The Independent Stitch

PLY magazine has arrived!

There's way too much going on around here, and I have posts-in-mind about Kentucky, and Estes Park, and some of my research into Shetland sheep, but meanwhile I've been, instead, writing things like my mother's obituary. As much as I love the other parts of my life, family comes first. (What's bigger than "love"? I don't know. But that's what goes in the second half of that sentence.)

Last night, I arrived home from the Estes Park Wool Market and the North American Shetland Sheepbreeders' Association's annual meeting in time to attend a local theater group's performance of David Mamet's Oleanna as a staged reading. Because I have season tickets and didn't have time to check the particulars of the evening's schedule, I didn't realize until I got there that it would be a Mamet play, which, to me, means (1) emotionally fraught and (2) things will not end well. Not exactly what I need right now. However, I made it through the event, which was acted and directed in interesting ways.

Then today's mail brought something much more cheerful and encouraging: the first issue of PLY magazine!

The topic of this first issue is "firsts," and it includes an article editor/publisher Jacey Boggs asked me to write on "first sheep." There are a lot of other firsts, including how to buy a first fleece, who might have been the first spinners, what was the first spinning wheel, starting a fiber guild. . . . It goes on. I'd list the contributors, but really, you just need to get the magazine.

Here's the introduction to my article (and there are great sheep photos later on, including the wild sheep species that either definitely or probably did, and most of those that did not, contribute to our domesticated varieties):

Back cover, irresistible:

Intended for the very curious spinner with a bit of experience—enough to enjoy the types of questions asked, and the variety of personal answers offered.

It's a gutsy thing putting out a magazine, even an established one. It's beyond comprehension to start a new print magazine at this point in history. As Jillian Moreno, now on the editorial advisory board, said to then-prospective editor Jacey, "You are nuts—it will break your heart. Let's do it." Part of what I love about the fiber community is the number of people within it who go ahead and do things that require intelligence, risk, compassion, and nerve: where the fully realized heart requires jumping off the cliff.

I look forward to reading PLY #1 cover to cover.

Why Shetland sheep as a research focus?

This follows the previous post and pertains to the reason for my next research area, Shetland sheep and wool, and to the impetus behind the Dreaming of Shetland project (website to come at dreamingofshetland.com).

Donna Druchunas sent a link to some fantastic photographs of Shetland and of sheep on Shetland.

Deb:

GORGEOUS pictures, and interestingly they point out some of the challenge in this whole project—or at least the sheep photos do!

The only sheep shown that I'd bet is a full Shetland is that ram with the curling horns (this is not a reason not to use the photos: all of the sheep shown grow Shetland wool because they grow wool on Shetland).

But the others don't have characteristics of the Shetland breed, most obviously the fluke-shaped tail (a short tail, narrower at its tip than at its base). That black-faced one is at least part, and possibly full, Suffolk. Some of the sheep that do have tails like Northern European short-tails don't have the Shetland body type.

COOL.

Not a reason not to use images. But I'd go with lambs or pictures of sheep in the distance or that ram.

Donna:

I guess we should include a short article about this topic because people will be wondering and interested. Would you want to do that or would it be too much? I would just want it to be "a letter from Deb" off the top of your head. Don't do any research FOR this, just outline the questions that come to your mind quickly and show why the research and further work is needed? Is that something you could do in 15 minutes or so?

[Insert a short interval here.]

Deb:

Well, more like 60 minutes, and it's definitely a "letter," not a "draft," much less finished piece. And now I need to quit, because the temptation is to revise and refine. . . .

______

Why Shetlands?

As I've recovered from the intense work involved in The Fleece and Fiber Sourcebook, the opportunities for future inquiry arise on all sides, and there are more fascinating possibilities than can be even listed, much less adequately considered, in a lifetime. Sheep and their wools continue to capture my interest and attention—even more than before, because of what I learned in writing the "big book." So the question over the past couple of years has been where next to invest my curiosity, since it won't be put to rest!

With about 1400 sheep breeds identified globally, I won't be able to cover them all in the years available to me, however many those are. The Sourcebook included fibers that English-speaking fiber folk might reasonably get their hands on. Natural next steps would include covering more sheep breeds from continental Europe, and that's a series of topics for which I'm collecting both fiber samples and reference books. It's a big enough area, and sufficiently complicated, that it will take years to manage. I'll be working on it.

At the same time, I've been ambushed by the Shetlands. This is a good thing. Shetlands were the most difficult breed to write up for the Sourcebook. They took the most time and raised serious questions that apply to all sheep, through all time, although not in as concentrated a form as for the Shetlands.

For publication in 2011 and 2012, Spin-Off magazine had me write up pieces on Soay sheep, Lincoln sheep, and a few puzzling aspects of wool quality. Also for 2012, The Journal for Weavers, Spinners and Dyers asked if I would write an article on the history and development of British sheep breeds. Next, for 2013, PLY magazine tantalized me with the idea of researching the origins of sheep: how they became domesticated, how they traveled around the world, how people have shaped sheep to fit particular environments and how sheep have been willing partners, able to adapt and thrive on every continent except Antarctica. I knew when I said yes that none of these would be an easy assignment. I couldn't resist the questions behind them.

As I've followed these intriguing trails, the Shetlands kept cropping up on the edges, emblematic of ideas relating to thousands of years of history, and of human/animal interdependence, and of breed definition, and of unique (and diverse) textile traditions, and of local and global economics, and of what we fiber artists pick up to spin, or knit, or crochet, or weave—and whether we will have these materials to work with in the future, or not.

Shetlands are (American Livestock Breeds Conservancy) and are not (Rare Breeds Survival Trust) a rare breed. Looking closely, it becomes apparent that whether or not the breed as a whole (whatever that is defined as) is rare, some strains of it, including some of the fleece colors, are quite endangered. Shetlands cannot be easily categorized or described.

Sheep known by one or another group as Shetland sheep grow single-coated fleeces that are very fine or medium in quality; double-coated fleeces that contain several fiber types; crimpy fleeces; wavy fleeces; and everything in between. They grow this wool in multiple countries and landscapes, in flocks shaped by differing human intentions and pressures.

Shetlands connect to the earliest sheep, and they demonstrate what happens when humans influence a breed to fit alternate environments and to respond to economic pressures—in fact, they demonstrate this multiple times, in many ways.

