaving I have made a whole lot of stuff I have not been happy with.  A lot of my stuff has something not quite 'perfect' about it.  But someone once told me not to let 'perfect' kill 'good', and so I accept that I am not perfect but that I can make good cloth.

I can even write 'good'.  

But even the most confident creative in the world likes to have a little positive feedback.  Fortunately I get enough of that positivity that I find I can keep going.  

Usually I would get that positive feedback when I travelled to teach.  People would approach me to say they read this blog, or had my book (at the time I only had the one), or that they appreciated my input on the online group(s) I belonged to.  

Now that I don't travel to teach anymore, that positive feedback is no longer there.  And at times I wonder if anyone is paying attention.  It seems like I send my words out into the ether, the great void, and see if anyone says anything.  

Sometimes I do get an email, or a comment here, and I know that some of you are still reading.  I can look at page views on this blog and know that yes, I do have a loyal 'following'.  It's not just bots scraping my site so they can spam me, or leave 'ads' in my comments (which I remove).

I have had several people contact me, likely based on my page view count, asking me to tout their products.  They will pay me, they say.   I always turn them down.  I won't 'shill' for someone, especially for products I don't actually use - or want to support.

Maybe it's because I'm old, now.  I no longer feel the need to 'prove' myself to anyone.  I've left most of the online groups because I'm tired of explaining, over and over again how and why things work in weaving, only to have people argue with me or tell me I'm wrong.

I know I can be wrong.  But so can everyone else.  And if someone isn't willing to take in more information and then base their decisions on additional information, I am not going to waste my time or theirs.  

When I wrote The Intentional Weaver it was to fill a need that I saw - a compilation of the kind of subtleties involved in the craft that were not, to my knowledge, between the covers of just one book.  (There may be others - I just wasn't aware of them - so I wrote a book to make it easier for my students to find, all in one place.)

When I wrote Stories, I wanted to expand on some of the things in TIW, and cover other things that were outside of the focus of a weaving textbook.  And the latest, A Thread Runs Through It, to examine the reality of being a professional production weaver.  Or at least, MY reality in that role.

I follow a number of authors on various social media.  Over and over again, they all say the same thing - if you like what an author has done, *LET THEM KNOW*.  Even better?  Let *others* know.

Because I can believe in myself all I like - but that doesn't pay the bills.  Selling books, does.

So, here's the deal.  I'm not the only weaver writing books.  If you really like someone's book, there are a number of things you can do.

Comment about it on your social media.

Write a book review.

Contact the author, let them know you found their book useful, helpful.

If all we get is silence, there is little incentive to keep writing.  And it takes so very little to encourage us to keep writing.

Speaking of which Stacey Harvey-Brown has a new book coming out about Optical Woven Illusions.  I'm sure she'd love to sell a few books...(just saying)...

My books available here and here

Signed copies of The Intentional Weaver only available here

Stories from the Matrix - Book Review by V

 

"My textile book collection consists almost entirely of technical 'how-to' sort of volumes:  pattern books, books with weaving drafts or knitting charts in, and the odd bit of textile history.  Many of these are aspirational books; things that I really want to somehow find the time to explore, to learn.  Stories from the Matrix is unlike anything else I own, and is perhaps not something I'd ordinarily choose, as my shelf space is limited and I tend to try and get the best bang for my buck space-wise by only filling it with books that set out to show me how to do something.

After reading Stories from the Matrix though, I think that tactic was a mistake.  I decided to give this a try as I've seen Laura speak a couple of times, and read plenty of her writing, and find her stories and her perspective interesting, as well as being aware she is an excellent weaver and really applied herself to learning to weave quality pieces in an ergonomic and efficient way.  I expected this book to be heavy on the storytelling and the philosophy, and it certainly doesn't disappoint in those respects, but more than that, it's been surprisingly educational and enlightening about technical weaving topics too.

The essays are in no particular order, giving the book a companionable air, like you are hanging out with Laura in her studio while she weaves, discussing whatever comes to mind, from her travels when learning to weave, musings on how our ancient ancestors must have discovered string and yarn to fascinating technical details on weaving itself.  While the book didn't market itself as being one that would teach me about weaving and enable me to be a better and more efficient weaver, there are enough tips and tricks in there that I think it's going to be every bit as deserving of shelf space as my collection of how-to books.  There were several point during reading I found myself mimicking hand motions that Laura described to help myself understand what she was explaining, which likely earned me a few looks in the waiting room I was in at the time!

