The Independent Stitch

Scottish Highlands 2

A welcoming sight in a B&B: a well-behaved rescue Border collie who knows where to hide herself when there are guests who are not comfortable around dogs . . . and where to get comfortable (below) when the guests display a distinct fondness for good dogs (and might possibly be missing their own). (Trying to link to Larick House in Newtonmore, but the internet here is too slow.)

The Highland Folk Museum has been on my wish list of places to visit for several years, since a friend came back from Scotland with enthusiastic reports about it. It’s an excellent place to spend parts of two days, even in a gray drizzle.

Buildings and equipment have been relocated to the site or constructed here to represent several periods in highlands life. The structures extend along a pleasant walking path that covers quite a distance (about a mile), so we got a strong sense of transition between the periods and focal areas.

We began in the afternoon of our arrival with a simple reconnaissance trip to get the overview, check out the shop (and buy a guide to read that evening), and see the sheep. Several Scottish Blackface and one Soay share a pasture. We asked about the sheep, and there used to be more Soay but just the one is left. A friend of mine is looking for a no-kill home for some young Soay wethers, so I wrote her and suggested she might get in touch with them. . . . We’ll see what happens. . . .

The next morning we began with the early- to mid-twentieth-century buildings. Most of these were from a generation or two before mine.

The intimacy of the museum impressed me.

The site includes open areas, sheltered spaces, and woodsy sections.

I wanted to inflate the bike’s tires and take a ride. Although I’m guessing I’d need to install new tires first. (I miss my bike, too.)

One of the reasons I enjoy having a focus when I travel is that I can follow a theme. That (usually) keeps the constant flow of new information from being totally overwhelming. It’s easy to take looms for granted; most people take textile technology so much for granted that it’s completely invisible. In this trip, I’ve enjoyed noticing a variety of weaving systems, from warp-weighted looms and tablets through “standard” four-shaft looms (counterbalance, countermarch, and jack) to pedal looms and later, more fully mechanized mill equipment. (I’m thinking here of Shetland and Wales, the latter still awaiting a write-up, although I’m also undoubtedly forgetting some specifics because I’m an hour from departure from Reykjavik and the past weeks have been full to overflowing.)

If I’m recalling correctly, this loom, in use, occupies the Craig Dhu Tweed Shop (center section of the museum).

After we’d wandered through all the available buildings at the 1900s end of the site, we headed down the forest path toward the eighteenth-century township, looking for red squirrels. There was at least one!

This busy soul offered photographic challenges. It’s amazing that any of my images worked out. I have a lens that does zoom but loses resolution rapidly after a certain point, which I had to exceed by a lot in order to catch any squirrel imagery at all.

Within the woods is a Travellers’ camp.

The tent, unexpectedly spacious inside, in shape and function (if not materials or construction) resembled buildings we saw later in the township.

Late in the season as we were, only one costumed interpreter needed to hang out in the light rain of the township answering visitors’ questions.

One of the roofs was being reworked. Smoke drifted from a chimney.

I love seeing the details of how people solved construction and living problems, often with elegant and aesthetically pleasing combinations and arrangements of materials.

The weaver’s space seemed very dark when we first stepped into it, but as our eyes adjusted I could see how it would be possible to work there, although I’d still prefer more light.

On our way back through the woods, we caught sight of what might have been the same red squirrel—or not.

In addition to the museum, we visited the Wildcat Centre back in the town of Newtonmore. Scottish wildcats are endangered, and people in Newtonmore have thought of several good ways to bring attention to the situation while also increasing visitors' reasons to come to and stay in the area. They have a facility with excellent information, and they’ve created a walking tour focused on the cats. . . .

. . . and also community members have painted cat figures that are located over an extended area. The figures are the size of an adult male wildcat, which is pretty large. Each is different, and you can pick up a map at the centre and mark the number of every cat you find at the appropriate location. If you locate a certain number, you get a certificate or prize. Kids apparently love it, and I could see having fun with it as an adult. We found one next to the Travellers’ camp. Others are easier to discover: in store windows, for example.

It was time for more driving. I enjoy the critter signs along the road.

Especially these. . . .

. . . and there was one for a frog crossing that I didn’t get a snapshot of.

We turned in the rental car a day early in order to have a bit of time to regroup (repack, do laundry, take a walk that was just a walk).

Note: I drove more than 500 miles in the highlands, in a righthand drive car. On two occasions, there were headlights coming toward me on my side of the road. Both times, the other driver was the one in the wrong place and all positioning got straightened out in time. Whew!