When I was researching the Sourcebook, it was at the point that I read a well-informed account of wools describing Shetland as a "Down" wool that I determined that I needed to spend as much time as necessary coming up with a supportable definition of "Down" wools. [Added note: In the end, I don't include Shetlands within my definition of "Down" wools.]

Shetlands open many questions, for which there are almost certainly no right or definitive answers.

But I think that spending the next year (or more) of my life exploring Shetland sheep and Shetland wool in greater detail will illuminate many aspects of how rich and interesting our fiber world is—in ways that will apply to topics as small as the hats we put on our heads and as large as the global wool marketplace.

I can't wait. In fact, I haven't. I'm already deep into this project. The front page of my first notebook on the topic reads: "All wool, all good," and "What is Shetland wool about?" The study of Shetland sheep and their wool has already begun to reveal to me, and has the potential to show other people who care about these things, a lot about why it's true that "all wool" is "all good," and why we need to pay attention to both history and the future in order to maintain essential values related to being human and being responsible residents of the planet.

One bit of fleece at a time.

Dreaming of Shetland

Ah, time. There just isn't enough of it. If there were, I'd complete a lot more blog posts. I have ten started in MarsEdit, the program I use for composing, and another few dozen that I've meant to start writing but haven't even gotten as far as jotting down titles and concepts for. Often those ideas sit uncompleted because I have other work that needs to be done instead. The quiet here on the blog never results from lack of enthusiasm or a scarcity of things to share: it's an indication that the days end too quickly.

Thus the conundrum that I presented to a group of fellow fiber artists and writers when we got together in February: How to do more of the sheep and wool research that I feel called to undertake, while also earning a living? Most of the work on sheep and wool involves a lot of time for what amounts to honoraria: payments that recognize the value of what has been produced without actually providing enough to buy groceries or pay the mortgage.

The ideas these creative folk came up with surprised and floored me. I'm still recovering, and while I don't know what the efforts that were launched that evening mean yet in practical terms, the support all on its own has been so affirming that I'm challenged to just take it in. One of the ideas was presented to me with the following introduction: "We have an idea. All you need to do is say 'yes' and have a PayPal account." I had to absorb the proposal that they presented to me for a few minutes, then said, "yes," along with "thank you," and "I do have a PayPal account. It's already part of my freelance business."

Shetland

So there are two primary ideas afoot as a result of that gathering's attention to my sheepy obsessions. They both relate to an upcoming trip to the UK, which in turn has been instigated and is being facilitated by a small group of friends. The entire extended group of interested parties still hasn't resolved the visa issues involved in teaching, so this trip will be focused on research, although as the conversations have evolved other folks are stepping up and working on the paperwork part, and I may be able to teach on a future trip.

When the idea of a trip to the UK first began to be bandied about, the initial questions concerned when, and with what emphasis—which narrows down where. There are many ways to continue the research I did for The Fleece and Fiber Sourcebook, and it would be easy to run off in all directions and end up with scattered bits that don't pull together into substantial insights. There are about 1400 breeds of sheep throughout the world and there is no way I can cover them all. I'm working, slowly, on more of the breeds from continental Europe, mostly with the help and support of people on Ravelry. That's a long-term project and one that so far has no clear boundaries. It will need to perk along in the background until its shape becomes apparent. We all knew a trip to the UK would need to be very focused in order to produce useful results. There are just too many options.

Shetland Wool Week arose as the optimal event around which to plan the trip. Over the past six months or so, I've been pushed toward intensive research on Shetlands, for a lot of reasons. Resources for deepening this research have been dropping onto the path in front of me, one after another, confirming this as a good next organizing principle. I'll have more to say about that as time goes on.

But first here are the two projects that this group of folks came up with barely more than a month ago: the ones that have left me nearly speechless since.

The e-book project: Dreaming of Shetland

A small crew of volunteers is organizing an e-book of patterns, essays, and photographs to be called Dreaming of Shetland to be sold through Ravelry to support my research. While a small crew is putting this together, a large number of people are contributing to the project. It's quite astonishing.

Yes, it will support me, but it will also support the sheep (all sheep, not just Shetlands), and I've been convinced it will also generate a lot of good energy for the people who are helping out, in ways large and small. So I have, indeed, said "yes" and "thank you." (I had a little practice with this earlier, in relation to a different offer. That helped facilitate this opportunity.)

The plan is that the e-book will be available some time in the early summer. Here are some of the materials that the group has generated so far. I really don't have much to do with this. My job is to keep chipping away at the research and writing that I have been set on doing anyway. Knowing that other people are actually interested in this research is a huge plus for me all by itself.

Here's a flyer that they made up to be distributed at festivals and workshops:

 

 

The drawing is mine; I've slowly been doing images of sheep, and had not done a Shetland. I didn't have time to do one recently, either, because of an onslaught of deadlines, but it seemed like an essential element of what was happening (plus I really enjoy doing the sketches), so I ended up "stealing" about 20 minutes a day over a couple of weeks to put this ram together. Drawing a Shetland is as complex a task as researching the breed!

I've written a "Why Shetlands?" letter that will be included in the book, and if I can grab the time I will also put it up in the form of a blog post. Because it's actually written, that should be possible.

Donna Druchunas and Anne Berk are coordinating the e-book project, with the able help of Susan Santos, Sarah Jaworowicz, and others: as I said, I'm doing my best to focus on the research itself and not get distracted by the fact that I can't believe all of this is actually happening.

Here's Sarah's preliminary cover design:

Isn't it beautiful? I'm remembering that my job here is to admire and get back to studying sheep!  The sheep shown in that lower band of images, while they live on Shetland and produce perfectly fine fiber, are not the Shetland breed. I talked about this distinction between sheep-of-Shetland and Shetland-breed-sheep in The Fleece and Fiber Sourcebook on page 189. I'll be looking at the whole context, with an emphasis on the breed. There will be at least one sheep of the Shetland breed in the final cover. (Truly: I have yet to meet a breed of sheep whose wool I didn't like. The second-from-right image there is almost certainly a Suffolk, and last week I taught a day's worth of workshop on Suffolk wool, which is one of the most overlooked treasures of our fiber array.)

Here's Donna's description of the project, from her latest Sheep to Shawl newsletter:

I’m excited to be able to introduce you to a new collaborative project I am working on, Dreaming of Shetland. This will be an ebook featuring a group of incredibly talented designers who are giving of their time and talents to help fund Deborah Robson’s research about Shetland sheep and wool. Over the next few months I will be featuring this project in my newsletter and on Facebook, with updates and information about pre-orders as soon as we are ready to accept payments. I hope you are as excited about this project as I am and I look forward to telling you more soon.

