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eine Saite

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taking up space

Colored Cotton, Walnut Wool, hanging at the PNW Quilt & Fiber Art Museum, La Conner, WA

I’m just going to start with the piece that was conceived for the space, as a way of introducing my art show, which has been up for some time, and has two more weekends before closing on May 1. The show is called Yarn, Cloth, and the Pull of the Earth, and it’s hanging at the PNW Quilt & Fiber Art Museum in La Conner, WA. It’s quite an experience to have a space that I can fill all by myself - an interesting, faceted, space, since it’s the third floor of a historic Victorian house.

One room of the show, on the upper floor of the museum, with me weaving by the far window.

The walls tilt inward, about 5’ from the floor, and this was actually perfect for what I wanted to do. Most of the pieces in the show involve two layers: a woven ‘ground’, hung against the wall, and suspended ‘lines’ of handspun yarn, which need to be higher and a few inches in front of the ground. Without this tilt in the wall, it would have been tricky to figure out, but the space had what I needed, so I could just hang the work. The colored cotton panels with bunches of wool in between make up the one piece that I made specifically for that wall, after visiting the space to scope it out. In this sense, “taking up space” means I used the space almost as a medium for the work, taking it up as one takes up a tool in the hand.

Handspun, handwoven cotton in natural brown and green.

The woven cotton is all handspun, essentially whatever I had ready to weave, supplemented with some new brown and green fiber from Vreseis and Traditions in Cloth. It’s all two-ply yarn, and I plied same colors together until I ran out, then some skeins were mixed, then I likewise wove until I ran out, so the color changes in the weavings happen by chance. They are interspersed with walnut-dyed wool, a gift from Devin Helman, spun rough with no prep and plied back on itself. In several of the pieces for this show, I’ve been exploring the expressive potential of strands of handspun yarn, the way they are like drawn lines or brushstrokes, handmade marks that have unpredictable voices of their own.

Coffee Lines - a handspun yarn based on the theme of coffee, hanging at the top of the stairwell before you enter the exhibit.

Handspun wool lines, with handwoven ground of walnut-dyed commercial 10/2 cotton.

Handspun wool lines (rescue sheep’s wool), handwoven ground of commercial warp, handspun Navajo Churro weft.

Taking up space is the real value of the show for me. Having this opportunity to fill two rooms with my work, my priorities, my ideas about what is important, and hoping to help others appreciate the wonder of yarn and cloth. The nicest moments have been just sitting in there, weaving in the light through the window.

Detail of weaving in progress, all cotton, at the museum.

A special day when I coordinated well with my weaving. Thanks to Dana Weir for the photo.

View from room 1 to room 2, through white lines. Cotton Strips on the right - more handspun cotton, in white and grey.

Caravan handspun, on ground of linen warp, handspun wool weft.

My Caravan yarn got to come out and play, hanging with a new woven ground. The pieces are all interacting with one another, creating something with their crosstalk.

I also included some microscopic images of fibers, taken when I was doing conservation study and using polarized light microscopy to identify fiber content. The images were so beautiful, I wanted them to be shown as artwork - and they emphasize the theme of looking closely. There is more I could say, but it has taken me long enough to post about this show, and I’d like to leave this here today.

tags: backstrapweaving, backstraploom, handspun, handspinning, handwoven, cloth, yarn, cotton, wool, artshow, weaving
Saturday 04.23.22
Posted by Tracy Hudson
Comments: 4
 

that soothing rattle

Peruvian captive ring spindle, called ‘chac-chac’ which means rattle. Between the wide whorl and the lower ring is a loose ring, which moves around when the spindle is twirled, making a whirring sound. Shown here with Targhee dyed by

High on my favorite spindles list is one of several from Peru, a little one-ounce spindle with a captive ring. The loose ring makes a sound while the spindle spins, a rattle that gives the spindle its Quechua name. I’ve heard various theories on why the captive ring, from audible tracking of the spinner, to woodworkers’ showing off. But in wandering around my own neighborhood spinning, I’ve found another, somewhat enchanting role for this chattering sound.