Magnus accepted some affection, within his limits (while guarding knitting).

And generous friends even got me to the train station to catch the sleeper into London, for the next leg of my journey (in a light rain). The train to Aberdeen had been cancelled, but my train was fortunately running, and on schedule.

Scotland : London Euston station : London Paddington station : Heathrow : Reykjavik.

Rambling around Shetland, 2

When I was in Shetland last October for Shetland Wool Week, there was so much going on that I didn't have much opportunity at the Shetland Museum and Archives to do more than notice where the textile collection was and wave "see you later" at it. This time I followed up on that promise.

Then and now, I did take a close look at the reproductions of the Gunnister Man's clothing. On this trip I was also able to get some of the back story on the recreation of the textiles from curator Carol Christiansen (here's a PDF about the project).

The only items in that case that have not yet been fully re-interpreted are the gloves on the figure's knee. Those are placeholders.

We talked about the detailed work and testing involved in finding fleeces that would behave in the ways necessary to replicate the effects of the original clothing, which took a lot of trial-and-error. The clothing in its finished form has even been "worn" appropriately.

After renewing and deepening my acquaintance with the Gunnister Man figure, I briefly reviewed all the exhibit cases, looking for textiles. I found quite a few incorporated into the stories about numerous non-textile topics told within the delightful museum—and look forward to another visit in which I'll be able to see even more of what it has to offer.

One thing I enjoy discovering is the tools that people in the past have used for wool preparation and spinning—for example, these combs (kems) from about 1750 to 1800.

I love spotting niddy-noddies as well, like this one from Lerwick, 1880 to 1920 (called a hesp tree).

And carders, these from Unst (the northernmost island in the Shetlands), from about 1900 to 1940.

Breathtaking laces and Fair Isle garments nestle in the cases and more can be discovered in the drawers and pull-out vertical displays. It's like exploring a treasure-trove.

Among the unusual pieces was this veil (1851):

One example (with incorporated magnifying glass) represents what may be the finest lace-knitting ever.

And while I was examining a particularly intricate and beautiful Fair Isle vest, a member of the museum staff came by and said, "My aunt made that." This sort of happening is part of what makes a visit to Shetland intriguing and multifaceted.

In addition to the textile collection at the Shetland Museum and archives, there is the Shetland Textile Museum, located in a structure called the Böd of Gremista.

This museum also packs a lot into a small space. It's different from the Shetland Museum in both its narrower focus and in placing a strong emphasis on the links between historic and contemporary textiles and workers.

One of the current displays involves mittens and gloves from a variety of northern European textile traditions. Perhaps most curious for me are the plain brown gloves in the center, which were made from horsehair. This led to a discussion of the feasibility of spinning the winter undercoats of Shetland ponies.

My interest in the origins of domesticated sheep, and of the history of the human/animal bond and interdependence, leads me to visit places like Jarlshof, a complex site with layered evidence of more than four thousand years of human habitation. Even the oldest archaeological remains indicate that sheep were present. But what kind they were is still, and may forever be, unknown.

The weather continued to vary. The day I spent exploring Jarlshof and nearby Sumburgh Head was the only really clear and bright day of the trip—and came at a fortunate time, because by then I needed to be outdoors, having spent a lot of time in the museum, archives, and library.

But there were special pleasures as well in the rainier days.

Cunningsburgh (Shetland) show, part 3 - other fibery things

I didn’t see everything at the Cunningsburgh show, even though I think I was there for nine hours. No, it’s nowhere near as big as the major festivals in the U.S., but there was an abundance of things of extreme interest and quality. I only saw the horses and ponies from a distance, and didn’t even realize there were classes for dogs until I got home and looked at the catalog of entries more closely.

So. A few snapshots of some fibery things. It was a treat to be able to wander through the entries and admire them. When I'm teaching at a festival, I rarely have time to look at the displays of skeins and finished objects, and whenever I am (reluctantly) judging a competition, I end up feeling like I've made my commentaries in that process. I judge reluctantly because I don't like the competitive element. I judge once in a while, however, because having public presentations of craft may encourage more people to try their hands, or inspire further explorations.

Many inspiring items were put on display at Cunningsburgh. Some of them won prizes. Some things that I loved did not take home ribbons. And so it goes.

This jumper (pullover sweater) was crocheted by Jane Outram. Terrific crochet.

