In Praise of Crafty Newbies

“Hi! I was just gifted a loom—I’m so excited to be a loomer! So . . . can someone explain how to weave?”

I am a member of several Facebook groups for weavers, where we go to ask questions and share our work. I have to admit when I see questions like the one above, from rank beginners, my first reaction is to roll my eyes and think, “Oh for heaven’s sake—go read a book! Take a class!”

Then I take a deep breath and remind myself how much newbies, to any craft or skill, bring to the rest of us.

I have been a complete novice myself recently, in the craft of weaving, and I am still struggling to learn a tiny fraction of what there is to know. My weekly sewing group includes a number of newbies—new to sewing, new to quilting.

There have always been newbies but, in days gone by, maybe they weren’t so obvious. A lot of us learned some basic skills from others in our circle, by watching and emulating or by taking an organized class or reading—those were the only options we had.

But now the Internet gives newbies easy access to knowledgeable and helpful people so their questions are public and their lack of knowledge and understanding are on view to us all.

And, though I will always think some newbies are being presumptuous in asking others to explain a difficult process in the space of a Facebook post, I really believe that these newbies are enhancing the craft world.

Are you a newbie at something, thinking about picking up knitting needles or sitting down to a sewing machine for the first time? Trying to learn a new set of skills, like hooking a rug or soldering silver? Surrounded, it seems, by people who already know the ins and outs, know the vocabulary, seem comfortable and calm in the realm where you feel edgy and inadequate?

I want to tell you how valuable you are!

1. You are a source of amusement

Yes, it probably sounds harsh but let’s get it out of the way first—I am amused every day by a dilemma posed by a newbie. I laugh at the stories they tell about themselves and their confusion. They use the vocabulary wrong and make mistakes of the most basic kind. I am laughing with them, not at them—I see myself in their blunders.

We had a huge laugh in our sewing group a couple years ago, when a then-novice at quiltmaking was bemoaning the fact that her sewing machine bobbin always ran out at the most inopportune time. She felt she’d just get into a rhythm and then, boom, she’d have to stop, unthread the machine, fill the bobbin, etc., etc. Another, very experienced, member of the group listened carefully and said, gently, “Well, at the beginning a project, I just fill up a bunch of bobbins, to get me through.” Stunned silence from our sweet newbie . . . and then she said, “Duh. I would never have thought of that.” And now none of the rest of us will ever forget it!

2. You remind us of the enthusiasm and joy of starting

The excitement newbies feel is energizing. This one just got her first loom, that one bought fabric for her first quilt. They have not yet felt the slings and arrows of outrageous craft fails. They are intoxicated with possibilities—and help me remember that feeling.

3. You give us a chance to teach and feel smart

With novices, it always seems that, no matter how little I know, there’s someone who knows less. That gives me the heady feeling of having something I can share and teach.

Just last week, I got to show a friend the basics of hand quilting. She’s a far more experienced, better quilter than I am but she’s never taken the plunge for quilting by hand. It gave me a big thrill when I could show her and watch her pick it up very quickly!

4. You allow us to feel competent and remind us how far we’ve come

There’s nothing like a newbie to remind you how much progress you’ve made, that you’re learning and growing. When I read the questions asked by newbies, I am pleasantly surprised when I know the answers to questions that would’ve been mysteries a few months ago. I feel skilled and capable and motivated to keep learning.

5. You ask the questions we may not be comfortable asking.

I am one of those people who loatheslooking foolish or incompetent. I hate to ask questions, to expose my ignorance. Newbies ask questions with abandon and I sit and listen carefully to the answer . . . and learn. For instance, it had never occurred to me to fill a bunch of bobbins at the start of a project  . . .

So, newbies, I say to you—keep starting new things.

Keep dreaming of being good at something that you have never tried.

Recognize the limitations of learning complex skills from Facebook posts or from one helpful friend and take advantage of all the resources available to you.

But don’t hesitate to start because the people around you seem so sure of themselves and the skills so daunting.

You are enriching the conversation by starting a new craft; you are bringing so much to the discussion.