A passel of Peruvian spindles, with the chac-chac on the left. At least a couple of these are constantly in use around (or outside) the house.

We have a lot of birds around my house. Really, concentrated near my house. I can walk for over a mile with my binoculars, and not need them until I’m back within 50 yards of my driveway, where all the birds hang out. During the winter, it’s mainly American Robins and Varied Thrushes, Chickadees (Black-capped and Chestnut-backed), and Kinglets (Golden-and Orange-crowned), with Spotted Towhees, Dark-eyed Juncos, Red-breasted Nuthatches, and Anna’s Hummingbirds year-round. So, I’m wandering around outside with my spindle. This has, I realize, become an essential spiritual practice during pandemic times: walking outside with my spindle. On most days when it’s not (as now) pouring down rain, I tend to get out there at least for a spell, and it helps.

Bare chac-chac spindle, with a low whorl by Allen Berry, wool dyed by Abstract Fibers.

Recently, I was wandering up the hill behind my house, where there is an unbuilt lot full of trees, a band of partial forest very popular with the juncos. They are usually flitting around there, dashing across the open space by the drive, chipping and chucking their rapid, abstract calls. On this day, I was able to mingle quite closely, moving very slowly and standing still for long stretches of time, but never ceasing to use my chac-chac spindle. It rattled along, renewed with each flick, and the birds were never disturbed. On the contrary, I believe (and this is not the first time I’ve had the thought) the spindle’s irregular purr actually allowed me to get closer to the birds without causing alarm.

Orange on orange - love when the spinning matches my clothing!

The gentle sound of wood against wood, natural but irregular, may be similar enough to bird calls to mesh with their soundscape. If I knew the kind of language that had beautifully rich single words to express whole phrases, I would name this spindle “soothing to the birds.” As I stood there spinning amidst juncos and towhees I thought, this is really what it’s all about. This is belonging. I realized in that moment that the work of my life is to learn not how to stand out, but how to blend in.

It has been fun to gather images of soothing-to-the-birds from the various times I’ve taken pictures over the last few years. Lately the spindles have mostly been working toward the weaving above and its future companions, with stripes of Navajo Churro, dark Coopworth, Manx Longthan, and madder & indigo dyed Corriedale. The spinning moves me closer to the weaving I wish to be doing, the people who have practiced before me, and now the birds who share this place with me.

(Sometimes I put my musings about spinning over here in the spinning blog, in case you’re looking for more.)

tags: handspinning, handspunyarn, spindle, chacchac, peru, weaving, backstraploom, backstrapweaving, wool
Sunday 12.19.21
Posted by Tracy Hudson
 

my weaving

I'm currently working on a piece that is all handspun wool, and relatively large for a backstrap weaving.

It's traveled around with me, and I've given demonstrations to weavers, friends and students in Seattle and Kansas City. I don't have many good photos of it, but I'm honored to say that Laverne posted some here.

As I've been working on it, this weaving has become a kind of home base for me - an experience I haven't had before with weaving.

At home, I check in with it almost daily, putting in a few rows in the early morning. Already, before taking it elsewhere, the weaving felt like a space, a separate place to go for a while. When I'm there, I'm in the weaving, in the world of it, which has certain rules that I needed to learn when I began. How to manipulate these yarns, and open these sheds, slightly different from any other project I've done. The pickup is a different set of patterns - so although the technical process of pickup is familiar, I had to learn to read them.

The first time I demonstrated, I remained silent, and was able to weave along, without mistakes, for several picks. The second time, I was trying to explain the process to students, and I couldn't fathom my pickup, then forgot to pass the weft (which, by the way, is a good way out if you have made pattern mistakes during a demo - just don't pass the weft!) I learned that people just want to see you change sheds a few times, so "pretend weaving" is good enough for a warm-up. After a few minutes, I got to the point where I could weave for real and answer questions.