Very gifted in multiple techniques and color use, she also made these bands with card- (or tablet-) weaving:

She used woolen-spun jumperweight (fingering) yarns from Jamieson & Smith (not the same as Jamieson’s). Card-weaving really stresses the warp threads—and produces incredibly strong bands, partly because the component strands need to be very sturdy and partly because of the structure itself. I asked Jane if she’d uptwisted the yarns (to increase their strength) and she said she hadn’t. That’s quite a testament to the integrity of those yarns. Not many woolen-spun yarns would stand up to card-weaving.

Jamieson & Smith also makes worsted-spun jumperweight yarns, although in a very limited range of eleven colors. (And they’re about to introduce worsted-spun aran-weights, one of which I’m sampling right now. The worsted spinning not only strengthens the yarn but brings out the wool’s natural luster. I can’t break this stuff with my hands, although it’s still lightweight.)

I found the color use and design of the bands absolutely enchanting.

But moving along. . . .

Nearby was this piece, which I initially thought was needlepointed (in petit point: the stitches were tiny). But no, those stitches were square and it was cross-stitched: densely, to create a solid image that nonetheless didn’t distort the foundation fabric. TINY, TINY stitches!

It was made by Louise Jamieson. It was one of those works of art that looks great from a distance and also reveals even more when closely observed. The background was worked in a lighter weight of thread so the figure was in slight relief—effective, but you really wouldn’t consciously perceive the shift unless you were peering at the work quite intently.

Several people who noticed the image as I was standing nearby spontaneously and easily identified the person shown.

The costume is one from the Up Helly Aa winter fire festival. There are fiber stories involved in the squads’ costumes, too, but that’s for another day.

Back to the Cunningsburgh show, and a few of the remarkable items I saw, this time in the building that contained the baked goods and most of the knitting and spinning.

One interesting category was the “Colourbox Competition,” for Fair Isle items made from at least four shades of eight specified colors.

Knitted cardigans (by Barbara Isbister, Barbara Johnson, and, again, Barbara Isbister):

Jumpers (pullovers, left edge and center by Barbara Isbister; I managed to miss the identifying number for the one on the right edge):

Gloves (these were handspun, by Anna Simpson):

A gorgeous lace shawl (by Yvonne Robertson):

And another inventive scarf (by Mavis Ross):

Handspun skeins (by Elizabeth Johnston, Mavis Ross, Julia Downing, Anna Simpson, and Alexis Keith):

And, in another area, some fleeces. . . .

(AQR Cross, managed by Hamish Hunter)

(Jane Outram . . . see the crocheted jumper and the card woven bands above)

And I can’t resist including this final photo from the sheep area, where a group of gentlemen were having a discussion.

The Kirkwall museum, part 2 - textiles (and serendipity)

The Orkney Museum in Kirkwall requires two posts to even hint at what's there. Part 1, about textile tools, was here.

Now let's look at just a few of the fiber-related items in the collection.

Textiles

Very early in the museum visit, a very early textile.

One of the by-far most interesting items is the Orkney Hood. The original is in the Edinburgh Museum. Made of wool, it dates from somewhere between the 3rd and 7th centuries CE and was found in a bog in the 19th century.

It seems to have been put together out of scraps of fabric, for a child: the fabrics are more sophisticated than the construction, and it is small. The Orkney Museum in Kirkwall displays an exquisite reproduction made by experimental archaeologist Jacqui Wood in 2002. Nearby is a thorough explanation of how it was constructed (you'd want to sit and read this overview for at least an hour: although you can actually experience some of the information from the comfort of your own computer here—with more tablet weaving).

Bogs preserve textiles. This is what is called the Huntsgarth clothing, found in a child's grave from the 18th century: swaddling clothes and a Scotch bonnet.

Farther along, a contemporary tapestry triptych worth visiting in person. It's entitled "St Magnus Earl of Orkney" and was woven by Leila Thomson, completed in 1998.

Obviously, I couldn't get much of a photograph. You get an overlay of me, trying to get a hint of the piece. Leila Thomson's work is at the Hoxa Gallery, another place in Orkney that I knew about before my trip but didn't have an opportunity to visit. Work that is breathtaking on the web has got to be near-miraculous in person.

The line between craft and art blessedly blurs throughout the Orkney Museum. In another area, there are examples of lovely functional knitwear.

While some of the techniques are similar to those of other Northern European knitting traditions, they have their own distinctive qualities in color use and patterning. The knitted garments above are from the 1940s through 1970s, made by Mrs. Tulloch, Cathie Wilson, and Hughina Ritch.