There will be a related website at dreamingofshetland.com (no link because as of this writing it does not yet exist).

The notebooks: And a proposed inside view of the Shetland research project

At the gathering in February, I passed around a notebook I'd used to collect my research for the article I wrote for the first issue of PLY Magazine. The reason was to show part of what I've been up to and how I'm going about it. For that article, I had to leave the computer systems behind and work by hand—a practice that I expect to need to continue while researching the Shetlands. The computer was invaluable for The Fleece and Fiber Sourcebook, and is also essential for the writing portions of other projects including the PLY article and certainly any summations I do of the Shetland research. However, where multiple small bits need to be comprehended and then pulled together, I found the visual and tactile approaches worked best.

Here's a page of the notes pertinent to the PLY article that I took from Juliet Clutton-Brock's A Natural History of Domesticated Mammals (1987):

It's essential to keep track of the publication dates of the research and commentary, because the state of knowledge is changing.

I also need to track dates within the material I'm reading. The timeline you see there is something I constructed to put observations in the appropriate sequence.

Here is one spread of notes from a later source, Tapio, et al., "Microsatellite-based Genetic Diversity and Population Structure of Domestic Sheep in Northern Eurasia" (2010):

The reaction to this was: "You need to share these." 

Me: "HUNH? They're just my notes."

Response: "You need to share your notes on the Shetland project while it is underway."

Not long after that, a member of the group offered to help me set up a subscription-based website on which I can post my thoughts and notes and other artifacts of the journey. We've had time to engage in preliminary conversations about this, but I haven't had time to do more than begin to consider what I might do with it.

Yes, high points of the quest will be on this blog. The subscription site will allow me to devote time to detailed coverage, which can't happen otherwise for the reasons noted at the start of this post. It will also provide interested readers with a central place to find more in-depth information about my research process, along with what I'm learning about the sheep and their wool.

In sum. . . . 

There are lots of fantastic ideas bouncing around, and what I need to do now is (1) get on top of mail and finances again, following my recent return from a teaching trip; (2) see whether I can get my taxes for 2012 done without having to file an extension (haven't had time to finish up the data—mileage, inventory, and so on); (3) proof pages for The Field Guide to Fleece; (4) continue organizing all the details (and fiber acquisition) for the remainder of the year's teaching events; and (5) keep up with the freelance editing work.

At the same time, tomorrow night I will, as usual for Tuesday nights when I'm at home in Colorado, go to a coffeeshop for three or four hours. While there, I hope to be able to read and take notes on one Shetland article (maybe two? hope springs eternal). I know which one I will turn to as soon as I get my cup of tea (perhaps Ti Kuan Yin) and bowl of vegetarian soup. That article has been printed out and has been riding around in my backpack, along with the notebook, the highlighters, and the pens, awaiting the moment when I can devote my attention to it.

I can't wait to find out what piece of the puzzle that particular article will fill in. And to make a list of further sources, another task that I have been looking for time to enjoy.

A Peruvian weaving technique: ñawi awapa

Following my day of learning a few Peruvian knitting techniques, I was fortunate to have a long half-day workshop with Nilda Callañaupa Alvarez on a single weaving technique from her home village of Chinchero.

Ñawi awapa means "eye border," and it is a cord used to finish the edges of textiles, as you can see on the small bag below:

The cord protects the fabric, reinforcing vulnerable spots against wear, and produces a neat finish, and, as in parts of this bag, functions as a joining technique. It is attached to the fabric as it is worked, although it can also be constructed as a free-standing tube, as is the case for the nifty little handle on the bag above.

Ñawi awapa strikes me as the weaverly equivalent of the knitter's I-cord, combined with a variant of cardweaving, also called tablet weaving (albeit, in this case, card- or tablet-less: the similarities are in the warp-faced structure and manipulation of those warps). That's not very helpful, but if you have experience with either of those techniques it will give you a starting point for understanding. It's also like intricate braiding with the crossing of the threads held in place by the weft thread. From the perspective of weaving processes throughout the millennia, it falls into the realm of crossed- or twisted-warp, warp-faced tubular weave structures.

Enough of that.

Here's what it looks like, woven freestanding. That bit where the weft shows between the warps (right at the top) is part of what I wove. The lower "eyes," much neater, were on the starter section that Nilda supplied for me. She got us all off to a good start.

Then it was our job to continue the pattern, although she clearly instructed us to, if (WHEN) we messed up, just keep going. This isn't something you can easily unweave to correct.

This is the basic setup. That starter length is fastened to a string, which in turn is tied around my waist, like a backstrap loom. The far end has been secured to one of the legs of an overturned table. The warp is tensioned between my body and the table leg. (The tables were not entirely stationary enough to resist moving completely, but they were adequate for our needs.)

That forked stick holds the threads of the warp in order and forms a cross, with threads alternating between up and down positions. In this technique, the cross only forms the baseline for the manipulations to follow. A string is tied across the open end of the forked stick to keep the warp threads from slipping out, which would be disastrous. On my lap are Nilda's detailed instructions, which most of us spent a lot of time following precisely, one step at a time.

Sorry this view changes directions, but that's the way it goes. So did we. In addition to the forked-stick loom, we needed a temporary shed stick to hold some of the crosses in place.

You can see that I'd done three eyes (two gold and one, hiding on the other side, red) and was working on the second red eye. The two colors of eyes alternate. My eyes were nowhere as neat and compact as the ones that had been woven for me at the starting end of the cord. But they were eyes. That's no small thing.

The weft (that brown puff in my hand) always goes through the warp threads in the same direction, which is how the tube is formed. It's like sliding all the stitches of I-cord from one end of a double-pointed needle to the other before working the next round.

The unused eye color is hidden inside the tube when it isn't predominant, although it's brought up to form the very center of the contrasting-color eye.

Who thought this up??

Simply getting an eye to appear correctly is an accomplishment. Below, you see one of my Picasso-esque results, with the center of the eye off to one side. The eye above it has the center gold portion in the correct position, but for some reason (probably I didn't get the weft tensioned just right) there's a crossing strand of weft getting in the way.

