I have to tell you that a big part of my joy in weaving comes from my love of fine wooden tools. I love the color and grain of wood, and the way it feels in my hands. It is such a delight to handle a perfect shuttle, feeling the smooth contours and the silken finish.
In addition to the fiber I bought at the NY Sheep and Wool Festival, I bought these fine shuttles.
The Birdseye Maple boat shuttle at the top was made by Jonathan Bosworth. It feels serious and sturdy in hand, and I really like the locking mechanism that lets you remove the spindle for those times when hairy yarn gets wrapped around it.
The red Bloodwood Swedish style shuttle is from Bluster Bay Woodworks. It is small and graceful, with a very low profile to glide through stubborn sheds.
Neither of these shuttles use my Schacht Bobbins. I plan to make paper quills using recycled junk mail, and use my Swedish bobbin winder to fill them.
Do you have a favorite shuttle? Is it a work of art, or simply a workhorse?
I was resigned to hanging the dutiful square little color gamp on the wall behind my loom. After I hemmed the top and fringed the bottom, of course. How traditional and ordinary. That was how I felt about the entire exercise. It was just ordinary. I was ready to move on.
First, I needed a rod to hang it from, and I went rummaging in the umbrella stand. Found one umbrella, a paper parasol, a shepherd’s crook, and assorted rough walking sticks. Hmmm. Here was a branch from Aunt Maple, the beautiful old tree that once stood outside the Aerie window. Perfect, just perfect. The weaving fits on one end, completely off center, like a flag. YES!
I quickly turned a blind hem to make a casing and tied a simple fringe at the bottom, leaving it ragged. YES! YES! YES!
Forget about hanging it behind the loom. It belongs here, above the altar of the Woodland God.
Last week, I had only questions. Today I have answers and they are resoundingly YES! The color gamp is history, and I suppose I did learn something from it, if only to discover that I don’t like regular stripes of huck lace. What I do like is a random melange of soft Egyptian cotton for weft (Thanks, Jojomojo, for the bag of goodies!). I like recycled sari silk. I like having a purpose for weaving but not a plan.
It feels good to have no draft in front of me.
It feels good to have each throw of the shuttle be its own moment.
I don’t have words to describe how it feels to be so present in the weaving.
I think this picture tells the whole story.
Duty comes before pleasure. This rainbow warp was first promised to be a color gamp. However, I am letting the selvedges go as they will, because that is the charm of a handwoven piece.
I have a bad habit of saying that I want to hurry up and get the loom dressed so that I can weave. When I say that, I am treating the entire preparation process as something of lesser value than passing the shuttle back and forth. Yes, to weave means to create cloth out of warp and weft, but the process of weaving begins long before that.
It begins with inspiration.
Colors.
Patterns.
Sketches.
Diagrams.
Pouring over catalogues, sample cards, web sites. All in search of the right yarn.
Measuring the warp has a flowing rhythm. With the right music, it becomes a dance.
Threading the heddles and sleying the reed are harder to love, but they are necessary parts of the process. This is the time when I learn to sing the cloth’s song 1-4-1-4-1-2-1-2-3-2-3-2.
I try not to think too much about beaming and tying the warp. I feel like I need three more hands for this stage of weaving. The lease sticks take on a life of their own, and in the end we compromise and agree to make a neat roll on the back beam, a jelly roll of brown paper with thread filling.
Then, finally, I can pick up my shuttle, but I have been weaving all along.
Don’t ask me how many looms I have in my studio, because I’ll give you a different answer every time. If I’m not thinking, I will say ONE, because I have one floor loom and it’s too big to forget. Given a little more time, I might say THREE, remembering the Journey Loom and the inkle loom. A few minutes later, I’ll say FOUR, acknowledging the big Tri-Loom that is stored under the sofa. Actually, the right answer is SEVEN because there are three little Weavette and Hazel Rose looms that are so small that they are easily forgotten.
Webs was my local yarn store when I bought my floor loom in 1990 and Barbara Elkins guided me through the process of selecting the right loom for my weaving interests. I am more interested in color and yarn texture than I am in weaving complex patterns, so a 4 harness loom was right for me.
Floor Loom
Maker – Schacht Spindle Co.
Model - 46” Floor Loom
Age - 19 years. This loom was made on December 28, 1989.
Weaving Mode: Jack
Harness /Treadles - 4 harness, 6 treadles
Heddles – flat stainless
Reeds - 12 dent
Options and Accessories – high castle, lamp holders, Schacht bobbin winder, bench with accessory bags, Purrington Angel Wings
Dimensions:
weaving width 46”
Height – 46”
Width – 53”
Depth – 38” when opened, 26” when rear leg is folded in.
Weight – 118#
Shed - Rising
Wood - Maple
Welcome to tromp as writ. I’ve always found this humble weaving instruction to be a magical phrase, conjuring the image of a weaver whose feet are dancing across the treadles in the familiar pattern of the threading she has just completed.
I have been weaving since the hot summer day in 1972 that I lugged my handmade tapestry loom up the hill at the community college, to sit at the feet of Eszike Stouffer and learn the basics of the craft. It has been a very interrupted journey, full of stops and starts and broken threads.
The warp that’s halfway on my floor loom right now has been sitting there for over two years. I want to do better than that. Having an audience to share in my triumphs and console me in my setbacks always helps. That’s where YOU come in. Tell me about your weaving triumphs. Ask for a hug when things aren’t going well.
We are weaving the web of life. Interconnected. We are the weavers. We are the web.