 

 

 

A Girl Having Fun, and a Giveaway

While the boy who lives here makes serious, complicated, heirloom pieces, the girl who shares the house (that would be me!) takes a different tack.

This girl just wants to have fun.

And I have been having such fun lately!

Quilting? Nah.

Embroidery? Uh uh.

Candy making? No way.

Exercise and healthy living? Fuggedaboutit!

I have been weaving, obsessively, on three different looms.

I made scarves for a special blog pal, a real patron of the crafts, but I will wait to tell about those. I will say that it was particular fun, and a little nervous-making, to know for whom I was doing that weaving.

My other projects, though, haven’t been as weighty. I’ve been playing and experimenting and learning as I go. How fun is that?!

I told you a while ago that I got a big new loom with 12 shafts, to allow more complicated weaving. I had used the loom but not to do anything fancy. I finally dove in and wove a set of towels using 8 shafts of my loom and a weave structure that was new to me, block twill.

These were endless fun because they could all look so different! And I didn’t make them all navy blue and white! I hope you’re proud of me for that . . .

I’ve also made another set of towels on my smaller loom that have tickled me no end!

I saw towels like this at weaving school, in the bathroom we all shared. Each student chose a different color towel and it was ours for the week. They all hung jauntily on hooks.

I’ve wanted to make these towels ever since!

The hanging tab is integrated into the weaving, not sewed on after—how did that work?

I found something similar in a book and took notes but it still took me some time to figure out an approach.

I am inordinately pleased with how the towels turned out! I smile all the time.

And I’ve been weaving on my small band loom. I got this little loom, used it a couple times, and then it languished, looking cute but gathering dust.

But for the last month or so, I have been using it regularly, making bands and ribbons.

And thinking about what to do with all the bands and ribbons!

I made myself a hippie belt.

And a lanyard for my scissors and one for Don’s scissors.

And a key fob.

And I made another key fob that matches mine, to send to one of you!

If you would your name in a drawing for a handwoven key fob, just say so in a comment on this post. I’ll send it wherever the winner resides. I don’t think I’ll get around to choosing a winner until about April 19 so I’ll leave the contest open until then.

And may I just add—I hope you’re spending your days having at least half as much fun as I am!

Our Weaving Ways (Winter 2017)

It does feel like the winter of our discontent.

While we normally enjoy our cozy days at home, in a happy fog of hominess and solitude, buoyed by cats purring, a warm fire, and comfort food, this winter is different.

Politics, chaotic change, and uncertainty intrude at every level. I spend too much time reading the New York Times and checking Twitter, and rolling my eyes, feeling my gut clench. I know I should walk away from the computer but that seems irresponsible.

I need to know.

But I also need to soothe myself and seek some solace.

And so I keep doing the things I always do, as insignificant as they sometimes seem.

The quilting, the embroidery, the ironing, the sewing group, spending time with you.

And the weaving.

The quiet repetition of winding warp, of slowly dressing the loom, of throwing the shuttle, and watching something grow from nothing, demand my focus and let me forget the so-called real world for awhile.

So, here’s what we’ve been weaving, since, after all, this is a place to celebrate loving hands and that which is handmade, not a place of lament and worry.

A bunch of towels:

The large photo shows the towel I made for Caroline, who won the giveaway late last year. Others were gifts for friends.

These ended up in the Etsy shop:

I’ve also made some scarves. This one is the first thing I made on my new loom:

And two others:

And a baby blanket:

Don’s been busy, too. He made this beautiful runner in colors that make me think of the tropics, along with coordinating placemats:

And he just finished this runner for a customer:

Even though we’ve been cranky and distracted by news of the world, we carry on and do the things we love.

I know I won’t stop worrying but I also now I won’t stop hoping and, in that hope, I’ll continue to create because creating feels like building, and building feels positive . . . and I need all the positive I can get right now.

For All It Represents

I love this dresser scarf. Or is it a table runner? Or a doily?

It doesn’t matter what we call it, I love it all the same.

Do I love it because it’s pretty? Not really. I can see why some people would find it lovely but it is not my aesthetic at all. It’s a little too fussy, a little too pretty and flowery and girly, for my taste.