For those who don't weave, there will be a few essays which are slightly too technical or hard to follow, but the accompanying pictures help clarify the points being made, and many of the stories are widely applicable to all sorts of crafts and other skills, the weaving is just the medium of telling the story rather than the point of the story itself.  I'd highly recommend this book to anyone who is interested in the process of creating things with their hands and who would like to take a step back and examine the process from a wider perspective.  Laura's status as an excellent weaver and teacher as well as a perpetual student, always learning, as well as her innate storytelling ability make this book a wonderful read, either to dip into and read one essay at a time, or to read cover to cover if you can't wait to get more of her insights.

This book, while not fitting into one simple category on my shelves, happily straddles them all, covering technical points, historical and modern methods, and also nicely fits into my 'aspirational' category as a reminder to always be open to improving my methods, learning new things, and seeing old things from new perspectives.'

Find a Publisher (they said)

 

This morning someone posted the payment rates for music streaming services with the comment that across all platforms they earned, on average, about $30/month.

Per *month*.

They commented that when they perform live they offer CDs for sale, but many people will ask for which streaming service they can download their music from and they know that they will receive a pittance.

I felt that comment even though I'm not a musician.  I am, however, an indie producer of writing, who has chosen to self-publish all three of my 'books' and frequently smaller monograph type publications.

When I'm online, I frequently see authors who share photos they have received of their books 'in the wild'.  They will share book reviews from satisfied readers.

Welp.  I invited people to send me reviews (if they liked the book).  So far I've seen one or two Stories from the Matrix photos in the 'wild'.  I have had quick notes from people as they received their copies, but so far?  No reviews I can share (word of mouth), here or elsewhere.

I can only conclude that Stories has been a major disappointment to those who bought their copies.  But that is my Inner Critic rubbing salt into wounds.  I know that many people read this blog and never comment here, but have taken the time to either tell me in person (when I used to travel to teach) or emailed and thanked me for my writing.

I have had people let me know when Magic has (re)sold, quite frequently at an equal or even much higher price than what I charged back in 2002.  Obviously some people still think it is/was a valuable resource.  

And I know that frequently word of mouth never travels back to the creator.

But in the absence of (much) feedback...

So here's the deal.  Send me a photo of a copy of one of my books in your studio, or on a weaving adventure, or a book review, and I will collect them and then choose one to receive 2 free tea towels.  It's a contest!  Everyone loves a contest ammirite?

How long will this contest last?  Until Canadian Thanksgiving, which is Oct. 9, 2023  midnight.  That gives you the time to read (reread) one of my books, take a fun photo, write a short blurb, and EMAIL to me, laura at laurafry dot com

If you send more than one such entry, (I *have* written 3 books, after all) your name will get put into the draw as many times as you send entries.  Sending such an entry automatically gives permission to use what you send on my social media - anonymously, as in I will not use your name, just initials.

In the meantime I'll be over here banging out an article to go with the sectional beaming class at School of Sweet Georgia, to be launched in November...(while my editor works on a 4th 'book', potentially to launch on Dec. 2.)

What the hell, if I can't weave (much) I can still bang away at the keyboard...

We are Stardust

 

A friend sent me info on this book, which I discovered was in the local library with no holds, so I requested it and have been working my way through it.

It's not actually difficult to read.  The author writes well and explains technology so that a layperson like me can understand it.  The first part is the history of our understanding about how bodies work up to the present day.

Where we now know quite a lot about how cells function.

As I read it, I think about my own 'crumbling' body and how I used to run on what I called adrenaline, but now wonder if it wasn't my own personal version of the Energiser Bunny.

Because she is making it clear that we truly are batteries. Biological batteries.  

And I think about how for most of my life I would just keep on working.  I might collapse in a heap from time to time, but as soon as I could re-charge, it would be back to it.

Back to the grind.  The deadlines.  The 'donwanna' jobs that still needed to be done - like inventory, income tax returns, sales tax returns, etm.

Mostly I ran on critical deadlines.  I'd wait until I could wait no longer and then charge at the task full steam until it was done.  Much easier if I'd just done it before it became critical, but it seemed like I needed that jolt of looming deadline to get myself into the mind space of actually doing it.  My version of a fast recharge?

