Historic Fibers

Celebrating Past, Present, and Future

There has been a lot of post-dissertation celebrating going on around here. It all started with a trip to see a film, a visit to the art supply store where I picked up all kinds of goodies to play with, and an epic journey to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Not to mention the purchase of a special spinning wheel that I have been lusting after for years. These were instances where I celebrated alone, a little "good job, have a cookie," moment of encouragement from me to me.

The latest episode involved Actual Other People. I gave my spinning friends the heads up that I would be venturing to Berkeley to attend our spinning group, and that there had been major accomplishments that needed serious acknowledgment. I ordered cupcakes and bought wine. My spinning friends brought even more wine, and I came home with more than I took. I have great friends, and all of them are trying to get me hopelessly drunk. (Perhaps not surprisingly, friends, family members, and academic advisors have all been encouraging me to drink heavily for a couple of years now. I suspect I have been a bit tense.)

Maia took me out to dinner before spinning, and we had a really great talk about all things business-ey, because Maia is brilliant when it comes to taking care of business. She is also full of great ideas. Then we wandered back to Knit-One-One and met up with the gang, letting the wool, cupcakes, and wine corks fly. The usual suspects were there - Kira, Mrs. Pie, Jill, a half-dozen others who I'm failing to mention, and of course, Maia. We had a guest appearance by the most excellent WonderMike, who has a new podcast, Fiber Beat. Michael collaborated on the Y Knit podcast previously, so he is an old hand. His new podcast will be branching out and tackling all forms of fiber art rather than focusing only on knitting, he is also doing video supplements for the podcasts, and he has contests with each new episode, so be sure to check him out. He is funny and charming, and your iPod will approve.

I managed to resist the temptation to overimbibe and dance on the table tops, since I did have a bit of a drive to get home, but another celebration is in the works for the coming weekend. I'm heading off to attend Claudia's felting open house, followed by another session of plotting world domination with Maia. I didn't realize that somehow Maia has managed to avoid seeing the 19th century knitting journal in person, and since she knits lace and I don't, I really need her input on that project. We'll take care of that in a couple of days. There will be more celebrating on that occasion, since I have a rather special bottle of scotch that needs to be opened with friends. In fact, I'm having such a good time that I may be celebrating for the rest of my life!

Dyeing From Curiousity

When Meg-the-spinner came to pick up Julia-the-wheel, we had a fascinating conversation about natural dyeing. Meg is one of the old school natural dyers, the kind that makes her own dyes from things hanging around in her environment. I, on the other hand, am one of the "save time, buy prepared extracts" kind of dyers, but I've always been curious about the other approach.

Meg was the first person I have encountered to make that old school style sound accessible. Whereas I had heard the process described as acquiring huge quantities of raw dyestuffs and laboriously processing them into dye, Meg described peeling an avocado for dinner, chopping up the peel, tossing it in a jar with some liquid, then waiting a couple of days for dye to develop. Or using the water leftover from steaming beets. Of course, I couldn't dye a huge quantity of fiber using this method, and some of the dyes might not be extremely lightfast, but for the purpose of experimentation, it is completely doable.

Meg came back the other day bearing gifts. She brought me a jar of in-progress copper blue:

This is just a couple of small pieces of copper pipe marinating in vinegar, and will eventually produce a blue/green dye. I had tried this process before, but apparently the copper pipe I used had anti-tarnish agents added to it, and I was soaking it in ammonia. It didn't work, and was a bad-smelling, frustrating experience. Meg brought old copper pipe, sans anti-tarnish ingredients, and it is already turning the vinegar a faint bluish shade. I can't wait to see what this is going to do.

Meg also brought samples of some of the things she has dyed:

Indigo, avocado, and beets (The pale green is from beets! Imagine that!). The fibers are silk, angora, and locks of some sort - possibly mohair?

I'm starting to consider this whole making-your-own-dyestuffs process, and found Felix talking about her own experiments on her blog today.

Perhaps it's a sign of things to come.

