Wednesday, June 21, 2017

Caution! Stash Busting in Progress (or Not Waving, but Drowning)

https://wefuturecycle.com/2015/09/19/new-rochelles-elementary-schools-recycle-2000-lbs-of-textiles-in-3-months/
The Stash. It lurks in the basement, in the backs of closets, under the bed. Its creative potential is matched only by its unwavering patience. It is rumoured to be able to breed within the deep recesses of totes and storage shelves. Stash management is a hot issue amongst textile artists. Does one cull ruthlessly on a biannual schedule? Does one enlist friends to intervene in weak moments of "I might need it one day" purchases? Does one make provisions in one's will for the safe distribution of the treasure hoard, or leave it to uncaring relatives to dump at the thrift store?

In may case, I move house so often that stash management doesn't usually become a problem until I've been in one place for too long. After two years or so the piles of fabric, the jumble of wool, the midden of buttons and bobbins start to become oppressively obvious, muttering dark criticisms about the failings of my character as I pass by. Eventually the muttering becomes a clamour until I am finally compelled to take action.

I'm in that mode these days. Trying to organize, and when that fails, asking myself if I really am ever going to do anything with that stack of perfectly good wool blankets that once I envisioned making penny rugs with. Or considering whether two huge totes of exquisite vintage linens is too much, and maybe I should release some of them back into the wild. How about that bag of silk neckties? Seriously? A couple of hours of fruitless conversation with myself and the totes are no more orderly, and I have to go sit on the deck with a cool drink.

I am familiar with the stages of change model in treating addictive behaviours.
I am at the point where I realize I need help. Dear readers, I look to your wisdom and experience. Have you successfully dealt with a stash that left your dining/work table clear enough to eat from again? Can you open your studio door and make your way to the sewing machine without having to move more than three totes? Have you developed a management strategy that fosters creativity without sacrificing sanity?

Part of my problem is that I feel responsible for each and every piece of cloth that passes through my hands, and also for the environment. I carry with me the idea that I must not add to the world's problem, but instead try to solve it. I feel good about saving felted sweaters, wool remnants or outdated linens from the landfill because I can turn them into something beautiful - at least in my mind. In external reality there are not enough hours in the day, and hence the totes multiply.

 Help! I can feel myself being sucked down again!

P.S. Swaps and guild sales do not work. I only go home with more stuff.



Sunday, June 11, 2017

Homage

"I'll remember that." Hand embroidery on katazome, vintage kimono fabric.
My dear friend Jean-Pierre commissioned me to stitch three pieces in memory of his mother, Constance. I was lucky to meet her a few times before her untimely passing -- she was a vibrant, kind, lovely woman.
"There's a lot of work in that." Hand embroidery on vintage katazome. (This one was tricky, I wanted the viewer to actually have to struggle a bit to make out the words. It's much easier in real life.)
She had a few favourite sayings, and these were the words that Jean-Pierre gave me to work with, along with some beautiful Japanese fabric.
"I'm saving it like gold." Hand embroidery on boro cloth.
Constance had beautiful penmanship, and I tried to replicate it as best I could. I think her words are representative of heartfelt appreciation, perhaps where she might have felt a bit out of her depth, but intended to convey encouragement and caring. Such a lovely woman, she is missed.

Sunday, June 04, 2017

The Wheel Keeps On Spinning

My days as a spinster have come to an end. Yesterday I sold my stalwart Lendrum wheel. She had about a million miles on her, and may yet get a million more, but I have realized that my stockpile of beautiful handspun yarn will keep me knitting for my foreseeable lifespan. Pictured above is the last batch of yarn: 35 skeins from a Romney raw fleece, from an ewe named Bea who lives in Errington. I must thank Bea for growing such lovely, easy to spin wool, and her shepherd for keeping her happy and clean.

Some of my friends couldn't believe I was giving up the wheel, but I really felt it was time. And it felt very appropriate for me to use the money to fill up the ferry card so we can visit our loved ones, old and new. Spinning taught me that its not just about producing yarn, but about a calm centre that holds together all the bits and pieces whirling round.