Show and Tell

I was uploading some photos from the camera and realized that there are a few things I've done over the past few months that I haven't shared here. And since I'm a little bit proud of my efforts, you'll all just have to put up with my little show and tell exercise here.

First up is the portrait I did of my sister Julia and her dog Pirate. This was done for a Prismacolor drawing class I took last fall from Rice University's Glasscock School of Continuing Education. It's been decades literally since I drew like this. As in since I graduated from UT. So, I wasn't sure if I could draw anymore. I am extremely grateful to Kathryn Klauber, the instructor, for showing me that I could indeed still draw. And I intend to keep on drawing.

Next is the baby blanket I wove for my first grandchild, Luci. Luci arrived on April 5 and I will be talking about her a bit more in future posts (consider this your official warning that I will be gushing about her).  This blanket was my first project on my restored loom and I loved making it.

Finally, we've been working quite a bit on our yard, planting lots and lots of flowers. Among which are these lovely little geraniums which are creating a very nice ombre effect when they are in bloom.

 

Aren't they pretty?

In between these projects, I also taught my daughter-in-law to sew and helped her make items for Luci's nursery, completely redid my daughter Sara's room, which involved a lot of paint and some sewing, and did a few other things.

Currently I'm winding a warp that I hope will result in three shawls, the beginning of my inventory for an Etsy shop! I'll post photos of that project in process on the loom once I get that far.

A Bedtime Story or Why You Should Dream Big

Once upon a time, a very long time ago, a young girl wrote a letter to Santa. In addition to asking for a doll and the usual toys girls of her age in the mid 1960s asked for, she also asked for something different. In the Sears Roebuck Catalog, she had seen a small weaving loom, made of wood and, according to the copy, capable of producing real cloth. Being an rather unusual, artistic sort of child, the idea of being able to weave cloth appealed to her.

But that Christmas morning, though the little girl did receive some lovely things for which she was very grateful, the little girl also had cause to be annoyed. Because evidently a major mix-up had occurred at the North Pole. Instead of a small wooden weaving loom that looked and worked just like real weaving looms, there was this little metal square thing and a bunch of knitted loops with which to make potholders. It was a real bummer. The little girl was sure Santa meant well, but she didn't want to weave potholders. She wanted to weave a scarf. That she could wear. And while she made several potholders, it just wasn't the same.

The little girl eventually ditched the potholder maker and went back to drawing and painting with watercolors for her artistic outlet as she grew. During high school, she renewed her interest in cloth by teaching herself how to sew. But always in the back of her mind was a fascination with the way cloth was made. While attending art classes at the University of Texas, the girl would sometimes linger near the huge room-sized floor loom stationed out in the hallway on the second floor of the building hoping to see it in action. But there was no time to actually learn to weave as she was already planning to work in graphic design some day.

The girl graduated from college, married and moved to a big city in Texas. She started working as an art director in ad agencies, had three children, for whom she sewed baby quilts, Halloween costumes, Christmas dresses, and graduation dresses. She forgot about wanting to weave cloth. Then one day, after she had started working for a school designing their print materials, she went to a big second hand sale. At at this sale was a small 4-harness table loom in need of a little loving care, for $50 dollars. Since it was near her birthday, the woman bought the loom as a present for herself. When her co-workers asked her why she would buy such a thing, she replied, "Because I have always wanted to weave cloth and now I finally can." She brought the loom home, fixed the few small things that needed fixing and bought a book on how to weave. Her first project was pretty awful, but she eventually got better and made some nice scarves and a few shawls with her loom. But it wasn't enough. The little loom could only weave fabric that was 18 inches wide and the woman wanted to do bigger projects. She wanted her shawls to be bigger. She wanted more.