Do I love it because it’s rare and seldom seen? Not at all. This sort of hand embroidered fabric, meant to decorate a dresser top or sideboard, is pretty much, literally, a dime a dozen. In the world of vintage linens, the only items more plentiful are crocheted doilies.

Do I love it because it’s practical? No. It comes from an era where women seem to have felt compelled to cover blank surfaces with “décor.” Antimacassars, doilies, runners, piano scarves—the philosophy seemed to be “let no piece of furniture go naked.” Some of these items had an ostensible purpose—antimacassers on the backs of upholstered furniture, for instance, were designed to keep a popular male hair product—macasser—off the fabric. But, really, most of these items were just meant to look pretty.

I have lots of reasons not to love this runner and yet I do love it.

I love it for what it represents.

• A woman seeking to beautify her space. Whether this was made by a Yankee, to hold dark winter at bay, or an Okie, facing dust storms or a lonely road west, this woman wrought her own scene of beauty.

• A woman with enough leisure to time to be able to think about beauty. Whoever did this piece had done enough of the daily chores, the must-dos, to feel justified in taking her leisure on a want-to-do. I’m happy she found that time.

• A woman who found a way to “be productive” while sitting quietly and beautifying her world. I can relate to this and I know some of you can, too. If you are a person of action and you like to point at what you’ve accomplished, you relish a job of work that can be done while sitting in the shade and allowing your mind to wander.

• A woman who took pride in something made by her own hands that would So much of women’s daily work was work that was undone—beds made that were unmade each night, clothes washed and dirtied again, meals made and eaten and made again. To embroider something or stitch a quilt was to create a lasting object, something that might, even, outlive the maker.

• A woman, perhaps denied other ways of asserting her individuality, finding a voice in her handwork. She chose the pattern, the colors, the embellishment. It was unique and it was hers.

This little dresser scarf packs a lot of meaning for me.

I also love it because I saved it.

Those of us who have pets will probably admit that the ones you saved from a grim fate always seem extra special. The stray one, skittish and fearful, the abandoned one, in pain and alone, those pets have our hearts in particular ways.

This runner came in a box of linens found, as usual, under a table and ignored, at a garage sale. The box actually held many pretty and quite exceptional items but, there, at the bottom, was this country cousin of a runner. And it was stained and filthy. It was a stray, unlikely to be noticed or to find a forever home.

I soaked it for hours in three different washes. I progressed from regular washing through my big guns, the Biz and Cascade combo. It was still stained. I did the Biz and Cascade again and added boiling water to my already very hot washing machine. Finally, the stains faded and disappeared. I ironed it carefully and spiffed it up for its glamour shots.

And now the runner is beautiful.

Was it worth the time and energy? It was not, at least not because it was exceptionally lovely or rare or useful.

But, yes, of course, it was worth it! It was worth it because of all it represents, because of the woman who crafted it and all the women like her, and like us, who make our marks by making a mark with thread or yarn or fabric or paint, or any of a multitude of other media.

I won’t keep this little runner—a person can’t adopt every stray and be fair to them all. I’ll show it to friends and see if there is a worthy home among them. At some point if need be, I’ll list it on Etsy in order to match it up with a good home.

One way or another, I’ll find it a place where it’s appreciated for what it is and for all it represents.

Something for Everyone: A Quilt Show Tonight

Now, I know what some of you are thinking, “Oh, jeez—a quilt show. She’s going to show us pictures of quilts. I don’t quilt. I don’t sew. I don’t care about quilts.”

But I say, with apologies to Stephen Sondheim and the cast of “A Funny Thing Happened at the Way to the Forum,” that no matter who you are, there’s something for everyone at a quilt show, or at least that was the case last weekend at the Vermont Quilt Festival. Come, and hum, along and see if you agree.

Something familiar:

Something peculiar:

Something for everyone,
A quilt show tonight!

Something appealing,
Hung from the ceiling

Something for everyone:
A quilt show tonight!

Something with houses, something with towns;

Bring on the fabric, notions, and gowns!

Vendors for shopping,
Something eye-popping,

Something old-fashioned,

Something with flash and

Something for everyone:
A quilt show tonight!