Peruvian techniques are so diverse that each village has its own set. During our knitting workshop the day before, Antonia Roja spent part of her time weaving on her backstrap loom (in the image below, it's secured to, and resting against, a full-size floor loom). Then she spent most of the day weaving ñawi awapa.

What we didn't know until later was that this technique was new to her. Antonia is from the village of Pitumarca, not Chinchero, as Nilda is. Nilda had showed her how to do it the day before. Based on her previous experience with the plenty-intricate weaving of her own hometown, Antonia caught on really quickly. And at the end of our workshop, it turned out that there was a bracelet-length piece of Antonia's ñawi awapa cord for each of us to take home. What a treat! (In the photo below, Antonia's is the finer one with the more consistent eyes. Mine is the bigger, lumpier version.)

I've previously admired this corded edging on a number of the textiles from the Centro de Textiles Tradicionales del Cusco, known as CTTC.

(Sorry for the slightly fuzzy photo. I've made two attempts at shooting this decently and instead of trying again I need to get back to the work I should be doing right now. . . .)

There was a trunk show of woven and knitted textiles going on all around us as we crossed and uncrossed threads, hoping we were twisting the right selections in the right directions each time. I went home with a couple of small, very useful, objects that I will enjoy making part of my daily life. I've made a practice over the past several years of selecting one piece from the CTTC or Cloth Roads displays whenever I come across them: at the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival, Convergence, SOAR, or wherever. I've also been given a lovely bag by a friend. Understanding the work involved in making them—which I thought I knew about, but now comprehend at a whole new level—I can't believe how inexpensive the finished pieces are. Fortunately, the pricing is high enough that the weavers and knitters are able to substantially improve their lives in many ways by doing this work, which also honors and sustains their traditional cultures.

For more, see Cloth Roads again. There are new items arriving regularly. But the best way to see this stuff, if you can, is to locate a booth at a festival. Look closely. The number of textile wonders contained in a small space will astound you.

This is my day's worth of ñawi awapa. I did get to advance the warp twice because I had woven enough to need to reposition it! But I still wasn't consistently getting nice clear centers on my eyes, even at the end of the day. Then again, about two-thirds of the way through the workshop Nilda came around and told me to do it without looking at the paper. Mistakes are less important than incorporating the learning.

Maybe next time I'll be able to both skip watching the paper every step of the way and form the eyes precisely. . . .

____

(Photo of Antonia courtesy of Kris Paige.)

A workshop on Peruvian knitting, mostly of puntas!

Last weekend I took two textile workshops. This is remarkable. Mine is one of those lives where if I have time for a workshop, I don't have the money to do it; and if I have the money, I don't have the time or I'm in the wrong part of the world. I've been at more festivals and events than I can count or remember, but I'm most often the person behind the registration desk, the one driving the staff rental car into town to buy food for the participant who forgot to mention she was vegan and allergic to nuts, or the one teaching the class.

In 1990-something, I sat in on a half-day workshop at SOAR with Ed Franquemont, on a couple of Andean handspindle techniques. In another 1990-something, Stephenie Gaustad sat in a hallway during SOAR, when we both had a few moments, and taught me to spin cotton on a charkha (it was, I think, at Snowbird, which would make it 1996). In 1986, shortly before I moved to Colorado to work at Interweave Press, I took Celia Quinn's comprehensive spinning workshop under the sponsorship of the Boston Area Spinners and Dyers. What fine and memorable occasions. Most of my other recent learning has come through testing out the instructions that were about to be published in Spin-Off magazine or various textile books.

But last weekend Nilda Callañaupa Alvarez was teaching within easy reach of my home at a time when I wasn't out of town and when there was a bit of money in the bank that could be diverted. Wow.

Saturday was a knitting workshop. The only thing the workshop description mentioned was puntas, which I had learned to make from one of my editing projects, but I thought that Nilda would likely have different approaches to the process, and in any case I wanted to get to know her a little better: I've been following her work for years, and we'd met in passing at a number of fiber events but never had an actual conversation.

Puntas: literally "points," or in this context a type of edging, with many variations possible, used to begin the knitting on some Peruvian hats, bags, and other textiles. Think of them as cast-ons and picots that have grown up and gotten advanced university degrees.

The sum of my weekend experience: if you ever get a chance to take a class with Nilda, do.

Saturday we did learn to make puntas. All day. It was very cool. The varieties are endless, as are the techniques. Although I "got" all the ones Nilda showed us, I don't have a lot of faith that I'll remember how to make each of them without some refreshers. I heard a rumor that in the week after our workshop (the one just completed) Nilda would be at Interweave recording video of how to do some Peruvian knitting techniques. I trust the result will be a replacement for, and expansion on, the notes I didn't have time to take while I was learning, or the energy to jot down after I got home. Nilda is a superb teacher and her handouts are excellent. Still. These are tricky little processes.

Life is pretty crazy around here right now, so I won't do justice to the workshops in this blog post, or the next one. But I want to get something set down before yet another idea I want to share is gobbled by the press of deadlines and doesn't get into the blog at all.

This image shows my trial versions of the puntas we learned to make (plus an inspiring little hat that was tucked into the second bag of yarn Nilda gave me to work with: we each got one, all different).

Top right are the three-color puntas that we started with (#1), and bottom right are the five-color puntas that followed (#2). As I went along, I got better at putting the color joins where they were supposed to be. 

Top left is a deceptively simple little rickrack-like punta form (#3). These are the ones about which I woke up the next morning thinking, "I'll never remember how to do those!" (At the moment, I can still remember how to do all the others.) Bottom left is a relatively easy form of puntas that Nilda taught us at the end of the afternoon (#4). I think it was a reward for working the others.

She also talked about handling multiple colors of yarn, both tensioning and securing. These are things I know how to do, but now I have more options. Options always come in handy. The more I learn about textiles, the more there is to learn.

Now, here are puntas in use. Note the yarn above, which was about worsted-weight, very tightly twisted, two-ply handspun that Nilda provided for us. It's a lot bigger than the yarn used to knit the puntas on the pieces below. She thought it would be nice if we could easily see the stitches we were forming. We agreed.

Those are the #4-type puntas around the bottom of that hat.

Here's another type of puntas:

I'd need to look at them more carefully than the resolution of the image will allow to figure out which kind they are. Possibly a type we didn't cover.