Art Appreciation 101

I've gotten used to having the dissertation finished with astonishing speed, even though it was a thorn in my side for literally years. I credit this quick adjustment to the fact that I have a substitute obligation with which to flagellate myself waiting in the wings. Instead of constantly feeling like "I should be working on the dissertation," that inner directive has been replaced by the constant feeling that "I should be making some felt."

The problem is that finishing the dissertation took a lot out of me. I am creatively drained. My inner landscape was starting to look a lot like the Lord of the Flies, with this constant struggle. I should be making art. But I can't. But I should. But I can't. Gah.

The only thing to do in such a situation is the most counterintuitive thing possible - goof off. Be frivolous. Be silly. Do nothing remotely productive. And so, with this in mind, I set off to spend the day at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. I imagined skipping gleefully among the permanent collection, visiting old favorites and new treasures. Like all my museum visits, I started at the top.

You may remember my mentioning that the coffee place at the top of the museum makes one Mondrian cake per day, and I really wanted a piece of that cake. Here it is:

Pretty, isn't it? I actually wanted to take a picture of the cake sitting on top of Robert Arneson's head (or at least his statue's head) but the guard took umbrage. I found that to be particularly ironic, since Arneson was known for his irreverance and anarchism, and he would have absolutely approved of my photographing the cake on his head. No matter. As it turns out, the cake looks better than it tastes, but it was still a worthwhile endeavor.

I next went down to a special exhibit of Richard Avedon's photography, expecting to see a lot of his fashion work. There were a few iconic fashion images, but mostly there were portraits - amazing portraits. I was absolutely floored by a series taken of his father - from late middle age through two final photographs of his elderly father in a hospital gown. They were incredibly respectful and compassionate images, and they conveyed the human dignity underlying the indignity of aging. They were extremely powerful, absolutely devastating, and have stayed with me ever since.

I was then ready to refresh myself with the permanent collection - only to be disappointed. The entire second floor was closed to install the big 75th anniversary exhibit, and only a few paintings were available for viewing. But I had an epiphany about art appreciation that I thought I would pass along.

A lot of people are intimidated by contemporary art, and really, the thing you need to know about it is whatever you think and whatever you feel about it is valid. Most times, artists don't give you a lot of clues to tell you what their intentions were, and that is really the point. It's all about your reaction and figuring out what it means to you. And I suppose that lack of direction makes people uncomfortable, since so many of the images we are deluged with daily are specifically designed to be readily recognizable and understandable in less than 2 seconds.

So I've come up with a way to cheat and sound like you know what you're talking about when viewing contemporary art. If you are honestly flummoxed and have no idea what the heck that thing is supposed to be, just tell yourself "It's about the environment," and try to interpret it that way. It almost always works with modern art.

So, for example, here we have a Clifford Styll. This is actually one of my favorite paintings at the MOMA, and it is massive in scale. It is helpfully titled, "Untitled." It's about the environment:

And here we have a Phillippe Guston. Very different in style from the Styll, but also about the environment:

Finally, we have two Diebenkorns. Here is the first one - it's about the environment:

And finally, another Diebenkorn, also about the environment:

I hope that helps everyone feel better about contemporary art. It's all about the environment. Class dismissed.

Goodbye Old Friend

I found a happy new home for the Ashford spinning wheel. She is staying in the area, and I couldn't be more pleased about that. Even though I may never see her again, it's just nice to know she's there.

The new owner is another one of those people (like me) who names things. And in the course of our conversation about natural dyeing and spinning and all things fiber-related, she started referring to her new wheel as "Julia." Which is my name, and which totally freaked me out at first. Usually objects that want names sort of tell you what they would like to be called, and that wheel has never told me its name. So I asked the new owner about it, and she looked at me, somewhat surprised, and said "She has your spirit." Oh. Of course. Makes absolute sense to me, and once I got used to the idea, I really liked it.

Nice to know that somewhere in the world, there is a spinner named Meg and a wheel named Julia making beautiful yarn together.

