looking and listening

 

The intention is to let the elements express their un-fussed-with state as much as possible. Guide and direct the flow of cloth with invisible stitching.

Then define the conversation with other kinds of stitching. Time to go very slow.

Spellwork takes time.

Just looking

 

Filthy gorgeous Updated.

 

I'm packing up orders for the post office run later on. So if you want something, be in touch.

I haven't made time to shoot and post set threads because I'm still processing them. 

Every time I think I am so done making these, something like this pops up and keeps me going. It's headed right into my stash as soon as it's dry.

Update: mine.   Check the store. Yours might be in there.

a finishing day

Almost a year since I bought it, I broke out this warhorse of a machine because I don't trust the Janome or the Featherweight to do the right thing by eight+ layers of  service weight linen. 

I rolled the hem on this cloth one-quarter inch and ran up both sides, the fabric itself is loomed only 24 inches wide.  Toweling maybe? I've got tons of the stuff so I warmed up with hemming a towel for the kitchen. 

Then I cut a piece of the same cloth to back the pillow I planned for "The Rose" lyrics piece. In haste, I didn't even pin the two sides together. Just put it under the needle and was careful not to feed my fingers into the fire. The 99K stitched through all that as if the cloth was butter. An amazing machine. 

I scored a pair of 20" feather pillows on the 'Zon. I should have left myself a little more wiggle room on the closure - getting the pillow inside was quite a battle. Hand stitching the seam closed felt like stitching up a body bag. "You ain't NEVER coming out of there." 

This morning I retrieved the overdyed thread from the deck where I let them seep into two of those linen towels. 

Sweetie decided they needed a little more warmth before hatching.

I'm putting orders together to ship on Friday. Cloth and thread.

dirty threads : updated

 

There is a mountain of thread to be processed.  Lest ye think I have a hive of elves chained up in the closet making this happen, let me explain.

The wind-on happens while I'm on the clock and involves a heavy water glass and fifty fast flicks of the wrist. Each skein is tied off with a four-inch section of itself in a firm knot.

I have worked out a technique that, although repetitive, involves no physical strain. Or I'm an alien. 

The actual process of applying the dye is complex and mutable.

Once the dyed skeins have cooked in the sun until dry, they have to be gathered up (in a very specific way to keep them from tangling) then hand washed and rinsed until there is no dye run-off. I use Dawn detergent, so soap city.

Time to dry. Last year I bought a cylindrical mesh tower to dry my herb harvest. It's also perfect for drying skeins of thread. It never fails that as soon as the tower is hung on the high deck and loaded, the weather says, "Foolish woman!" and I scramble to get the whole thing inside. Grateful that Colin was here to handle that yesterday.  24 hrs to fully dried.

And so, to the great wind off. Where are those elves when you need them? Each skein has to have its tie-off clipped carefully. I loop the skein over my left wrist and transfer the finished thread onto the cardboard bobbins (Dee, the ones you sent are wonderful.)  One skein at a time.  I do this operation while I am working the night job, between calls for a company I used to call the Whine Mine, most recently promoted to The Shit-Show. It has paid the bills for a dozen years, but I'm coming up on my fill of lies, bullshit, and grief. Fast.

At first, this lot of thread presented as ho-hum, and I was thinking there'd be the nightmare of repeating the whole process in reverse in order to overdye the worst offenders.  Nope. Each one of these has a subtlety going for it. "Take me as I am". So be it.  I'll be posting groupings of six to the store in the next few days. 

I'm nearly out of materials and my time and attention are needed for other things.  The DIY book for Dirty Threads is looking more likely every day. 

§§§ by light of day, many were boring so I held a do-over. 

family

 

Mothers, you will wear your heart outside your body for the rest of your life. And beyond.

from the flight line

In just a few moments, everything can change. 

Dirty thread boogie

 Big reveal when it lands.

I paved the work surface with sections of cloth- linen,  cotton, silk- under the threads so they get the blessing, the grace, of color too. The process can be directed, not controlled.

.

.

    Update: early returns!

shimmer days

  

I love this view of my deck garden. Just a couple pieces of trellis nailed up quick and dirty but the hyacinth vines have taken over. The moonflowers didn't germinate. The indigo didn't come up. The tomatoes got eaten as fast at they formed. 

Everything else, the giant mother lavender and thyme, the lantana and purslane are vigorous and I rooted a stem from my gardenia up in the mailbox garden. Have to start a couple more before it's too late.

Next year, some extra panels on the south side with strings for the vines to creep over. A bower.  

This piece of cotton was a table mopper in the last dyefest but it has some soy wax on it here and there. I just don't have the time/energy to mess with boiling this piece. Just hang out there for a while. See what happens. Maybe ants are partial to soy wax.

This was Wednesday. I was (and continue to) struggling with an epilogue for the book. Say too much? Not enough? What points to wrap up and what teases to lay down.  

I've gone back to writing first thing in the morning and it's a delicious practice that I won't let slip away again.

As you can see, the lifeguard is pretty much done with this job for the summer.

spinning the tale

 This was once snow-white. Part of a bridal trousseau. Italy, c. '30s The fact that it seems to have been never worn, creamy now with time, hints at heartbreak. 

