Intermission

 

The weather confounds another run at the primary colors. It was only 61 today midday.

A teal shading to aquamarine from ice water to l'heure bleue.

Bubblegum to raspberry syrup magenta. And sunshine to corn to tiger fur yellow.

And all the ways they can trip each other up. I dream about them. 

In the meantime, Life.

A fresh MRI and a new doctor advised me to adjust my expectations about my back. There will be no surgery.

More treatment, but nothing invasive. We flex.

The Mother Lavender not only survived the winter that killed the venerable thyme and jasmine, she flourishes.

Sweetie persists. She had more good hours than bad. Salmon and sunshine will still get a purr. 

And the drive, the will, and the need to write are back in full force. 

Inventory

 

There's a lot of it. And more to come. This is only the first dyefest of the summer. 

At first glance, what a buncha mutts! 

I had no business letting that Mad Raven near the threads, but zoom in. 

Cuddle close and discover that each hank has a complexity and depth of change that makes me want to take up needle and thread and see what some satin stitched eyes or feathers would look like.

I'm going up country in a few hours so all of this merchandising will have to wait. When I get home,  I'll be putting together sets of four and six-ounce bundles of scraps and posting them to the store as they become available. 

And thank you all for your support, your patronage, and encouragement. 

Sincerely, your crack dealer.

Fails or flight of fancy

 

It's easy to lose focus when it's this beautiful out. 

I'll never get used to the shortness of Spring here. There are no lilacs, forsythia, or weeping willows to ease me into summer. You look up and, BAM, summer is breathing down your neck and the thin-blooded are looking to turn on the AC. I just finished paying off the grotesque gas bill from heating this barn during the deep freeze. grumble grumble.

Oh well. I just reminded myself there were seven years with NO heat or AC, so all things are in balance.

All this to say, I lost track of timing and finishing on half of the cloth I was working on. Cloth and thread can get overcooked resulting in a lot of murky-looking, unhappy crap. 

Oh, I know tastes vary, but I'm still doing this to please my eye first, and if I open the washing machine and yell "FUCK ME", you know I'm not looking for a date.

 

But, there are lessons, always lessons. Besides setting a reminder, don't forget that the heavy vinyl cover on the table lets liquid pool under cloth and thread. Instead of a quick drain and dry, the stuff is stewing in its juices. And the biggie. A little black goes a very long way, especially when overdyeing. 

 

The saving grace? Discharging. And if I get really arty-farty, some soy wax resist. I'm exhausted just thinking about the soy wax games. Picture the crone standing over a bubbling cauldron lifting lengths of steaming cloth out of the broth with a gnarly stick. Maybe I'll do it over the firepit in the front yard. That will be something for the new neighbors to write home about. 

On the other hand, discharging with bleach is quick, dirty, and satisfying. Phone booth sex. 

Guess you know which way I'm leaning.

Come What May, round 2

 

Sorry, I put these pictures up without any words. After the day was done, I was totally out of gas and words.

Don't know what inspired this. I actually started basting the hanks to a piece of heavy linen. After two or three, I slapped myself. The hanks have to be able to be moved a little. I switched to straight pins and rolled it up. The roll went into the sauce first and so was at the bottom of the tank, last on the deck and I had run out of a couple of colors already. 

 

They are waiting for me to start to clean up. 

Just as I was setting up, Colin appeared with a big bag of crocheted cotton throws from my major scout, Mel. They are gorgeous and in pristine condition and I feel a little icky doing this AND cutting them up.

Well, maybe just this one. 

Fruits, some unripe, some rotten. updated

 I fiddled with that cotton/silk twist and also remembered its provenance. Liz, I am pretty sure you had this sent to me all the way from AU or NZ? Please confirm. Thanks. I found the post about the greasy demise of that original hank. Be glad there were no pictures.

I used a tapestry needle on a piece of heavy linen because I couldn't find my damn glasses and was too intent on the project to get up and find the spares.

They were in my hair.

Weather is going to play a bigger role in this work in the future. I have not retaken the holy BATCHING oath. It's because I'm a lazy bitch and if I have to wait for a red-hot thunderstorm to do the primary rinsing, so be it. There are no elves to help out here. 

I wound off a few because they looked so unappetizing in the hanks and I needed to look deeper. 

Revelation #1: Morton's Kosher Salt gave a new dye delivery option that paid off nicely. Short and abrupt color changes were further enchanted by some clumsy handling with dirty gloves. And yes, the new Black Mix really came through nicely. 

                                                You always wondered about that 'dirty', didn't you?