As I read further into the book I become amazed, once again, at how any of us manages to survive, given the complexity of the life dynamic.  Especially in the face of continuing health issues.  The hip bone, connected to the thigh bone - all the way through the entire song.

Over the course of my life I used my body hard and for the most part it served my purposes.  Sometimes with complaints.  Sometimes with outright rebellion.  But eventually, eventually, my batteries would recharge and I would enter the fray again.

The older I got, the longer it would take to recharge.  Just like a 'regular' battery.

And I suppose that eventually I will get to the point where I cannot any longer recharge, and then I will be 'recycled', back into stardust.

What is the meaning of life?  Dunno.  Since I don't know, I have to make my own.  My meaning might be pointless, ultimately.  I don't know that there is a 'god', but on the other hand the complexity of life seems to have some sort of 'intelligence' that drives it.  OTOH, it could be random?

It could be that our lives are a big cosmic joke and there is no meaning.  But the joke's on the joker, because I choose to make my own 'meaning', my own raison d'etre for being here.

Do good, as best I can. Help others.  Be a creative force, not a destructive one - as best I am able.

I still have stash I want to weave down.  I still have words inside me that seem insistent on coming out - be they of any interest to anyone else - or not.  If my body crumbles but I can keep my mind, writing can become my primary creative outlet?

I still have knowledge accumulated over 4 plus decades.  I can nurture younger weavers, encourage them to grow, learn, understand the complexity of the craft.  Just generally encourage those who, like me, continue to take up the reins and keep going, in spite of obstacles.  

I can become Arachne, in the middle of her web, tickling this strand and that one, encouraging this person, helping that one.

Because we are all interconnected.  "No man is an island" as the poem goes.  The more I learn, the more I see this as true.

Anyway, if you, like me, find these sorts of things fascinating, I recommend this book.

What Price Knowledge?

 

Textile Design Theory in the Making

I have been making my way through this book, not because it is difficult to read (although it does use academic language) but because of the concepts it is presenting.

For me, this is a book to be taken in small bites, savored on the tongue, chewed thoughtfully, digested slowly.

I have for many years tried to describe the design process for me.  I have used various words, none of which really described how I felt about the process.  

The concept of 'matrix' was new to me in this context, but the more I think about it, the more I like it.

According to the Concise Oxford Dictionary, the word matrix encompasses:

Womb; the place in which a thing is developed; substance between cells; rectangular array of quantities in rows and columns that is treated as a single quantity (among other things).

That last is so directly germane to weaving I'm not sure why I didn't think of it before.  But now that the concept has been presented to me, I begin to see the 'truth' of it.

Matrix incorporates all the 'it depends'es of how a textile comes into being (be it basketry, knitting, weaving, etc.)

There is much to think about contained between the pages of this somewhat slim (250 pages including glossary, references and index) volume, but the concepts are huge.  Hence, the slow steady intake of what the author(s) are presenting.

Prof. Igoe also talks about the storytelling of textiles.  Someone called me a storyteller early in my career, and I embraced that concept and always incorporate my stories in my writing and speaking.

So much of textile terminology has been adopted by other technologies, especially computers, because the idea of storytelling embraces all human endeavours.  The fact that we have used textiles for thousands of years as a metaphor validates the use of 'stories' in thinking about creating textiles to this day.

This book is not, perhaps, for everyone, being part philosophy, part introspection, part exploration of *how* we think.  It isn't 'cheap', but what price knowledge?

As a person involved in the creation of textiles (and writing to support teaching the creation of textiles) this book has been a welcome introduction to concepts far beyond what I am used to as a designer.  It does not tell me *how* to create, but perhaps *why* I create.  Why I find weaving endlessly interesting.  And why it is, at times, so difficult to pass the knowledge of creating cloth to others.  

Because change one thing, and everything can change.  Every piece of the puzzle affects every other piece of the puzzle.  And until you get the threads into the loom, interlace them, and then wet finish them, you never really know if you have managed to create the vision you dreamt of in your mind.

The book is an academic book with an academic price.  However, the paperback version is being launched in February 2023 and you can pre-order it now.  

If you are, like me, interested not just in how, but in the why of creating textiles, this may be the book for you.  If you find weaving (or other textile arts) intellectually stimulating, you might enjoy this thought provoking look at how we think about how we create textiles.