The edges of this hat definitely display a punta variation we didn't do:

But the top of this little bag displays those sneaky little #3 puntas:

That's an interesting knitting technique on the bag, too. Nilda gave us a glimpse of how it's done, but there wasn't enough time to do more than enjoy it vicariously. We were too busy getting to know a few puntas.

Now one of the questions that arises is why does learning this stuff matter, either to me or to human civilization in general? For me, it's an opportunity to wonder at the number of things that people have devised to do with a material as simple as yarn: what we can fashion with, in this case, wool or alpaca fiber. For another, it's a chance to marvel once again at the astonishing ingenuity and endless creativity that people express through textiles. Especially the Peruvians. Throughout the history of the world, they have been the most prolific cultural group at devising amazing ways to construct and decorate textiles. Their accomplishments seem to me to be on a conceptual par with the greatest of modern inventions. All with very simple tools and materials.

Nilda and the Center for Traditional Textiles of Cusco (Centro de Textiles Tradicionales del Cusco) have been doing a lot to keep this body of cultural knowledge and these ways of thinking alive and vital, while providing sources of income to the weavers and knitters that are allowing them to, for example, send their children to school.

It was an honor to participate in that process in a small way.

And a friend who saw me there said, "I'm not used to seeing you this happy!"

When I'm home, I'm normally content and satisfied and interested, and also a little bit (or a lot) too busy. Simply "happy" is, therefore, apparently not something my hometown friends usually perceive. (I think I probably look pretty happy when I'm teaching; when I'm off somewhere quiet researching and spinning and knitting and weaving and writing; or when the dogs make me laugh; but for most of those times there aren't hometown witnesses.)

For the course of a weekend, though, I was able to enter a "beginner's mind" part of the textile world and discover new depths of creativity in fingers and fibers. That definitely made me happy.

Here's Nilda, checking Handwoven and Weaving Today editor Anita Osterhaug's punta progress.

There's always something new to learn.

Anita's vest is one of the products of CTTC weavers. It's handspun, naturally dyed, and handwoven. It's stunning, and it will last nearly forever. As the techniques have and will—as long as people keep learning and practicing them, even if it's just for a delightful day that ends in appreciation for the skill of the experts.

____

How to easily buy CTTC textiles in North America? Cloth Roads.

On the sharpening of pencils

Over the holidays, members of my extended family were discussing real (as opposed to mechanical) pencils. This was in relation to a gift my sister received: a real pencil, and an eraser. It pleased her a great deal. I think there was even a hand-held sharpener included in the package, which was limited to a value of $4. (We performed a holiday-gift experiment this year. It was an amazing success, and we'll do it again.)

The giver of the gift would have provided an artisan-sharpened pencil, except that the still relatively modest cost (in the gift realm) exceeded the constraints put on that part of the present-finding exercise. But the topic of pencil sharpening came up, and we considered for more than a passing moment some aspects of the craft, with which most of us were of an age to have been acquainted in at least an amateur or student's role.

As I was leaving the public library the other day, the following appropriately colored book caught my eye:

So, of course, I had to pick it up.

Here's a brief quote from page 157, with one bracketed comment:

For readers of a certain age [that includes me], the sight (and sounds) of a wall-mounted hand-crank pencil sharpener is as powerfully nostalgic as the odor of tiny milk cartons, the heft of a chalkboard eraser, or the rap of an unforgiving teacher's ruler across the knuckles. 

Those happy days, alas, are long gone. . . . 

Consider what follows a re-introduction to a set of skills that were likely central to your portfolio in the distant past, but now risk fading into the ledger of the lost arts. Let us turn our contemporary sensibilities to the wall-mounted hand-crank sharpener and rediscover what pleasures remain thereby.

Urban explorers make a habit of carrying a #2 pencil on their person in case they stumble upon a wall-mounted sharpener in one of the decrepit buildings they trespass.

(Hmm. I travel with a spindle, in case of fiber encounters, and a tiny bit of fiber, in case of spinning-tool encounters. How far-fetched is Rees's observation about the carrying of pencils, just in case?)

What was interesting to me in reading this book (and yes, I read the whole thing) was how many of the pencil-sharpening tools and techniques were completely familiar, and the realization that for many people these would be objects as foreign as a spindle, and the associated skills as peculiar-seeming as the making of yarn by hand: knives, single-burr and double-burr hand-crank sharpeners, single-blade pocket sharpeners, and even electric sharpeners (the chapters on these and on mechanical pencils were among the most enlightening). I even learned something: I'd missed the precise application techniques for the multiple-hole, multiple-stage pocket sharpeners, even though they were around and I'd used them often! I also became aware of a number of fine points [sorry . . . or not {grin}] about pencil-sharpening that I considered common knowledge, and I refined [ . . . ] my knowledge in ways that will improve my sharpening technique in the future.

Oddly, the book was a good (if quick) read. The author was previously a political cartoonist, and a census-taker (the precipitating occupation in his career change), both of which occupations explain a lot. The pages contain good, serious information. Note: The book is not suitable reading for most children, due to levels and types of vocabulary. The only chapter I snoozed through was the one on celebrities, but then I don't follow celebrities so I may have missed something that others will appreciate.

Here's an interview author (and pencil sharpener) David Rees did on Portland TV before a book-signing at Powell's. (I wonder: does he sign in pencil??) The prices of pencil-sharpening have increased since the interview aired. An artisanally sharpened pencil would  be out of reach of all but the largest of our family's gift-giving categories ($0, $4, $40). If one of us received such a pencil, it would be our Big Gift for the year. (Although with the remaining $5, the giver could also provide a pencil, a sharpener, and an eraser—but, unfortunately, not also the book that provides training in how to use the first two.) It's also true that Rees may actually be making something of a living at his chosen pursuit now.

All this certainly does put my own focus on sheep and wool into perspective. I'm not entirely sure what perspective. I'm working on that.

UK visa requirements for people like me who might want to teach a fiber workshop, as far as I can understand them

I'm putting together this somewhat technical post in case any other potential fiber instructors or workshop sponsors might want to try to figure out the visa situation as it relates to U.S. residents (in particular) who might want to teach short workshops in the U.K. I'm summarizing my research and welcome any discussion, insights, ways other people have managed to leap the bureaucratic hurdles, and so on.

(Photo I took on one of the lovely walks I enjoyed around Stirling while the visa situation for UK Knit Camp was churning its way to conclusion.)