If I'd known more of what I was looking at (that is, if I'd had lots more time to spend in the museum), I would have gotten a better photo of the lower part of the case, where you can almost see needle cases and crochet by Hettie Scott, mentioned in the previous post, in the 1930s.

The 16th through 19th centuries featured tremendous amounts of white and intricate textiles, knitted, crocheted, embroidered . . . 

. . . woven . . .

 . . . linen above, also much cotton . . . 

. . . skipping along here almost irresponsibly, but so many textiles, so little time. . . . 

These stockings are said to be made of bog cotton.

I'd sure like to know more about them. Especially having been introduced to bog cotton.

Admittedly that photo was taken in fall and the "cotton" seems more plentiful in spring, but has anyone actually worked with it to know its suitability to knitting as fine and intricate as those stockings? And how would it wear?

[Edited to add a comment from Elizabeth Lovick via Facebook: "It is NOT possible to spin bog cotton—as soon as you touch it, it crumbles to nothing. . . . I will try again to get [the signage] changed..." Bog cotton apparently has had a few semi-practical uses, but stockings clearly aren't one of them. As an aside, Liz's new book, The Magic of Shetland Lace, is a winner.]

When I left the museum, I had lots of questions. . . . I'll have to go back. . . . 

Serendipity

. . . in part to see all the terrific stuff I glanced past as I focused on matters pertaining to fiber, even though I didn't do them justice, either.

I was captivated by this wooden Noah's ark:

I kept looking more closely. . . .

But I couldn't stay all day.

I haven't even shown you the scale models of some of the area's buildings at specific times in history.

Something that I can't go back and see another time is the special exhibit of woodcarving that was on display. It featured the work of Reynold Eunson.

The carvings were breathtaking,

and I loved seeing the drawings as well.

The room was full of both, and all I lacked was enough time to really spend adequate attention on them. There are more delicious photos on Facebook here.

I wonder what special exhibit will be in place next time? And I'll need to plan even more days in Orkney for exploring. I've just begun to get the gist of what's there.

(It's true: I haven't even shown you North Ronaldsay yet. That will also take more than one post.)

The Kirkwall museum, part 1 - tools

Did I start this post a month ago? I did, indeed. Life has been intervening. I still have a pile o' deadlines that I need to pay attention to. This morning, however, I will give myself the treat of starting this particular post about:

The Orkney Museum in Kirkwall, Orkney

. . . another place where I only managed to get an overview. But wow, the bits that I caught! It's a quirky museum, built into what used to be a house, and you go up, down, and around to get from one space to another. It would be easy to get lost, and that reinforces the sense of discovery. It's like there are magic staircases and hidden doors in walls that lead to other worlds.

I'm not finding a picture in my collection of the real entrance to the place, which I'd like to show, but there's one here, along with a lot of other good information about the site. Access to the museum is through that lovely archway. Step through it into the courtyard for the first view in my photo collection:

The rest of the photos will be out of sequence, and, except for the final handful (in the next post), all relate to textiles. I decided to show you first tools (today) and then textiles (next post, I trust . . . it's almost complete). And then a couple of glimpses of favorite non-textile items. You could spend hours in this museum with a given focus and come out stunned and entranced (time for a restoring cuppa across the street and down a bit at The Reel).

Whereas in many museums textiles are either an afterthought or are sorted out into their own basement corner, fiber exists as a recurring theme throughout the Orkney Museum, which is organized by time periods. This panel comes from one of the final rooms, but the combination of modern and historic (the rune image, graphic motif, and stories of individuals within the social and economic context) echoes the integration of textiles throughout the distinct eras.

The inset photo of the woman shows Hettie Scott. Born without arms, she was an accomplished embroiderer, using her feet. A bit more about Hettie in the next post. The information in this museum continually blew my mind. You could easily spend several days in it. I had a quick trip through—somewhere between one and two hours. (Definitely lost track of time.)

Tools

As I've mentioned before, Orkney's history is very deep. The tools and stories begin with bone implements, plant dyes, and upright looms.

Bones and stones: amazing materials out of which to make functional tools.

The spindle whorls are stone. The batten, next to them, was made from whalebone, likely used for weaving on an upright loom, and dates to the third century BCE (not all that old for this part of the world!). The next two pointed tools are awls; the small item just right of the center is a bodkin, with a bobbin below it. On the right at the far back are needles, and in front of them are three pins.

More spindle whorls—as I recall, these were in the Pictish section—about the fourth century CE.