It's made of the finest cotton lawn, delicate, yet still strong. Ankle length. Once I pulled that satin ribbon from under the spider webs of lace under the bustline, it might fit me, so she was no sylph. A woman of substance. But I won't put it on. Won't ever wear it.

Cursed? Perhaps. This would have been the last layer between the blushing bride and her husband. 

Did he leave her at the altar?

Did he die in the war?

What tragedy befell this bride?

That will be part of Angel's story.

I'm going to put this away in the closet for some time.

The tiny slip stitches securing the satin ribbon in place. I actually put this through the washing machine. The other half of the ribbon is in there somewhere. 

These two tiny buttons are all that secures the shoulders.

Elements mercy

 

Yesterday was my day off from the whine mine and I was determined to seize the day.  The candidates for transformation were already gathered up. I should have known there would be weirdness when I had to drag the container down the stairs because I couldn't lift it.  

Those containers. I got them to grow stuff in on the deck but they also make great cloth buckets. Good handles and soft sides make them easy to cram into tight spaces 

I mixed blends this time. Quick and dirty. All nine little cheese shakers topped off.

Got a large tub of soda ash ready, the new umbrella unfurled. Rolling Stones on the box in tribute to Charlie Watts, who  I always thought of as the Dad of the stones. It was hot and I was cooking. By noon there was a table full of witch camo, demon hides, and dragon skins. 

After the last scrap was dyed, I went down the steps and got straight into the water clad only in my Provence schmatte. I felt like a mermaid with the cloth swirling around me in water. I swam laps until I couldn't, drip-dried a bit, then made ready to meet up with Charlie after school. 

We hashed over the ongoing tale of Ace & Little Bea, watched some Larva, and played Twister until Jake got home with a pizza. I grabbed a slice and ran because a storm was brewing. Before I was halfway home, it was like driving in a carwash. When lightning looks a foot wide and the car shudders, you know it was close.  

Just as I pulled into my neighborhood, the street lights cut out. I came home to three cats standing around with all their hair frizzed out and eyes bugging. No power, no AC, no internet, but bless these solar lights....plenty of hot magic out on the deck getting a blessing.

Hear it?

That summer sizzle. I can still tell the difference between NY and GA cicadas. Here, they all seem to yak over one another in a hot white noise. In New York, it was more like a gospel call and response that cycled up to a frenzy. Then, when the others were taking a breath, one loud one would grab the mic and TESTIFY until the sound spun out into a shocked silence often punctuated by thunder. They knew what they were talking about.

I was hoping for a twofer with that peace sign, but the kids were skittish today. There are a pair of big bombers with five-inch wingspans patrolling the area that I have angling to charm. So far no luck. I may flinch if one of those lights on me. 
 

This arrived today. Maybe a dye fest tomorrow.  All I have to do is remember to crank it down when I'm done with it so the rain and winds don't trash it. 

amendment to that stitch

this one. I should have mentioned that it's best to use a tapestry needle when wrapping the base stitch. Little to no chance of snagging the stitch or the cloth.

I'm going back and adding a little bling here and there. Waiting on the 20x20 pillow.

I'm going to need a bigger bed.

"It's the heart afraid of breaking

that never learns to dance.

It's the dream afraid of waking

that never takes a chance."

 

The last of the Dirty Threads (until Fall)  have been reorganized in the shop.

the dogless days

I have taken up this sampler again. I love the words and the making of it, tinkering with the letterforms as spacing and mood allows. 

If I can score a market umbrella, there will be another dye day or two this season. Fred did take out the tent. Permanently this time. 

Hurricane Fred mostly gave us a pass but for one rainy day which was overdue. And trashed my deck tent.

Summer slithers, but the shift is on. Charlie was here on Sunday. We were thrashing about in the pool when he stopped, looked around and said, "Something is burning."

Yes. I had tried to ignore it, but someone was burning leaves nearby. Fall. 

"I like it, " he said. He grows wiser. I grow older.

 

Disconnect

 

If you've ordered anything in the past week, it's on the way. 

I'm going to do my best to disengage electronically this weekend. Put other things in my line of sight. Slip into other flows.

rest

 

The Churn

 

I love this basket. It's big. 18" high and wide. Heavy even when it's empty. 

A gift from a neighbor years ago when she grew tired of supervising her moving sale. I need to get some wheels for it. Right now it's chock full of fabulous. Below, four shots. I dig down to the bottom, grab a handful and slowly bring it to the surface, then stir.  I got mine, of course. The rest is up for grabs, one fat baggy at a time. There's lots of damask in there now.

glory squared

 

There are thirty-something of these vintage damask napkins waiting for me to sort and iron. Eventually, I'll be cutting most of them into ninths or more, mixing the pieces into the big basket that I pick Fat Baggies from. 

It's been a long time since I've had any damask to share. The Skin of the Gods!

I'll be keeping a handful of the biggest ones for my ongoing text project.  The blue background on the last one was too busy. Made it hard to read the letters. My bad. Lesson learned.