 

These experiences made me bond more with the weaving, in a way. I had to master its language enough to do it while semi-distracted. Not arguing for multi-tasking, but it's interesting how the distraction made me focus more, and go a bit deeper into my relationship with my weaving. Which is what I'm trying to talk about. There's a relationship with this weaving, as a process and as a piece. My time with it is valuable, and necessary. Like feeding a friendship, the time weaving solidifies something good in my mind, something deep and true.

 

So when people ask what I'm planning to do with it, I have no reply because I'm not thinking of it that way. Not trying to get something done, but just doing. Something important.

tags: weaving, backstrap, handspun, wool, textile
Monday 05.02.16
Posted by Tracy Hudson
Comments: 1
 

production

Two-stranded plying balls of spindle-spun yarn and a phang-in-progress, hanging in a Ladakhi home in 2007.

I say that tongue-in-cheek, because I am very far removed from what might be considered a production spinner, or weaver, or maker of anything. But the last few days have involved making things, and doing it more quickly than usual.

For example, I spun a whole skein of coils in one day, in preparation for teaching a textured handspun class.

That was pretty quick, but it's bulky, and was done on the wheel, so a skein in a day is not surprising. The other project I'm working on, though, is pushing limits. In the post "two spindles full", I traced the slow progress of Romney spun from hand-teased locks on Peruvian spindles. Those two spindles got plied, and made a nice, hefty ball of weaving yarn.

Full spindle of plied yarn, at the moment I finished.

I was inspired to make a warp in mostly grey, using this nice Romney as a ground. It would be an Andean pickup piece, with bands of pattern in the center and on the sides. Accordingly, I starting winding a warp, picking how many rounds to use for the plain fields based on previous weavings. I wound 20 rounds for the border, then a pattern band, then 50 rounds, then the center pattern band, then ...29 rounds, and the yarn was finished. Hmm.

Given the limitation of my warping pegs, I'd already taken the first half off and laid it aside, so there the 29 rounds sat, warped and taking up space, waiting for 41 more rounds' worth of yarn. I got to work spinning, and spent most of the next day spinning what looked like a sufficient amount on one spindle, then on the second one. Plied them last night and wound on... anther 20 rounds. So 49 rounds sit there, awaiting the rest of the warp.

Many lessons rolled into one, here. I never weighed or measured the original yarn, so I had no idea how much more I would need - it's all just eyeballing, and clearly my eyeballing is not well developed in this area. Another lesson is that I should probably just keep spinning, making more than seems necessary, because the only problem then would be having more than enough. Another lesson has to do with this yarn not necessarily being ideal for backstrap weaving. I was enthusiastic about spinning it from the lock, and continue to enjoy that, but the crimp and fluff of this Romney make it challenging to spin with perfect smoothness. I will be grappling with this lesson as I weave, but I'm in that too-deep-to-back-out situation at this point, and I'm going to follow through.

As I consider the fact that I'm spinning in a few days the same amount I spun over a year or more, and mentally struggle with the prospect of spending another day or two devoted exclusively to spinning this one type of yarn, it makes me laugh to come across the photos of Ladakhi phangs and plying balls in my archive. This is what production spinning really is - the same thing, again and again until there is more than enough.

Ladakhi plying balls, with phang spindles, sitting out on the roof of the house, 2007.

Now that's two spindles full. Ladakh, 2007.


tags: ladakh, wool, phang, handspinning, spinningwool
Wednesday 03.09.16
Posted by Tracy Hudson
Comments: 2
 

surroundings

I've been noticing the harmony between what I'm seeing outdoors and indoors these days.

Hmmm, this could become a habit....

tags: beach, wood, wool, knitting
Thursday 08.27.15
Posted by Tracy Hudson
 

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