In the same area there was a whorl inscribed with with ogham writing, used for recording both Pictish and Irish texts. Although found in a Pictish site, the language here is Irish.

I'll step forward a moment to the exhibit of contemporary Orkney craft, which is extraordinary, to show a piece of jewelry that you can buy, inspired by that spindle whorl:

That's a Sheila Fleet piece. There are several fantastic jewelry producers in Orkney.

Calling John Mullarkey! (I thought of you the instant I saw this, John.) Here's a bone weaving tablet:

It was in the Viking area, along with more whorls, needles, needle cases, and other treasures. It is exquisite. I want a whole set of them. And I'm grateful to have cardboard weaving tablets. They work, although with less flair and grace. (There will be another note, and a link, about tablet weaving in the textiles post.)

Moving forward a few centuries, due to lack of time. . . .

This iron spinning wheel was made by a blacksmith named, I think Robert Dick. (The last part of his surname was hidden behind an artifact.)

A more typically constructed wheel for which I forgot to snap a picture of the identification information (Liz?):

These were in an exhibit of the linen industry of the late 18th and early 19th centuries.

And this amazing wheel was in the drawing room of Baikie House (remodeled 1820), representing the building that now holds the museum when it was a residence.

I love the contrast between the ornate carving and the slatted treadle. Was the treadle original, or perhaps a replacement? (This said by someone who's worn out a treadle and needed to replace it.) Perhaps not. The text says the wheel was purchased with the help of a grant and was "influenced by the Arts and Crafts Movement. Made by John Logie for Lady Eliza D'Oyly Burroughs of Trumland House in Rousay."

And now I need to take a breath before we continue by looking at sample textiles in the museum. (I love the rug in that photo of the wheel just above. There's fiber work hiding everywhere, including in plain sight but not noted on the interpretive panels.)

More to come. . . .

I don't think I've mentioned yet that this splendid institution does not have an admission fee. It does have a lovely small shop with well-selected items for sale. . . .

Orkney - Corrigall Farm Museum

Where Skara Brae shows how residents of Orkney lived 5000 years ago and where Kirbuster was built in the 16th century (and expanded in the 18th), Corrigall Farm Museum brings the progression of home-and-farm sites I visited up to the late 19th century: quite a leap again, even though I also needed to keep in mind that Kirbuster was still used as a home concurrently with establishment of Corrigall.

Many aspects of the buildings' shapes, functions, and construction carry forward earlier themes, with new ideas added, including chimneys.

The sizes, shapes, configurations, and some details evolved. The stone roofing here, sometimes with turf on top, is wonderful and shows up all over Orkney.

Peat, cut and stacked against the winter.

More careful stonework: a doorway to the barn.

Within the barn, I was surprised to find a familiar configuration of stalls for dairy cattle (now storing other items) and a drain channel in the floor, reminiscent of the way the main barn was set up at Windy Knoll Farm in Illinois in the mid-twentieth century. That was a larger barn, and made of white-painted wood, but I felt as though I recognized this space as soon as I walked into it.

In the main house, there was a big oven/kiln. As with Kirbuster, I'll need another visit (and background reading) to really understand some of the components of the way of life. But look at that amazing ball of rope, I think made of straw:

Here's a straw bikko, or dog, constructed at the end of the harvest time.

Large netting shuttles, with twine in place, and more wonderful ropes, of different kinds. Rope is an essential tool of life that we certainly manage to forget about (or ignore) in these days of computer cables and duct tape. Where would we be without rope?

A closer view of one of the roof combinations, sod on stones.

This is the entry to the house: it's the kitchen area, and the chickens enjoy the grain that's scattered around the stones where it's ground into flour.

Not everything was work. There was music, and there were dogs, and there was art.

Although they could have wandered farther, the chickens seemed to stay in the entry area of the house. . . .

. . . it was probably far more interesting to them than the sleeping and sitting areas. The cat, however, made herself at home everywhere.

There were lots of textiles, many of them worn enough that they were not too "precious" to be on display and handled by visitors. Both originals and reproductions hung on pegs, were neatly folded in cupboards. . . . 

. . . and lay on the floor.

Up in the rafters, I saw two niddy-noddies for winding skeins of yarn. Here's one of them.

It's true: I wanted to take down one of the niddies (also called reels) and use it.

The other sections of rafters and tops of items (like the cupboards) in the main room also held carders, lazy kates for spinning-wheel bobbins, and other textile tools.