Something most modern,

Something POSTmodern,

Something with color,
Bright or much duller,

Something most Op-ish,

Something more Pop-ish,

Something for everyone:
A quilt show tonight!

Impressive!

Obsessive!

Specific!

Terrific!

Something exotic,

Something chaotic,

Something Egyptian,

One with inscriptions,

Something so striking,

Much to my liking!

Something so simple and so right!

Real world tomorrow,
Quilt show tonight!

---

If those of you who love quilts have any questions, let me know!

The One That Got Away: The Sewing Caddy

Sometimes being practical is a bad idea.

Sometimes being frugal comes back to bite you.

Yesterday was such a day. I was practical and frugal and now . . . I am repenting.

It was Saturday—garage sale day. My mother and I went off on the byways of upstate New York, to see what treasures lurked.

Not too many treasures, as it turned out, but there was one . . .

In a driveway, in a small village, a beautiful sewing case.

I’ve written about these cases in the past. They were offered, apparently as a project from the Cooperative Extension, for men to make for their wives. I’ve seen probably 20 of these over the years and have ended up owning most of them, at least for a while, before passing them along to others.

This one, though, is the prettiest and most unusual I’ve ever seen.

The fabric on the outside is a wonderful winter scene, and in great condition.

The inside, though, is what sets this apart. All of these cases were customized by the makers, probably with input from their wives. Some have pin cushions built in, or little drawers. Many have the jars with the lids attached to the box, to collect buttons and pins, and the nails to corral spools of thread.

But never have I seen one with the fabulous decorative cutouts evident here. The words “This ‘N That,” the initials “LC,” and the shapes of scissors, large and small, were all carefully pierced into the wood.

And all those pierced panels are constructed to tip out, on hinges, for easy access.

So, I looked at it and I drooled. I coveted it.

The practical persona sat on my shoulder and whispered, “You already own two pretty cases like this.”

The frugal persona asked the price . . . and offered $5 less.

The seller declined that offer.

And the third persona, known forever after as the bereft, disappointed one, walked away.

I got in my car. I drove away. And I haven’t stopped thinking about this treasure since.

This Would Be Great, Except . . .

“Being a college professor would be a great job . . . if it weren’t for the students.”

I’ve heard these very words spoken, and have uttered them myself, if only as a joke. After all, if there were no students, there would be no job, no need for college professors, right?

All jobs, no matter how fun and fulfilling, have their downsides, I suppose.

In all my years teaching, it wasn’t the students that were the problem for me—I liked the students. It was the grading I hated.

But teaching, at least in American higher ed, means grading. Without students and without grading, there wouldn’t be a job.

In every craft I’ve done, there are tasks I dislike.

Making yoyos is great, if it weren’t for sewing them together.

Quilting is great, if it weren’t for the basting. Ack—I hate basting.

Making jewelry is great, if it weren’t for the polishing stage.

Weaving is great, if it weren’t for winding warp/sleying the reed/ threading the heddles/finishing the fabric off the loom. This whole topic of unpleasant tasks is actually on my mind right now because I face a day, or more, of hemming eleven towels and tablecloths. I have been postponing this for a while!

And, yet, without these tasks would the craft be the craft?

Without sewing them together, yoyos are just a pile of useless, albeit cute, pieces of fabric.

Without basting the quilt top to the batting and the backing, there is no quilt, just a piece of fabric of no particular use.

Without polishing, jewelry is just, simply, ugly.

Without all those steps of weaving, no weaving happens, no fabric grows.

When I was first learning to weave, I read a book where the author’s response was very clear, to a student who hated to wind warp.

The student said, “I just want to weave, not do all this other stuff.” She meant she just wanted to throw the shuttle.

The author’s position was that, when you wind warp, you are weaving. When you sley the reed and thread heddles and otherwise prepare the loom, you are weaving. It’s all weaving.

All the aspects of any job are critical to its being done.

So, if we care enough about the making, and the finished product, we learn to manage the bits that we find difficult or tedious.