If it is too expensive for personal purchase, maybe a guild library might invest in it and make it available to a larger audience.  

Books!

 

Someone mused on line about books about Canadian textiles/by Canadian authors.  I started thinking about my learning curve, which began in 1975, and the history of handweaving in Canada.

This is not meant to be a comprehensive list, just what I can remember off the top of my head.  It will attempt to be somewhat chronological, but I don't know the actual publication dates of some of the books, so don't take the order as any kind of 'gospel'.

The first author I think more Canadians ought to be aware of is Oscar Beriau.  He is much better known in Quebec than the rest of Canada and I think he ought to be better known and his pivotal role in the development of Leclerc Looms should be recognized.  His grandson has created a lovely website which outlines M. Beriau's many accomplishments, including assisting weaving groups on the prairies.

Mary Black.  Ms. Black is very well known, but what may be less well known is that her roots are in Nova Scotia and her papers were archived online.  She, along with Mary Sandin and Ethel Henderson eventually set up the Guild of Canadian Weavers and the master weaver certificate program.  Last I heard, 29 people had successfully achieved the master level, with many more working on the other three levels.  This is a self-directed approach to learning - and testing - one's knowledge of weaving and it is not 'easy'.  Anyone who achieves the master level has invested a lot of time and energy into it.  

Ms. Black's book The (New) Key to Weaving is still around, and while dated in terms of graphics and approach, is still my go-to when I have a four to eight shaft weaving structure question.

Robert Leclerc.  M. Leclerc wrote a small book on how to weave as a support for people purchasing Leclerc Looms.  The booklet is now available as a free download from the Leclerc Looms website.  He also acquired the newsletters produced by T. Zielinski, sorted the information according to topic and then produced the Master Weaver Series of over 20 small booklets that are chock full of really good information.  Those books are still available for sale on the Leclerc website.

As people began completing their master level program, some of them began writing books, some of them as a direct result of their master level monograph.  

Nell Steedsman did several booklet type publications as did Grace McDowell.  Dini Moes (the only person I know of who achieved the GCW master, Boston Guild master AND the HGA COE certificate) published a book with swatches called Uncommon Threads.  All of these are now out of print but still reside in many guild libraries.

Linda Heinrich wrote The Magic of Linen, Jane Evans, A Joy Forever, Mary Andrews did a small run self-published book on fundamentals of weaving and of course I wrote Magic in the Water, then The Intentional Weaver.

Carol James has written about sprang and finger weaving.

Not weavers but historians, Harold and Dorothy Burnham became very well known for their book Keep Me Warm One Night, about coverlets, and Dorothy went on to write several other books including Unlike the Lilies about Doukhobor textiles in western Canada.

Paula Gustafson wrote about Salish Weaving (there is an older booklet but I can't pull the author's name up right now) and the Museum of Anthropology at UBC (Vancouver) has done some stunning exhibits around coastal First Nations textiles.  Cheryl Samuel has also written books about Chilkat weaving.

I'm not too familiar with knitting, but Sylvia Olson has written about the role of knitting in coastal First Nations culture and society.

Stephanie Pearl-McPhee is well known for her books on knitting.

As for magazines, there have been a number over the years.  Loom Music in the 1950s and into the 60s I believe.  Heddle, a short lived publication that I contributed articles to from time to time, until it faded away.  Now we have Digits and Threads by Kate Atherley and Kim Werker.

I am sure that there have been many more, smaller publications, regional publications, but these are just the ones I could pull out of my memory this morning.

We must keep our history alive and one way to do that is to remember those who have gone before.  Books are one way of keeping history at our fingertips.  

No One Reads Blogs

 

I have been told repeatedly by People Who Know that no one reads blogs anymore.

Which kind of makes my blog an outlier, then?

I am constantly amazed at how loyal a following I have with this blog.  When I started writing it in August of 2008, it was partly a celebration of life, partly the story of how I became inextricably tangled up in the threads of this amazing craft.  (All puns definitely intended.)

I have shared my life, both successes and struggles, and found overwhelmingly that people have kept coming back and been supportive and encouraging.

One of the ways I process what is happening in my life is to write it out.  Sometimes I don't even know what I think about something, but something happens, and I write about how I feel about that thing happening.  Sometimes I surprise even myself where I end up.  