As I've mentioned, in the case of UK Knit Camp in 2010 even though there was preparatory correspondence about visa requirements and even though we overseas, non-EU instructors had supplied all necessary information in advance, once we arrived the paperwork was not in order. We could not teach initially, even as volunteers (notes about why below), and one instructor was turned back—i.e., had to spend the night in an approved location and fly back across the Atlantic the day after her arrival, and never did teach. One consequence of being found in violation of the visa requirements is not being able to enter the UK for any reason for ten years. (This did not affect the turned-back instructor, fortunately. She just had a very expensive round-trip, anxiety-wracked adventure.)

My source of information is the UK Border Agency website, which I must say is amazingly complicated.

The most promising category for traveling instructors in the fiber arts appears to be:

"Permitted paid engagement visitor"

"If you want to come to the UK as a visitor to do short-term, fee-paid activity you can apply for a visa as a permitted paid engagement visitor." The time covered is limited to a month. That's okay for almost all of us.

"The category of visitors undertaking permitted paid engagements is for a defined list of visitors who are invited to come to the UK because of their particular skills and expertise. They may apply to come here for up to 1 month without the need to be sponsored under the points-based sytem. The category is for visiting examiners or assessors; lecturers; overseas designated pilot examiners; qualified lawyers; and professional artists, entertainers and sportspersons."

In order to do this: "You must provide a formal invitation to undertake the pre-arranged engagement, and show that the engagement relates to your: expertise and/or qualifications; and full-time occupation in your home country."

The option requires sponsorship that may be possible for many of us to obtain, except that it isn't clear what level of formality is required in the sponsoring organization: "Visiting lecturers: You must be invited by a UK higher education institution or UK-based arts or research organisation to give a lecture or series of lectures in your field of expertise." or "Arts, entertainment or sports professionals: You must be invited by a UK-based arts or sports organisation or broadcaster to carry out an activity related to your profession in the arts, entertainment or sports. This may include fashion models coming to the UK to undertake a specific engagement, providing they do not intend to base themselves in the UK long-term." Would a fiber guild qualify as an "arts or research organisation"?

There are limitations to this option that apply to most of the other alternatives as well: "You must also be able to show that, during your visit, you do not intend to: take paid or unpaid employment, produce goods or provide services, including the selling of goods or services directly to members of the public other than as permitted for by the permitted paid engagement." I think this means that the "permitted engagement" list needs to include each workshop, if more than one will be taught. And I'm not sure what the paperwork and coordination for that would involve. I don't think sponsor licenses are required, but I may have missed that tidbit in the morass of detail.

How the mess was ultimately managed at UK Knit Camp

For a while, it looked like all the U.S. instructors were going to need to fly to Ireland and then re-enter the U.K., because all visa details have to be in place before entry. As it was, we took a useless round-trip drive to Glasgow, and then had to send our passports off for special treatment. High levels of government got involved in creating a way through the tangle of red tape, and while we didn't have to do a quick visit to an Irish airport, we did end up anxiously awaiting the outcome (as did the people registered for our classes: because the schedule had to be rearranged, I ended up teaching two classes simultaneously on the Friday of that week—fortunately, in the same room).

I was in a significantly better position than some of the other instructors because the teaching was only part of the agenda for my trip. Admittedly, I would not have made the trip in the first place if the teaching had not promised to pay the expenses and permit me to make enough to meet my bills at home. However, by the time I made the trip I was also going to do freelance research for the book (Fleece and Fiber Sourcebook) and for some magazine articles, which I did write and publish (although by themselves those articles would in no way have even begun to cover the trip's expenses). So I did have legitimate reasons for being in the U.K. beyond the teaching engagement, and those reasons did not require a visa or any additional paperwork.

(I had a wonderful time researching the Stirling tapestry project. Unfortunately, the magazine that published the piece had nowhere near enough space for what I wanted to write. Actually, what I did write, before I cut back to their word count.)

(The Sheep Day sponsored by the Rare Breeds Survival Trust took place at this lovely location, and there were amazing people in attendance.)

For the teaching portions of the activities, the UK Knit Camp instructors ended up with temporary residence permits as Tier 5 TW (Cre-Sport) Migrants; Cre-Sport means Creative/Sporting and the category is intended for entertainers (and presumably other creative types) and athletes. This classification requires a sponsor, who has to have a sponsor license for tier 5 (there are several tier types, and each requires that the sponsoring-and-employing organization pay a £500 licensing fee). Each sponsored individual must also be issued a Certificate of Sponsorship (a quite affordable £13).

A common theme within the visa requirements is that the person does "not intend to: take paid or unpaid employment, produce goods or provide services, including the selling of goods or services directly to members of the public." That "unpaid" provision meant that at UK Knit Camp we could not even work for free until the bureaucratic machinations had been completed.

Other categories

Here are the other options I have taken notes on—all are far more restrictive, expensive, or complicated than the "permitted paid engagement visitor."

Visitors:

- "General visitor" - "must . . . be able to show that, during your visit, you do not intend to: take paid or unpaid employment, produce goods or provide services, including the selling of goods or services directly to members of the public." This was what I was, as a freelance writer researching for future publications.

- "Business visitor" - "This includes academic visitors, visiting professors, overseas news media representatives and film crews on location." Sounds promising. But "you must be able to show that: you receive your salary from abroad (although it is acceptable for you to receive reasonable travel and subsistence expenses while you are in the UK)" and same as above (no paid or unpaid employment or services). I.e., no payment from U.K. sources.

(Admittedly, for tax purposes it is far better for U.S. instructors to be paid in U.S. funds on an U.S. bank. Otherwise we also have to figure out how to negotiate international tax filings, something I am failing at this year with regard to brief Canadian employment. The Canadian government will be benefiting to the extent of the money withheld, which I could legally reclaim if I filed another double set of tax returns, both provincial and federal—yet it would cost me more to complete this process than I would be refunded.)

(View from a hotel room in Glasgow.)

(Kelvingrove Museum, Glasgow.)

Temporary workers:

"High value migrants" - these are on what is called a points-based system, and require a sponsor as one of the components of getting enough points to qualify. I think these are intended for people who plan to stay for a longer time and actually work a job that might otherwise be held by a U.K. resident (perfectly understandable that those would be protected).

- The writers, composers and artists category is closed and not taking any new applications.

- Tier 1 (Exceptional Talent) includes "people who are recognised or have the potential to be recognised as leaders in the fields of science and the arts." Might be supportable in some environments, but there are a strictly limited number of these types of endorsements, and they can only be issued by the Royal Society, Arts Council England, British Academy, or Royal Academy of Engineering. And the application fee is £816.