I suppose, in some cases, we find more tedium in the craft than joy, and that may explain why we give some activities up and search out new creative outlets, to find the ones where the tedium/joy ratio is more to our liking.

For me, and the crafts I continue to do, I’ve either looked for ways to make the process more enjoyable or tried to re-frame my attitude.

I found a technique for basting quilts that works beautifully for me and, while I still don’t look forward to basting, I do it with much less gnashing of teeth than before.

For the yoyos and the weaving, I have simply (or maybe not so simply) changed my thinking.

Sewing the yoyos together remains a drag. But the only really unpleasant part is the longer stretches of stitching and it’s those longer stretches that also provide a sense of how satisfying the finished project will be. I keep my eyes on that prize and take time to step back and see how lovely this will be!

With weaving, I’ve found that many of the steps I used to hate get less soul crushing as I get better at them. Winding warp used to be my bête noire and now I have no trouble, although it’s still tedious.

I’ve come to grips with other steps by treating them as challenges, as fights I must win. Can I thread the heddles without mistake? Can I get the warp wound on without major tangles? I think I can, I think I can . . .

And along the way, I tell myself that, no matter what stage I’m in, I’m weaving. I am touching the threads and enjoying the textures. I’m watching the colors shift in the light and planning how they will come together. I’m doing some task that is integral to the making. It’s all weaving.

I wonder why we don’t talk about all this more often. I can’t imagine that we don’t share some frustrations about our crafts, as beloved as they are, but we spend our time talking about the fun parts and the finished projects.

Will you tell me about what you don’t like in your craft or in a job you’ve done? Or do you relish every step? Have you found ways to make the icky parts more fun?

The Endless Project . . . Is Ending

Have you ever had a project that seemed endless . . . and you liked it that way?

I have been making fabric yoyos for just about two years. It began as a portable project, born from a long airport delay when I had nothing to do.

I hated having nothing to do so I created a little kit to make yoyos, with no long-term plan for them.

The fabric yoyos became a constant in my everyday life.

The yoyos have gone on many trips with me.

They have become part of my evening routine, as I did my stint of 10 a night, every night.

Many of them were sewn at a table with members of my weekly sewing group, a project that could be done amid lots of chatter and snacking and pleasant distractions.

Somewhere along the way, as people continually asked me what I was going to do with the yoyos, I decided I would make a coverlet for a daybed we have on our porch. I made a diagram on graph paper and did the math and found I would need over 1300 yoyos.

That number was daunting but I liked it that way. I liked making yoyos and didn’t really want to stop. The yoyos were a comforting part of my daily life.

I figured 1300 yoyos would take me far into the future . . .

But then, recently, I made an assessment.

I had reached my goal of 1300 and surpassed it.

I was dismayed! Truly, I was a bit undone.

So I measured the daybed again and found that what I needed, really, was to make the coverlet bigger! I needed more yoyos after all!

But, now, I’ve completed even those. I have about 1500 fabric yoyos.

They weigh over 3 pounds.

They are cute and perky and . . . finished.

They need to be sewn together.

Ick.

I’ve been working on a system for sewing the yoyos together and it’s slow going.

In sewing the yoyos together, the project becomes less portable, more unwieldy, altogether less fun.

I miss making yoyos.

I suppose I could simply keep making them and piling them up but the practical side of me scoffs at that idea. They need to be made into something; they need to have a purpose in life.

So I will keep sewing them together and make the planned coverlet and report back to you when it is done.

And I’ll be on the lookout for the next comforting, soothing, endless project . . .

 

Marching to the Beat of a Different Linen

When you hear the phrase “vintage linens” what comes to mind?

I think of sturdy linen kitchen towels with bright stripes along the edges, or lush and large white damask napkins. I think of tablecloths, and dresser scarves, and pretty embroidered pillowcases, all the usual suspects that filled the kitchen drawers and linen closets and hope chests of a day gone by.

Oh, but there is so much more! The loving hands that turned themselves to embellishing the dishtowels and napkins and pillowcases didn’t stop there! I love the unusual and quirky vintage linens that pop up occasionally.