A bookshelf displayed many titles in bindings that resemble those of some of the books my sister and I now have.

The family at Corrigall apparently liked to read, and a number of the books could have come directly from the shelves at my grandmother's house.

Another room held more family items: a cradle, child's and adult's chairs, more carders, a basket of wool. . . .

. . . a skein winder and a spinning wheel (with a few missing bits), plus a small expanding swift on the shelf behind. . . .

. . . and the cat who goes everywhere.

A real plant, of a somewhat rare type, from which cuttings are available to those who may be able to cultivate offspring.

In the room that is now a small shop and information center, there's a wonderful big old loom.

And a quill winder. You can also see here some of the pegs set into the back of the loom to form a warping frame.

While there were an amazing number of items on view, it was possible to focus on individual objects in turn and see their elegance and simplicity, along with the dignity that comes from having been well used. As, for example, these two reeds that may have been fitted in turn into the nearby loom. They were made, not manufactured.

And this shuttle, broken in several ways now, smooth and shaped when it was originally carved and then even more during the thousands of hours when a weaver held it, threw it through the shed, and caught it at the other side . . . 

. . . then turned it to send it on the journey back through the next shed to the other side, growing—one thread at a time—all the cloth that would be needed by and put into use in a household: for sheets, towels, clothing, and more.

At both Kirbuster and Corrigall, we were lucky to find people as well: in each location, we met a guide involved at all levels with the museum who was willing to share his insights and knowledge. At Corrigall, that was Neil Leask, who, when he's not working, is developing a personal collection of treasures and their stories and the skills that go with them, some of which he shares with visitors at the museum, to keep both the memories and the living knowledge active. His young children will benefit in the future from his efforts and enthusiasm, as the museum does now. We thought we were about to leave, and then another hour of fascinating discourse ensued!

I felt lucky to be in Orkney during the open season for the farm museums (just barely), and I look forward to the possibility of going back for more. I'll know not to have a very tight schedule, which, fortunately, I didn't—I wasn't able to see anywhere near as much as I wanted to, but no visit that I made was rushed. That was true of this whole adventure. . . .

Thurso to Kirkwall (Scottish mainland to Orkney)

I'm very far behind, because I didn't have my laptop with me on some of the most recent travels. So here's one of a series of short catch-ups that won't begin to do justice to what I've seen and done. I actually prepared a lot of photos for this next bit, but we'll hit the high points in order to have a bare chance of getting to today, perhaps by next week some time, if I'm both diligent and lucky.

Thurso is at the far north of mainland Scotland and a ferry for Orkney leaves from nearby Scrabster. This is the early morning view from my hotel window—the Press and Journal opens up before dawn. (That is, of course, a reflection of part of my hotel room. I'm enjoying many of the inadvertent reflections I'm capturing as I photograph frequently through glass, due to timing or weather.)

Their sign says why:

Breakfast in the hotel set the tone for the day: relaxed and very good. Sorry that the next photo is blurry. The poster was behind a wooden pillar in the hotel lobby, right next to the reception desk and hard to miss but also a little hard to photograph, especially because I was not quite awake. It advertises the Cast Ewe Ceilidh Band. The event is tonight, although I'm now in Shetland and won't be able to see what it's about. (Those who have caught any of my blog posts about our Border collie will know that her name is Ceilidh. It's pronounced KAY-lee.)

The ferry crossing was fairly short, and it was extremely windy out on the observation decks. Note the other passengers' elbows braced on the railing to keep a photo moderately steady. That's the Orkney island named Hoy.

That pillar is the rock called the Old Man of Hoy, taken from inside the ferry:

The soft morning light disguised the Old Man a bit. To get a stunning photograph would require different timing and location.

Later, as we were pulling past Hoy, the conditions shifted.

Our arrival point on Orkney's Mainland was at the town of Stromness. (On this trip, there are mainlands in (1) Scotland, (2) Orkney, and (3) Shetland; they are all islands, although the Orkney and Shetland ones are more obviously so.)

It's a pretty place, which we zoomed through in the interest of getting settled over in Kirkwall, although we came back to Stromness later.

I'm taking a lot of photos through the car windshield (windscreen), and that reflection on the right side is a permit for parking.

I'll pick up a few of those later Stromness photos now, out of concern that I won't get back to them later.

There's lots of stone building (because stones are here and trees, for the most part, are not), and it tends to be a soft sandstone, so gets weathered. A lot of Stromness is being either refurbished or revised.