- Tier 1 (Entrepreneur) requires even more money (investment of a huge amount of cash and guarantee of two new jobs for people already in the U.K.).

- Tier 1 (General) would have been promising, since "The Tier 1 (General) category allows highly skilled people to look for work or self-employment opportunities in the UK. Tier 1 (General) migrants can seek employment in the UK without a sponsor, and can take up self-employment and business opportunities here." EXCEPT "This category is now closed to applicants who are outside the UK, and to migrants who are already here in most other immigration categories."

"Temporary workers" of other types require sponsorship. This includes the previously used Tier 5 (Creative & Sporting), for which the sponsor must have the appropriate £500 license and the aforementioned individual Certificate of Sponsorship (£13).

In sum

This visa question poses interesting (if frustrating and befuddling) challenges. It would be helpful if those of us in the position of wanting to share information about fibers through workshops or presentations, and also to be able to meet our household expenses when we return home, can work together on what we learn about negotiating this labyrinth, climbing these cliffs, safely navigating these waters, or whatever it takes to get the job done. Especially, in my case and some others', because a huge part of what we do involves the use of British breed-specific wools and also carrying back to North America information that will increase awareness of, and presumably income from, British knitwear designers' and teachers' efforts.

If appropriate visa or permit conditions can't be puzzled out in a way that works efficiently and economically for the upcoming hypothetical trip, I'll have no problem simply enjoying the research and writing aspects (even though I do like to teach) and will plan upon my return to teach related workshops (somehow) by way of the internet, from my home base on this side of the Atlantic.

But it's so much more enjoyable and rewarding for everyone involved if I can put fibers directly into people's hands, and if we can talk in real-time about what we're discovering. I just don't know how it's possible.

(I have a lot of wonderful photos from my extensive walks around Stirling during the visa complications.)

The Shepherd and The Shearer

I'm taking a break from my efforts to sort out the Norwegian spaelsaus (short-tailed sheep) to highlight a wonderful project that is right in line with the celebration of wool known as Wovember. It's The Shepherd and The Shearer, and if you want to be part of it here's the sign-up page, which I'm posting at the beginning since in the first twenty-four hours after the announcement at least half of the available two hundred spaces sold out.

Now I'll back up and give you part of the story, with links later to more details.

 

The gist:

1. Shepherd grows wool.

2. Shearer shears.

3. Special yarn is spun.

4. Two exceptional designers develop patterns for the sweater you just naturally wear all the time for work, play, and comfort.

5. A limited number of people, who have signed up in advance, get the results of all this next fall: special pattern booklet, enough yarn to knit one of the sweaters (they're thinking about an add-on for enough yarn to knit both), and, at the end,

6. Knitter knits: a classy, classic, year-in/year-out, wearable sweater (maybe two).

Oh, and there'll be a bag with that fantastic logo on it.

This is the sweater that inspired it all, on Susan Gibbs, one of the initiators of the project (and a shepherd):

The shearer is Emily Chamelin. She specializes in shearing sheep these days, and has to refer out to other shearers for alpacas, llamas, and goats because just doing sheep she has about four hundred shearing customers in a season. She works hard. She does fine work.

There aren't enough shearers working these days, and one of the side benefits of this project will be the establishment of a scholarship fund to get women to sheep-shearing school. Learning to shear doesn't involve huge expense, but it takes physical, psychological, and intellectual strength, as well as a love for animals, and folks who have that combination of attributes may not have the resources to get themselves over the hurdle of training, for one reason or other. In addition, women may not think of this as work that's open to them, and there's (obviously) no reason they shouldn't. This scholarship idea embodies focused encouragement to solve a few problems with just one of the extra goodies wrapped up in The Shepherd and The Shearer.

Moving on to the exceptional designers of the patterns:

Kate Davies, who has produced (among other things) Sheep Heid and Rams and Yowes and Deco and my particular favorite, Sheep Carousel, and a new book (available in about ten days)

Kirsten Kapur, whose Fractured Light mitts and hat are in a new Knitty, and check out Washington Square and, if you like mitts as I do (they're super for testing yarns), Twizz and Genmaicha.

If you'd like the back story, check out these links:

Susan's announcement

Susan's additional information

Kate's blog post

I'm looking forward to following the progress of this super idea! A whole year of delicious anticipation, and sweaters that will warm next winter in the knitting . . . and probably decades beyond in the wearing, because of the care with which the fibers have been grown and processed and the yarns have been constructed.

 

 

 

 

 

Researching sheep (still), and miscellaneous semi-related comments

When Carol Ekarius and I wrote The Fleece & Fiber Sourcebook, my responsibility focused on the fibers and hers on the animals. While I got into research and writing on some of the species and breeds where I'd already done a lot of digging and thinking (notably Soay, Boreray, and unsnarling a few of the Cheviots right at deadline), for the most part she handled breed definitions and history. We both worked to our strengths and backgrounds. It was an excellent division of labor.

Now that I'm teaching, and don't have the book deadlines pushing me so hard, I'm building into my life opportunities to study additional breed history to increase my understanding of how the fibers we have to work with have been, and are, influenced by social, political, economic, and geographic forces.

At the end of next week, I'm teaching a new two-day workshop at The Spinning Loft, in Howell, Michigan. It's called Three Ls and Three Cs: Two Clusters for Spinners’ Delight and Edification.

Each day will focus on three breeds that are related historically and very different to spin.

The "three Ls" include Leicester Longwool, Border Leicester, and Bluefaced Leicester. These three breeds from the British Isles all have lustrous longwool fleeces that differ from each other in enchanting ways, and examining them will give us an opportunity to look at the shifts that came with early understandings of genetics, along with changes induced by human population growth.

The "three Cs" are Corriedale, Cormo, and Coopworth. These three come from the Pacific nations of New Zealand and Australia. They link to the classic European breeds but take them to different places in the fiber spectrum, again pushed by social and economic forces that are related to, but not at all the same as, those that produced the British wools we have today.

Every time I research a breed, I make amazing discoveries that apply directly to my fiber work and that also compel me to read and think more.