Felt for Brains

I've heard that confession is good for . . . oh, I dunno, something . . . so here goes. Contrary to popular belief, everything I felt does not turn out perfectly, even though I work really hard to give that impression. Most things do, but every once in awhile I have a complete meltdown, and I had one this weekend.

So there I was, celebrating the dissertation being done, doing fun things like going to see a French film (j'adore) and visiting the art supply store. I decided to visit the studio, since I hadn't been in there in weeks except to print the dissertation. Then I got all motivated, and thought I might make some felt Christmas ornaments, since my inventory at the Artery is depressingly low at the moment. I pulled out all my odds and ends and had a good time felting styrofoam balls and was feeling great about how amazing these ornaments were going to look. I won't tell you where I got the directions for this project, and the reasons for that will become obvious. Do not try this at home.

At one point in the process, I was supposed to boil the felted styrofoam balls, presumably to make the things felt even more, although frankly they were looking pretty good already. But I decided to give it a go, because I was Following Directions, and in fact I just got a Ph.D. in Following Directions. Into a boiling water bath went my ornaments, and after a few minutes, I heard an odd hissing noise. I meandered into the kitchen, and was horrified to find that my ornaments had blown up - not exploded, but engorged into a large and asymmetrical shape. That puzzled me, so I thought well, maybe they'll shrink back down again when I take them out of the water, so I did, and they did, except they shrank back down into this weird lumpy mass. The weird lumpy mass looks distinctly like a little felt brain, which is probably not the most festive thing to hang on a tree. Sorry about the fuzzy photo, but believe me, clear focus does not improve the image here:

Note to self: Do not boil styrofoam balls. This whole incident brought me crashing back to earth, since I had 8 of these delightful little convoluted messes that had taken me a whole afternoon to ruin. Nevertheless, I thought I would share my newfound knowledge with you so no one else will have to suffer the same disappointment.

I tried it again yesterday, following my own advice not to boil them, and they turned out just fine:

Just to prove that I can do it, here we have lovely, symmetrical balls of woolly goodness. Stick a ribbon on them and you have an ornament. Leave them as-is and they make the perfect gift for those people on your list who need the hint to grow a pair. Works either way. Just don't boil them, unless you need a perfect gift for those people on your list who need the hint to buy a brain.

Is it just me?

Is it just me, or does this poster look more like a promotion for a production of "Grease" than a production of "Macbeth"?

Calls to mind a mental image of Lady MacB and the Thane gesturing dramatically toward the crown while giving a stirring performance of "You're the One that I Want."

Hallowheel

Writing, dissertation, blah blah blah. I know what you really want to know is what I have been spinning, or more to the point, what I have been spinning on.

I celebrated my recent freedom to actually have a life by buying myself a new wheel, and not just any wheel - the wheel I have been yearning after for about 5 years now. I saw a notice in the Spindles and Flyers newsletter that someone was parting with a double treadle Schacht Matchless for a reasonable price, and I contacted her, sure that she had probably already sold it. These wheels are really incredible, and people generally don't part with them willingly. The wheel was still available, so I made arrangements to pick it up on Halloween, which makes it a Hallowheel:

My first wheel, an Ashford Traditional, is a saxony style, which means that the orifice is off center just a bit, and it was starting to bother my back. The Schacht is perfectly centered and extremely well balanced. There really isn't anything I can do on the new wheel that I couldn't do on my former wheel, but I can do everything more comfortably and easily.

The former owner had gotten this wheel about a year ago, certain that she wanted to become a spinner, and then found that she really didn't spend enough time spinning to justify continuing to own the wheel. I mention this because it is a cautionary tale to those of you who are feeling pressured to learn to spin.

Many fiber afficianados have posted manifestos proclaiming that learning to spin is mandatory, but I disagree. You don't have to spin if you don't want to. There is a lot of good commercial yarn in the world, and if you'd rather spend your time doing something else, that's just fine. You have permission not to spin.