Looking down narrow passageways while walking along the main street reveals interesting vistas, large and small . . .

. . . leaving me with questions about who has created and who tends some of the unusual and charming combinations.

J. L. Broom, Bookseller, is a wonderful shop. It's small, but the selection has been made by a proprietor who loves books.

"Displayed face out" is, for the most part, not an option, because there are too many books. It's a browsing sort of store and spines are adequate. The Fleece & Fiber Sourcebook was there, as was Donna Druchunas' Ethnic Knitting Discovery.

Some of the shelves added commentary.

That bit advises:

Turn unwanted hair into
Coats for the family

I saw books that I have read and like—a clue that others selected by the proprietor are likely to be interesting. Yes, I bought a book or two. . . .

The owner said that The Fleece & Fiber Sourcebook is a regular seller (friends had spotted it in the window of the same shop last year) and referred us to the Northlight Studio, just up the street, as being owned by someone who had recommended it to him.

What another gem! This is Ros Bryant's personal studio, where she also teaches classes. On display were two exhibits, one of Ros's recent work (photo in a moment) and another of a group of small tapestries produced through a challenge called "Sea Journey," where each weaver took the same photograph as inspiration. The contributors came from a number of different countries. Some worked in parallel, meeting during the process, while others worked independently. The techniques and visions produced a collective show composed of purely individual creations.

Here's the introduction to the show:

Some more of the delightful pieces:

On a side table, several notebooks offered insights into the independent creative processes:

Another wall displayed some of Ros Bryant's own work from a recent series of explorations:

As someone who loves textiles, graphic design, words, letterforms, and calligraphy, I was most taken with the pairings of the pieces. And I didn't get a photo of the slate carving that I liked the best of all: yet I liked it best, perhaps, in the context of the others. I would love the whole wall of these. All. Together. To live with.

Also, the array of colors (working materials) along the shelf below tantalized.

We found an excellent lunch at Julia's, right across from where we'd arrived on the ferry from Kirkwall.

That corner of a yellow and blue sign is the readily recognizable indicator that delicious Orkney ice cream is available nearby.

And I was amused to note the font Papyrus engraved on the window, viewed, in this case, backwards.

One of the things I immediately appreciated about Ros Bryant's lettering is that it is informed by a well-grounded knowledge of letterforms and typography, and yet is not limited by any constraints that might come from that knowledge. Her work in the multiple media displayed (but did not in any way flaunt) a deep understanding of craft and the ability to launch from the foundations and produce fresh combinations and insights.

She's nice, too.

And has a splendid dog, Millie.

An excellent day becomes perfect when it includes a superb dog.

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.)

This year's classes and workshops--all on rare-breed wools

With major help from Beth Smith at The Spinning Loft and Jennifer Heverly at Spirit Trail Fiberworks, supply-gathering for the workshops and classes I'll be teaching this year is proceeding as it needs to. I'll be at the Conference of Northern California Handweavers (CNCH, May, California) and the Spin-Off Autumn Retreat (SOAR, October, New Hampshire).

As of today, we have all the fibers for the May workshop! Now moving forward to prep for SOAR. . . .

I keep talking about this as if it's a big deal. It is. ALL of this year's workshops are focused on rare-breed wools (see that word rare in there?). Some are easier to get our hands on than others, but none of them is a run-of-the-mill [sic] fiber. For CNCH, we are making up 192 packets of fiber. For SOAR, we need 845 samples. I try to think about one breed and one workshop at a time. And that there will only be between 15 and 18 students in each class (otherwise we'd have even more packets).

Here's the line-up of 2011 classes:

Conference of Northern California Handweavers

One 12-hour workshop, over 1.5 days (8 hours + 4 hours)—Rare Breed Wools for Spinners

Some of the most wonderful and practical fibers come from what are now rare breeds of sheep. Come discover kindly wools and beaver wools, double-coats and singles, lusters that have shine and body, classics that have bounce and warmth . . . and, in a number of these breeds, a rainbow of sheepy colours. If we don’t use these fibers, we’ll lose them! We can’t use them—or know what we’re missing—if we don’t know what they are. We’ll explore the range of fleeces, with a focus on the rare ones but likely with a couple of baseline standards thrown in so you can feel the differences, and we’ll spin, play, and open doors of possibility. (12 breeds.)