What I'm trying to figure out now is how (other than workshops and classes, because I can only do a few of those each year) to present the material I'm coming up with—and wondering whether (and how many) other fiber folk may be interested in examining the topics at this depth. I know some are. I don't know how they might want to access the information. In the "old days," I would have written another book (although I'm not sure it would ever have gotten finished). In these "new" days, it's tempting in many ways to throw it out on the internet for free, although I have no idea how I could afford to pay the bills if I did that. (I'm not willing to put ads on my blog or elsewhere).

At the moment, I don't need to solve those problems. At the moment, I have a workshop to teach next week and will be able to spend time with people with whom I can share these insights I'm mining and collecting out of a variety of sources. I'm pulling together disparate bits of information with the help of graph paper, pondering, and some computer programs. (Right now, I'm using Illustrator to make timelines and breeding charts and other graphics that pull together what I'm seeing in ways that I can present to others. I've been dipping into Tinderbox for collecting and organizing thoughts while they're still at the "scrap" level. I need to learn to use DevonThink, into which I have been throwing resources for a while but from which I haven't figured out how to retrieve stuff. I need a few months just to learn the basics of the software that I now need to use because the scope of my work has exceeded the previous systems.)

This morning, I spoke with Carol at The Spinning Loft (another Carol) about the wools we'll have to play with while we talk about how the breeds came into being. We'll have in our hands the tangible evidence that goes with the history. It doesn't get better than that.

_________

Meanwhile.

I bought one of my calendars for next year. I happened across it at the Tattered Cover on a visit a couple of weeks ago, thought about it at length, and purchased it at the Colfax store on Wednesday when I needed to be in Denver again. I was glad to find that a copy had waited for me to return.

It's not a sheep calendar. The only sheep image is this one Suffolk. I looked across the internet for the possibility of getting a print of this piece, and while they exist they're nowhere near affordable for me. Artist Beth Van Hoesen is unfortunately no longer with us, although from her 84 years she left a splendid legacy. I'm captivated by her sense of graphic design as well as her ability to dance between the unique and the universal.

The other images in the calendar also appeal to me, but yes, the Suffolk hooked me. People talk about sheep as stupid. They are not. The relationships between humans and animals are complex, and far from one-sided. Beth Van Hoesen captured that here, and the other art selected for this calendar speaks to the conditions of some other inhabitants of our world. It is, as a whole, a celebration of individuality and diversity.

I can live with that on a daily basis for 2013.

______

Speaking of 2013, my teaching calendar is penciled in. Because of my mother's stroke, I haven't had time to finalize the arrangements for several events and I need to get on that soon. One of the things that's in the works for late 2013 or some time in 2014 is another trip to the British Isles, for both research and some teaching.

______

Unexpected postal delivery:

To whoever sent me this surprise package from The Loopy Ewe, thank you! I have not been able to determine, and the elves won't reveal, the source.

Very sweet. A special set of coordinating colors dyed by Lorna's Laces. Something fun and lovely will come of this.

_____

But not until I finish prepping for next week. Well, I could probably wind the yarn into balls. . . .

_____

Note: Because I got 25 spam comments in one day this week, I've notched up the requirements for commenting on this blog. I'm trying to keep them at the minimum reasonable level.

Moose!

It's been silent around here because I said "yes" to too many things, some of which don't help pay the bills (but were irresistible) and thus make paying the bills even more challenging than usual. I've been teaching; planning for future teaching events; freelance editing; trying to keep on top of Nomad Press concerns; and writing articles on topics that are huge, complicated—and fascinating.

There will be an article in the summer 2012 issue of Spin-Off on the relationships between fiber diameter, softness, and crimp (not a full discussion, because that wasn't possible).

Most recently I've been working on another article for another publication, on a HUGE topic that I only took on because I wanted to know enough to write it. Which means I've been researching. And thinking about how to condense the information into the available, limited space. I've been poking at the subject(s) for several months, collecting bits and pieces, writing sections, getting flashes of insight. But I have been frustrated by my inability to bring the scraps together into a coherent whole. In the past, I have been blessed with a week here and there at one or another location away from home, where I could concentrate. I've had an open invitation to use one of these places since January, but I haven't been able to get here.

I saw a two-day spot in my calendar and seized it. I drove up yesterday. I'm in the mountains. It's quiet. While there are uncounted numbers of items on my "to be done by last week" list, my goal for these two days is to complete writing that piece.

As of this morning, I have 1600 of the 3000 words written, and I think they're in decent shape (i.e., won't need to be ripped completely apart and rewritten). There's plenty of material to fill out the remaining 1400 words, although I need to do a little more research before I can write the next section. Plus I slept on an air mattress for the first half of last night, and only the second half of the night (couch) was really restful.

So I decided that after lunch a walk would be a good idea: between snow flurries (the snow from early this morning didn't last past noon).

I intended to walk up to the highest point on the road, then turn around and walk back down. That's always a wise approach to exercise on the first day at an altitude higher than the one I'm accustomed to. Just before the turn to the last switchback, I heard something crunch and looked up.

My camera has a little zoom lens on it, but definitely not a telephoto. (To quote the manufacturer's specs, "a full 6.0 megapixels of imaging power and a high-quality 4x optical zoom lens.")

The reason I heard the CRUNCH was that the other obvious megafaunal inhabitant of that piece of the planet had just taken a bite. And I was that close.

I decided to retrace my steps instead of taking the switchback, which goes up the hill just behind the amazingly multi-hued diner.

Here's what I saw as I descended:

That gives a sense of how steep the terrain is and how the moose and I hadn't noticed each other until I was pretty much eye-to-eye with it.

Heading downhill again, there was this:

And then this:

Which turned out to be this:

That photo isn't as clear as the first one because I was walking on the far edge of the dirt road, to give as much space between us as possible, and I just held up my camera as I was passing and clicked the shutter. The first moose seemed calm despite my presence. This second one was a bit skittish, and less sanguine about my presence. I didn't want to disturb either of them. The path of least disturbance was the one I took.

To get enough walk in, I went to the bottom of the road, coming across this:

Apparently at least one of the moose had been down lower earlier in the day. Not much earlier: the scat was pretty fresh.

So I huffed my way back up the hill, feeling like I'd chosen the perfect time for a break. Here's what the weather looked like as I climbed:

And now I need to sit here at the table and sketch out a timeline of a couple thousand years so I can write the next paragraph or two of that article.

There's a lot of sheep-related stuff going on in my life, including several blog posts I've started but not had time to finish. Those stories will have to wait, unfortunately, for clearer brain-space.

Happy moose day, though!