Unfortunately, looms as big as the woman dreamed about are very, very expensive and the woman did have three children in private school and college. She was also fairly certain that it would do no good to write Santa about a bigger loom as previous experience had taught her that Santa really didn't understand the first thing about weaving equipment. So she dreamed of bigger looms. She also got on the internet and started looking for a second hand floor loom she might be able to afford. Once or twice she even saw where someone was giving a floor loom away, but whenever that happened, she was always too late when she called. Until one morning when she went online to find a brand new ad from someone who needed to find a good home for their floor loom and was giving it away for free. Kind of like a kitten from a litter of ten.

The woman immediately called and emailed asking if the loom was still available. Much to her delight, it was. But the loom needed some repair in order to work. Sure she could handle it, the woman committed to taking the loom.

Once home, it took a long time and a lot of work to make the loom functional again. At times, the woman didn't think it would ever happen. But finally, all the work was done and the loom was put back together. The woman immediately went to work putting a warp on the loom. Ever the over ambitious one, she decided that she would immediately start on weaving a blanket for the expected any day first grandchild rather than the practice project she had thought about doing first. After much hard work, winding the warp, placing it on the loom and threading it through the harnesses and the reed, she was finally able to weave. And it was just as wonderful as she had hoped it would be, watching the cloth take shape under her hands.

Now the woman just has one thing left to do. Write a thank you letter to Santa for not bringing her that little loom she thought she wanted so long ago. Because if he had, the little girl that she was would probably have gotten frustrated and lost interest in weaving instead of discovering the joy of it as an adult.

Dreams really do come true.

Working With My Hands

About a week or so ago as I was talking to a few co-workers about some of my projects at home, a couple of them expressed the opinion that some of my interests aren’t exactly, shall we say, normal. Specifically, they expressed their opinions on my current project of restoring a Macomber loom and my eagerness to finish it so I could start weaving on it.  Remarks were made such as ‘if you want fabric, you can buy it at a fabric store’ and a total lack of understanding was shown about how anyone could possibly find standing in a hot garage sanding and refinishing wood fulfilling.

I wasn’t necessarily offended by their comments. I’m used to being considered slightly off centered. Quite honestly, it’s been years since I’ve felt the need to be ‘like everyone else.’ Junior high and part of high school were the last times I felt that way and even then, I definitely marched to the beat of my own drum and did my own thing. What I did feel was sadness for them that none of the joy they get from life is provided by the satisfaction of making something, be it through cooking or building or crafting.  

For me, working with my hands is something that is necessary to my life. Admittedly, I am an artist. I work as a graphic designer. I also write as part of my job. But I need more than just those professional pursuits. And there is something extremely satisfying to me in making something with my hands. Be it a loaf of bread, a dress, or a piece of furniture. I am currently taking great joy in seeing the wood of my loom being transformed under my hands from the dirty, beaten, somewhat water stained pieces that it came to me as into golden, glowing beautiful pieces that reflect the history of the loom. I love taking flour, salt, butter, and water and working them together into a piecrust to be filled with fresh fruit. I love that the rooms in my house have been transformed by paint I have applied, and that for one of those painting projects my hands were joined by the willing hands of my daughters and my friends. What an incredible act of love and generosity that was!

I also love that when I walk on the floor of my studio space, I’m walking on a floor that my husband and I put in together. Yes, it took longer. Yes, we had sore muscles from bending and kneeling on the floor to install it. But it was also a joint goal, a joint venture into the unknown. We had never done a project of this type before and weren’t sure we could do it. But we did jump in and we succeeded. As we also succeeded when we built the table for my studio where I sit typing this and the TV/stereo stand in our den: both pieces that were built by us from my designs.

No, I don’t expect these women to ever understand why I do these things. But I do know that at some point in time they will envy a shawl I’ve woven on my soon to be restored loom. Or more probably, I’ll come in with a cake or similar homemade goodie that they will fall on and devour. And I’ll look at their perfectly manicured hands and smile quietly, knowing that while my hands may not look beautiful, they have the advantage over theirs in being able to create beauty.