Sometimes I only write about what is happening after I have been through the worst and come through the other side.  

Sometimes I report from my bed - like when I fell and broke my ankle - and shared (some might say 'over shared') what was happening.

Many of the people who used to write blogs have given up, for whatever reason is important to them.  But I have kept going.  Why?  Because you, dear reader, keep showing up.  You read what I have written.  Sometimes you comment, sometimes you don't.  But the numbers keep growing, and I keep writing.

Until no one comes anymore, at which point I may continue just because I figure out how I feel about things when I write it out.  

I'm currently reading a small book of essays about various things, including living with chronic pain.  Given how much of my life these days is given over to coping with chronic health issues including pain, I wasn't sure I would find such essays of any particular interest.  But I am finding the first one incredibly affirming.

Sometimes it helps to know that you are not alone in your thoughts about growing old/decrepit.  Sometimes it helps to see how other people, coping with similar issues, manage to keep going.  To find value in their lives and a reason to pick oneself up and buckle on the harness of life and just...keep going.

The little book of essays was written by Luanne Armstrong and is called Going to Ground.  She has written a lot of books and I may look for more of her essays.  Always helpful to find a kindred spirit.  And thank you to the friend who shared this author and book with me.  I'm very grateful.

Book Review - Fabric by Victoria Finlay

 

I first saw mention of this book on line, but it wasn't available in North America yet.  However, I found a UK bookseller who was quite happy to send a copy of the book, which arrived just before Christmas.

I wasn't feeling very well and had library books that needed to get back to the library, but I couldn't resist opening it and beginning to read a little bit.

Since I had read a previous book by Finlay, I knew her writing style and had enjoyed it and this one is much the same:  part travelogue, part memoir, part homage to her parents, part an examination of various fabrics through the centuries and how they have informed and affected human culture and history.

It is a fairly close look at how certain fabrics have been made, how individuals work the thread and their looms.  It is a lay person's look at the craft, and while at times the explanations are not what a weaver would emphasize or use, it is - so far as I can tell - a fairly accurate depiction.

But it is what could be called the 'trivia' that enchants me.  The little asides, by-ways, and observations that have consistently captivated me.  It is a book that I have enjoyed even during recovery from shingles when reading was difficult (one eye is still constantly dilated) so that the little chunks I can manage have provided insights into cultures not my own, but rooted in a craft that I know fairly well.

This morning's little nugget was this paragraph:

(the author quite by happenstance finds a weaver at the loom, weaving muga silk)  "...Minu forgets me and gets into the rhythm of her work - right hand flicking a yellow string to make the shuttle fly, left hand battening (English term for beating) *the new line (weft) into the body of it, pausing as she adjusts the weft to make a subtle pattern, right hand flicking again.  I feel happy here, watching this calm woman work in the space between the made and the unmade.  I reflect how the part of a woven cloth that's the most important is the part we can only see during the weaving process while the cloth is raw and open.  Usually when you contemplate a piece of fabric it appears to consist of basically two dimensions.   Width and length, not much depth.  But if you look with imagination as well as eyes, you can see that connecting the back and the front is a tight fencing of crossing places where the essence of a cloth is found.

I imagine how, if I were very small, I could be lost inside its complexity."

So while there are some places where the terminology used isn't the same as what I might use, I am finding some solace in how Finlay has crafted this look at how fabrics are fundamental to human beings - our culture, our society, our history, our economy, our very existence.

The book is apparently being released in North America in June.  But if you want to, there are UK booksellers happy to mail copies now.  And it wasn't even all that expensive - I paid under $40 Cdn and that included the shipping.

Recommended to sooth the soul of anyone tired of the madding crowd and our current 'interesting' times.

*my added comments intended for clarity

Challenges

 

I have never been one to shrink from a challenge.  I like puzzles.  I enjoy learning things.  I like sharing my passion with other like minded folk.  I've been called a story teller and I'm happy with that label.

But I have had a lifetime of it.  One of the questions I ask myself - almost daily lately - is...when have I done 'enough'?  When will I be satisfied?  When can I say I don't need to push myself anymore?  

These are all good questions and deserve answers.

But I don't have any.  Because I just don't know.

Are there still people who want to know what I know?  Are there still people who care about what I say?  Do I care if anyone does?

I have enough ego that the answer to that last one is...yes.