Today, you might go to a big box store for plastic boxes when you want to organize your kitchen or bathroom. Your grandmother picked up needle, fabric and thread, and brought her creativity to bear.

A pretty wrap for keeping napkins neat

An embroidered band for storing a tablecloth

A satin and crocheted keeper for lingerie

A kitchen pouch to corral dust cloths

A boudoir pouch for brush and comb

I love that so many of these announce what they can do for us! But sometimes, they aren’t so forthcoming and it just isn’t clear what the funny, quirky piece was for.

A wonderful, and old, canvas piece with pockets and hanging tabs. Apron? To hang on a towel bar?

Very pretty hand-embroidered tabs, about 4 inches long. I have no idea what they were meant for but they would make elegant bookmarks!

Sometimes I’m even confused about what the decorations meant.

I mean, I understand cacti and I understand lederhosen but . . . I  really don’t understand them together.

My recent favorite has had me stumped for a while.

Top–pretty, with a slit opening in the middle

Bottom–looks like a shower cap!

I tried it on and was pretty sure it wasn’t a bonnet. No photos of that—you’ll just need to trust me.

I was convinced it was meant to go over a serving bowl, to keep the dinner rolls warm and the flies off.

But my husband made another guess and now I’m sure he’s right (and he wants me to acknowledge that I admitted that!) He said it was designed to go over a box of Kleenex!

All of these oddball items, all of these special treasures . . .

I think this is, in part, why I am so hooked on vintage linens—there’s always something a little new, a little different, a little offbeat to be discovered. And in discovering these unusual items, I feel like I get a peek at the off-beat, distinct personalities of the women who made and used these things.

It’s tempting to think of our foremothers as staid and conventional and tradition-bound but some of these fun old linens, full of personality and bearing the individual’s touch, suggest that just ain’t so!

My Natural Habitat

After taking about six months to finish my last weaving project, the two scarves that survived the new kitten and that also survived my indecision and general antipathy for the project, I’ve already finished my next weaving project.

From soup to nuts, from winding warp to sewing the hems, this bunch of kitchen towels took me about three weeks. Three weeks would not be a marvel for serious weavers but, for me, it is lightning fast!

What made the difference? Um . . . I think I just know my place. I have admitted what I knew.

I’m a dishtowel kind of gal. Cotton and linen and old-fashioned practicality are my natural habitat as a weaver.

It’s odd, how we play favorites with the things we make, which items resonate for us.

My husband is, without a doubt, a weaver of table runners. He occasionally makes something else but when I ask him what project he has planned next, I can say, sotto voce, “runner” in unison with him stating “runner” out loud. He would no sooner make a scarf . . .

Our weaving teacher, on the other hand, is a scarf gal. She makes other fine handwovens but she always comes back to her happy place, making lush, drapey scarves in striking textures and colors.

This choosing of favorites doesn’t just happen with weaving, I’ve noticed. I don’t always make quilts but, when I do, I choose to make bed-size quilts. I have friends, though, who would never dream of doing so. When they quilt, they are drawn to wall hangings and table runners.

When I worked in metals, I was a bracelet and necklace maker, almost never a brooch or ring girl. My time in the kitchen is spent making sweets—chocolates and baked goods—while my husband finds satisfaction with meals. As a gardener, I’m all about the flowers . . . no veggies for me.

Sometimes I ponder my preferences and try to figure out what makes me tick as a maker. And sometimes, I force myself to make other things, like scarves or table runners or, heaven help us all, dinner.

Other times, I just accept me as I am. After all, the world needs dishtowels and bed coverings and chocolate-covered caramels so I might as well be the one who makes them.

And since I look forward to working in my natural habitat and making things I like to make, I am productive and relaxed in the making.

It should come as no surprise that the new warp on the loom is for kitchen towels that I will make with enthusiasm. The yoyos I make diligently, and with enthusiasm, will eventually become a bedspread. When spring comes, I’ll be greeting my geraniums and hollyhocks with enthusiasm.

How goes it with you and your making? Are you an equal-opportunity creator, who finds your satisfaction in exploring the gamut of possibilities in your chosen medium? Or do you, too, have a natural habitat that you recognize as your crafting home?