However, if you do want to learn to spin, get a drop spindle and try that for a while. For heaven's sake, get yourself some coarser fiber to start with - Bluefaced Leicester or any of the luster longwools, a nice Wensleydale perhaps, or Corriedale or Romney. By everything that is holy, do not try to start with merino, silk, or God forbid, cashmere. You will cry. If you find spinning fascinating and entertaining, well and good. Get someone to let you try their wheel and see if you like it. If you do like it, I can give you a deal on a gently used double treadle Ashford Traditional. But if you absolutely hate spinning, I repeat, you don't have to spin.

I'm having a good time getting to know the new wheel, and spent the better part of a day oiling her and fussing with the drive band (which incidentally was way too tight and made treadling a bit of a struggle, not to mention the fact that it really messed up the tensioning). I'm currently spinning some sage green merino/silk, and am just flying along since this wheel really wants to spin. I'll post pictures of the yarn when I'm finished, but right now I'm having much to good a time to take a photography break!

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

From the Graduate Studies Handbook, subtitled "Persnickety Personified," on the presentation of the dissertation:

"Doctoral candidates will be required to perform a final ritual to demonstrate their advanced skills in hoop jumping before the degree is conferred. The dissertation should be presented to the Student Affairs Officer in a plain brown wrapper set on a silver salver directly to the left of a plate of Pheasant Under Glass on a floral china plate. The candidate should offer the salver from the right, and remove it from the left while humming "Le Marseillaise," maintaining an obsequious and fawning facial expression at all times. At the direction of the Student Affairs Officer, the candidate should back toward the exit, bowing from the waist, taking care not to let the door hit them in the backside on the way out. It is recommended, although not required, that candidates wear blue and gold striped silk stockings."

I did pretty well on the ritual, although I almost blew it on the bowing from the waist bit, since I curtsied instead. I appealed to the Graduate Division Dean on the grounds that my rendition of "Le Marseillaise" had been particularly spirited and my curtsy especially elegant. He acquiesced after I flashed my silk-clad ankles at him and batted my eyelashes winsomely.

I sprinted from the building, giggling madly, taking care not to let the door hit me in the backside on the way out.

Exit

The third dissertation adviser signed. It's all over but the paperwork. I'm a bit stunned.

Here is a photograph that was on my desktop for much of the last couple of years:

This is a picture of the History Department. Notice how airless and sterile it is, how lacking in color. That's pretty much how the past several years have felt. But the thing about this photograph that I liked is that the only real color is the big red exit sign, and the light at the end of the tunnel. I'm at the end of the hallway, ready to open the doors and get out of there, and it feels pretty good. How good?

Well, this is the photograph on my desktop right now:

THAT good! Thanks to everyone for their support and encouragement through this long process.

Back to Life

There has been movement on the dissertation front, and I haven't really wanted to talk about it much because I'm afraid of tempting fate and having the whole thing blow up on me. But in a nutshell, I submitted my revisions and two of my three advisers have signed off. I'm just waiting for the third to give me her undivided attention long enough to ask for changes or sign the silly thing.

All of the stress surrounding this manuscript that has been building up for the past several years has manifested itself by making me ill, and I've spent much of the past month being sick. Considering I almost never get sick, I haven't had much practice and I'm really bad at it. The latest round (the flu) is just about over (thank goodness) and it's just a matter of building up strength again. Giving a 90 minute history lecture requires a 3-hour nap afterwards, which is necessary but tedious. Hopefully this week will be better.

Anyway, with the dissertation and the stress and the sick, I have been extremely remiss in reporting on my adventures at Lambtown, where I proved definitively that I can teach 8 people who have never made felt before to produce a wearable beret in just 3 hours. Here is evidence:

Half of the class was camera shy, but trust me, the others did some outstanding work as well. It was a lot of fun, and I would absolutely do it again. I hope the students want to do it again too, because there was some serious talent there.

Most of my Lambtown experience revolved around setting up for class, bouncing around the room for 3 hours giving encouragement and advice, and then packing up my stuff and collapsing in a corner, but I did get to see some friends and had a nice visit with several people I hadn't seen in a while. All in all, a good day, and one I hope to replicate in the future, as soon as I've come completely back to life.