I care about helping people who are struggling to find stuff out - about textiles primarily.  I care about people who feel overwhelmed and at sea, not knowing the way forward.  If I can be a beacon, I try to shine a light.

But I've been doing this for 40+ years and I'm tired.  OTOH, I still see people referencing my information and expressing gratitude, so I keep going.  I keep trying.  I keep learning and then sharing what I have learned.  Because the journey to knowing stuff never ends, if you don't want it to.

I'm currently reading Finding the Mother Tree by Dr. Suzanne Simard.  In this memoir she writes about her childhood, growing up amongst the forests of BC, then trying to figure out why some forests thrived while others died.  Her journey through the humus and root networks of trees and fungi, as she dug deeper - quite literally - into how and why an ecosystem works and what allows it to fail is fascinating.

I'm particularly interested in how she crafted her research experiments - the things she hoped to learn and the things she *actually* learned.  And how she has had an impact on forestry in BC - and beyond.

Now forestry is a pretty niche area of expertise, not unlike textiles, really.  So I have been reading her book and absorbing her journey and thinking about what, if anything, I can contribute now.

It's been a pretty stressful few years.  I was reminded yesterday that it is just 4.5 years since my mother died - a period of time that feels eons longer on the one hand, and just yesterday on the other.  

Because those 4.5 years were filled with many stressful things - house renovations, travel to Europe, the death of another friend from cancer, finally finishing the writing of  The Intentional Weaver, dealing with my own health issues, shutting down my business, the pandemic.  The list goes on.

This past month I have had to come to grips with my own health, yet again.  Accept that what is currently affecting my life will never get better - it's chronic and not subject to being 'fixed' - all I can do is learn, as best I can, to live with it.

And so I am forging ahead with my Next Big Project, partly because it might be my last kick at the can to get some of my knowledge 'out there'.  

Since publishing The Intentional Weaver, I have sold a number of copies and every month - until this one - I have hit my payment threshold.  But not this month.  Not yet.  I self-published.  Any marketing I did was all me - and the people who chose to share the info with their friends.

So if you have found my information helpful - either Magic in the Water or The Intentional Weaver, you can do me the favour of a shout out.  The link to Blurb is in the lower left of the screen, or just go to Blurb and search for my name or the title(s).  They can be purchased as printed or PDF versions.

And if you are looking for a really good book, whether or not you are interested in forestry, do find Dr. Simard's book.  Highly recommended.

Math

 

If it was easy, everyone would be doing it.

Now, I've been a weaver for a very long time and doing the math involved is necessary for a lot of reasons.  But the math that I normally do is pretty specific - do I have enough yarn for this application?  Or no?  I am more concerned about the pounds, not the miles.

So when I read in The Fabric of Civilization by Virginia Postrel that a pair of jeans has about 6 miles of thread in them, it took me aback a bit.  I mean, I *know* that weaving cloth takes miles of yarn, but 6 miles in a pair of jeans?

So I did some quick calculations and yes - depending upon size, style and weight of the type of denim, it is entirely probable that the cloth needed to sew a pair of jeans has about 6 miles of yarn in it.

Ms Postrel makes the case that the trope of the spinster always at her (because it was almost always a 'her') spinning is less about how dainty and delicate a young (or even older) woman was, and more about the miles and miles of yarn needed to make...well...anything.  That Viking fleet that we all love to talk about?  It would take longer to grow, prepare to spin, spin and then weave the cloth than to craft the boat it powered.

And hand made was the ONLY way to get any kind of cloth for all of history, until the Industrial Revolution, which started in the 1700s.  That's just about 400 years ago out of what, 40,000 plus years of working with fibre, making string, making cord, eventually making cloth.

That's a lot of fibre prep and spinning.  No wonder the art of the day showed nearly every female person with a spindle in their hands.  Because using a spindle meant multi-tasking.  You could spin as you walked, looked after the sheep, kept an eye on babies, waited while the pot boiled.  Any second your hands were not needed for something else, they would have been spinning.

It is estimated that a spinning wheel with flyer was developed in the 1400s or so (if I remember correctly).  And then spinsters would gather in public to spin because they could chat, visit, have a creche to look after babies communally, and a good bitch when necessary.  The 'stitch and bitch' circle is far from new.

