There are no bilges in a house, but often I think of the creepy, under-the-stairs closet in my studio (basement) as pretty bilge-like. It is dark, sometimes there are dead spiders in there, and I’m always reluctant to open the door.
When we moved here 14 years ago, I put bins in this closet filled with things I made decades ago. Mostly Bob packed these things for me because I was busy saying goodbye to the various groups I had been a part of over the 30+ years we lived in New Jersey. It wasn’t easy to leave. I put those bins in the creepy closet and haven’t dared look in any of them since.
But lately there are things I’ve remembered that I’d like to see…sweaters, for one. I am missing some sweaters I wouldn’t mind seeing again, if only to look at the designs for possibly knitting them again, or getting some new idea based on these past designs. I spent much of the 80s and 90s engrossed in Elizabeth Zimmerman’s ideology of knitting your own way through your own ideas. For a while Alice Starmore was encouraging this, and Meg Swansen still does. So I wondered where those sweaters had gone, when I thought all my sweaters were in the blanket chest at the end of my bed. I’ll spare you photos. Some of those sweaters were so trendy at the time, but could not stand the test of time. I did find a few that were truly classic. I’m glad to have them again.
I’ve been curious to find a woven jacket I made in the distant past, when I was a new weaver, and Anita Mayer gave assurances that you could make good looking clothing out of simple rectangles. I wove some Harrisville Designs shetland in two colors that conjured up raspberries and blackberries. I loved that fabric, but not the ill fitting jacket it became! That was likely 1979 or 1980.
In the 1990s I learned to spin, and got a Jacob fleece that I washed and carded and spun without separating the colors. I wove that fabric with the Jacob in both warp and weft. It looked like a crazy plaid, and I loved it. I always envisioned it as a boiled wool vest with a zipper in the front. So I lightly fulled it, and the plaid got even muddier. I did not have the courage to sew it. Now I wanted to find it.
I made a set of cotton placemats for myself and for my oldest friend before either of us had children, and my children are now in their 40s. It was an interesting overshot pattern, based on honeysuckle, that had a white warp and white as the pattern thread. The tabby was the color. What an interesting take on overshot that was. I think it came from an early Handwoven Magazine.
Then some of us in my very first guild — Shore Fiber Arts on the New Jersey shore — decided to make placemats and exchange them. We chose four colors that we all bought together, and we could make any woven structure we chose. I chose waffle weave, not realizing that when the mats were washed they’d look like rags if I didn’t press them with starch. I was so embarrassed by this project, but the placemats I got from the other three weavers were well done. I could never part with them even though I haven’t seen them in decades. They all had fringe–another requirement of the project, and I don’t like fringe on table linens. So, 40+ years later I have unearthed them and christened my new walking foot to sew hems on these. There are only three mats, since I must have thrown mine out. I’ll use them this summer. I remember two of the three weavers, and I hope to remember or find out who I am missing.
You know how things always get better in memory when you cannot find them? Well, some of these things are as good as I remember and some are definitely not!
At some point in the 90s I joined an overshort exchange. We were to use a black 10/2 cotton warp and then pick any overshot pattern and use any color for the pattern weft. I think the goal was to sew them all together into some kind of throw or blanket. They are a frightening group of overshot squares that would give me nightmares! Still, it was fun to find them and lay them out for a garish photograph. My square is the green ‘Orange Peel” on the right in the 2nd row.
I found some of my first tapestry exercises when Archie suggested I try letters. I’ve gotten much better at this, but I’m happy to see these awkward attempts after so many years, so I added them to my bulletin board yesterday.
Along with the Greek word Logos and some letters I wanted to use in the border of a piece I never wove, I found some samples of scarves I wove in the 90s to sell at local craft fairs, and a sample from from a set of placemats I wove for my older son when he got married (middle right in the photo). I also found two small tapestries I bought on ebay, that were kit designs sold in Sweden. Then there is just the general chaos of my wall size bulletin board.
Both Bob’s parents and mine had their 50th anniversaries in early 2000s, and I wanted to make something for both couples. What can you give couples who have been married so long they have just about everything? Bob and I decided for a joint project. He’d make footstools and I’d weave the fabric. I wanted something that looked like weaving to symbolize their long lives woven together. This was a draft from the book The Shuttle-Craft Book ofAmerican Handweaving by Mary Meigs Atwater. It’s called polychrome summer and winter, and I wove it on my then new 16S AVL mechanical dobby. There is a fine gold thread in the tabby to commemorate their golden landmark. I had enough fabric for a footstool for Bob and me, and we will soon have our 50th anniversary–in one more year. I now have all three footstools since our parents are now gone.
Today I wove for a couple of hours on my current project, Hebridean wool for fabric that I’d like to use to make a ruana. I’m almost done, 18″ to go, and it will be a game of chicken to see if my weft will last another 18″. I have no idea how many projects I’ve woven of the past 51 years. Too bad I didn’t keep better records, but it’s been a fun and surprising adventure to unearth these ‘ancient’ projects from my youth. Onward!