I am like literally about 50 pages into this book and finding so much information put together in ways that I might have known the individual tidbits, but connected in ways that is making me rethink what I know.

I'm not deep enough into the book to do a proper review - yet.  Let's just say, I am very glad I bought my own copy.  

Good Things

 

All my life I have read, avidly.  The past few years?  Not so much.  I was busy with stuff, lots of stuff that took my time and attention and left me wrung out, not wanting to engage with a book in the way that I used to do.  So I read in little nibbles instead of large chunks.  But I did read.

I assumed that during the pandemic (when I saw that it was coming) I would take a deep dive into reading again.  But I found my attention span was still measured in nibbles.  So instead of reading a book a week (or so) it was taking me a lot longer.

There are times when things seem to come together in surprising ways.  Just this year alone I have read two memoirs - If I Knew Then by Jann Arden, and just now finished No Time Like the Future by Michael Fox.

On the face of it, these two people have some similarities.  Both in the entertainment field, Arden a singer/songwriter, now actress.  Fox a movie and TV actor (mostly) but also a writer.  Both activists. Both Canadian.  I have no idea if that is important or not.  (Well, Fox is now an American citizen, but still close to his Canadian roots.)

I was about half way through Fox's book when he wrote "Good things can come from bad things."  The same sentence had been used by Arden in her book, and the synchronicity rang loudly in my ear.

It is an observation that I have made myself, although not in those exact words  My search for 'silver linings' in every cloud philosophy.

I read memoirs quite often because I am interested in how a person negotiates their lives.  The thing I have learned over and over again is that everyone - every single person - has some sort of challenge they need to navigate.  Reading about what others are going through helps put my own life in perspective.

At the end of Fox's book he observes that it takes a village to take care of him, but that he is *also* part of the village.  I think this is something that we need to remember now, more than ever.  That it does take a village, but that we are *all* part of the village.  That we *all* need to take care of each other.  

If this pandemic has taught us anything at all, it's that we need to take care of each other.

Wear the mask if you need to go out.  Maintain physical distance.  Have the vaccine if you can.

Book Review

 

Normally I would only 'review' a book I have actually read, but I listened to part of an interview with the author on You Tube this morning and I think this book is something to watch for.

Unfortunately it's rather expensive, so I won't be rushing out to buy a copy, nor is my local library buying new books right now, plus - due to the plague (how appropriate) - inter-library loan isn't operating right now so I won't be getting my hands on a copy any time soon.

However, for those people who have a larger book budget than I do who are particularly interested in Viking textiles, I think you might find this one valuable.

Scholarly books are sometimes a bit...pedantic...but the author read a passage from the book and it felt like a layperson interested in history and/or textiles would find it quite readable.

The author seems to have done at least one TED talk, so you could google her name and see what you think.  Michele Hayeur Smith.  

Poetry

In my lifetime I have seen attitudes swing from a focus on the Humanities to Technology.

Is this a good thing?  Not always, in my opinion.

Perhaps setting aside Humanities as an area of study has led to less humane treatment of others.  A lack of understanding of how human beings are all part of one race, one people.  All *human* in their diversity.

Ignoring Humanities means that we understand less about our own selves - and those around us.

Throughout the centuries artists and poets have tried to capture what makes us 'human'.  In high school English, we had a component of poetry, in all its forms.  In English 12, our teacher brought in current 'pop' records and we studied those songs for the poetry they were, set to music.  I still remember the day she brought in Simon and Garfunkle's latest lp with the song 'Richard Cory' and discussed life, success and even, yes, suicide.  How money doesn't necessarily buy happiness.

Many of our greatest story tellers put their poetry to music.  When I was a teenager, Leonard Cohen became popular, with his mystical lyrics, set to melodious notes that lifted and carried me along, wondering what he was actually trying to say.  Sometimes I thought I understood, others?  Not so much.  But the music kept me coming back to listen and listen again.

Gordon Lightfoot was another singer/songwriter that told stories with his music and words.  Joni Mitchell captured vivid images in her web of song.

Bob Dylan (taking his stage name from the poet Dylan Thomas - there's a clue!) also intrigued my generation and others to follow.

Many poets seem to be able to choose a phrase that suddenly illuminates something about being human.  If nothing else, poems frequently cause people to stop and think.

John Donne's assertion that 'no man is an island' struck me particularly as a teenager - I looked around the classroom and saw the group of us as one, yes, even those I didn't like much.  We were part of humanity, part of a collective story.

Words have always held power.  What we call myths frequently dig into what it means to be human - or not.

Right now I am reading The Wood Wife by Terri Windling.  It is a novel about a writer trying to understand the lives of a couple - he a poet, she a painter.

Other writers that I enjoy also pull from poetry, some writing their own, some referencing other writers.  Louise Penny has a major character who is a poet.  Ian Rankin frequently uses music lyrics as reference points in his stories.

And so many others, too many to name.

For me, a book needs to be written eloquently.  What does that mean?  To me it means that language must evoke something.  Look at the mundane in a way that is fresh.  Enlightening.

I rarely read poetry as such these days, but I find the thread of poetry runs through the books I choose to read.  And no, I haven't forgotten writers such as Margaret Atwood, Guy Gavriel Kay, Dorothy Dunnett, who was the queen of character development and the descriptive phrase that shone light on a person and situation.

Words matter.  

Synchronicity

This is part of my book hoard - the books I own, therefore do not have a deadline by which they must be read.  As I say, only part of my hoard.  

This morning several things happened that seemed to be a 'thread'. 

The first was viewing a video comment from Canadian astronaut Chris Hadfield, answering questions from children, one of which was what was your favourite school subject?

He said language.  He said he loved language and has learned to speak French (our other official language here in Canada) and Russian (because astronaut, working on the Russian space station he had to.  Plus he just likes languages.)

Then Abby Franquemont posted about discussing words in different languages.  She said:

"This made us have to have a whole discussion about “window” in Quechua. Why? Because at higher altitudes like where I grew up, traditional houses don’t have them, only colonial and later ones, and they’re called “ventana” or “wintana” depending on your beliefs about transliteration and representing the Cusco Quechua accent.

We literally called around asking people for their opinions and no two were the same, and this is one of the things about Quechua. None of the answers are wrong. Neither is any one of them correct. They are all descriptive. And this is what makes colonial language speakers really struggle.

We could have asked a university professor of Quechua or a schoolteacher who has pioneered multicultural and bilingual education centering Indigenous communities, and eventually I will, but that also kind of misses the point of #runasimi which is that it’s for people to communicate with mouth noises."

It was an eye-opening comment.  Quite literally.  I'd been scrolling through twitter trying to get my first coffee into me and my eyes quite literally snapped open.  And pieces started falling into place.

Like Chris Hadfield, I have always loved language.  Unfortunately I cannot seem to wrap my brain around any other languages than English, not because I can't learn the vocabulary, but because of the grammar.

But language, the written variety in particular, has always been fascinating to me.  Books were a magic carpet for me from my earliest memories.  I simply love to wallow in a good book, where the author uses descriptive language.  Hmm.  Descriptive language.  Yes, a good description that makes me SEE something, some ordinary thing or object in a fresh new way.  A story that brings illumination to human emotions fascinates me.

A story teller that sees the humanity in us all excites me, helps me understand other people, their feelings, their wounds, their motivations.

I started thinking about all the authors I particularly love to read and all, every one of them, has this gift of being able to see beyond the obvious and help me to see it too.

During this time of pandemic, with so much stress, I have been having a hard time focusing and my reading of actual books has been reduced to almost nothing.  It has only been the last couple of weeks that I have found myself needing the distraction of a good book and begun to read with more regularity.

Library books.  Books with deadlines.  I still can't tackle anything too complex - like Dorothy Dunnett, whose books you might just be able to make out sitting in that heap on the hearth.  She is an author who isn't as well known as she should be.  She is, as others have commented, an author's author.  Many of the really good authors I read for their stories are also fans of Dunnett.  But in addition to a fantastic observer and interpreter of human beings, she is complex.  And I just can't sit and read in large chunks right now.  I need smaller 'tastes'.  But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate a great writer.

Regular readers of this blog will notice that I haven't been listing books I have been reading.  Because I haven't been reading books.

However, I am working to make that change because I find it helps me get through the stressful days, the days of uncertainty, of not knowing what will happen in the coming months.

So I finished Laurie R. King's latest Riviera Gold the other day and started Terry Windling's The Wood Wife yesterday.  Both quite different writers, both with a good way with words.

And I am going to think further on how we communicate with mouth noises.