Spin-Off Autumn Retreat

One 18-hour workshop, over 3 days—An In-Depth Look at Rare Wools

You don’t need a lot of experience to enjoy this class in unusual wools—just a willingness to have adventures. Rare-breed wools come in a huge variety of colors, textures, lengths, and descriptions. They can also be hard to obtain, and spinners often don’t know how to begin working with them. Come get your hands on a selection, and learn how to feel comfortable in the spinnerly wilds! Beginning with the shearing season and a group of special contacts, we’re collecting for this workshop’s pleasure fleeces from as many as 15 rare breeds of sheep listed by the American Livestock Breeds Conservancy and the Rare Breeds Survival Trust. You should have plenty to experiment with in class, and perhaps a bit extra to take home and play with.

One 5.5-hour workshop, 1 day—An Intro to Rare Wools

Here’s an all-day excursion that will introduce you to some of the types of wool grown by rare breeds of sheep. We’re putting together a diverse collection of fleece varieties—aiming for 8, so we’ll have a very busy day—to whet your appetite and increase your confidence in dealing with unusual fibers.

Four 3-hour retreat sessions, two per day over 2 days—An Overview of Rare Wools

Come join a quick jaunt through the possibilities of rare-breed wools. You’ll get an overview of what breeds are rare, and why, and you’ll get your hands on samples of at least 6 breeds. Because of the time constraints, this will be a quick hike through the territory, but you’ll come away with a good idea of what the fuss is all about.

Last I heard, there was an available space or two in the CNCH workshop in May.

Registration for SOAR opened two days ago, on April 12. As of this morning, both of my workshops and two of the retreat sessions have waiting lists. When I looked, there were still openings in the Friday morning and Saturday afternoon retreat sessions. I haven't been to SOAR since 1999. It will be good to be back there!

I'm going to "steal" two of the photographs from the SOAR site. I think it's only fair. I took the pictures. They just added the rules around the outside and the drop shadows. (I like the effect. If I had more time, I might do that to some of the regular photos I post here.)

 

Because I took these photos, I can give you more information about them than is available on the SOAR site. The sheep on the left is a Cotswold (photo from the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival Parade of Breeds), the wool in the middle is Cotswold wool (the line underneath is 4 inches or 10 cm long), and the sheep on the right is a light-phase Soay ewe who lives in Cumbria (and is shedding her wool).

By the way, I love to hear ahead of time from folks who are coming to events that I'll be attending. It helps me feel like I'm going into an environment of friends. I also have a lot more fun planning classes when I know I'll have real people there and not just numbers ("maximum so-many participants").

I'm also planning for 2012, and am almost ready to talk about part of that. It won't be the same as 2011. Then again, each time I teach it's different anyway.

 

 

 

Certificate of excellence, part 2

Part 1 is here.

Shuttle Spindle & Dyepot *

In 1985, when I began work as editor of Shuttle Spindle and Dyepot (SS&D), the quarterly magazine published for its members by the Handweavers Guild of America, the organization had just undergone some turmoil, and my first task was to produce an issue of the magazine within a month (normally a three-month cycle). Fortunately, I had been working in book and magazine publishing for a while, although not in conjunction with my interest in textiles. I had not produced a color magazine involving advertising. My learning curve was steep. I met the goal on time (a long story in a short period, and it occurs to me that if there were a COE in editing and publishing, I might have been granted an honorary one).

* It's true that there is no comma in the title of the publication.

I was significantly younger then. (Compare the picture below to the sidebar photo. . . .)

As I looked around in the initial stages of figuring out what to put in the next issue, Mary, the (wonderful) secretary (who taught me how to work with a secretary; I hadn't a clue), said, "There are some boxes under the work table that you should know about. They came from someone who has earned the Certificate of Excellence."

I opened the first box and was awestruck. I pulled out skein after skein of jaw-droppingly beautiful yarn. Those boxes contained the materials that Jane Fournier had prepared for her (of course) successful application for the COE in handspinning. Her yarns, samples, and projects had been shipped to the office to be photographed and featured in an article in the magazine. And then there were her clear, careful binders of documentation.

Highlighting Jane's work in the magazine was one of the most rewarding tasks that I performed in my time at SS&D (December 1985–October 1986).

 

I also published Iris Dozer's article taking a look at the COE program, and I attended a COE judging.

 

 

First Interweave, then Spin-Off

In late 1986, I moved to Colorado to be the book editor at Interweave Press, and began producing books on spinning, dyeing, weaving, and knitting by exceptional authors. A year later, in late 1987, I added to my responsibilities the editing of Spin-Off magazine, focusing on the work of handspinners. (The covers of the issues of Spin-Off that I edited are included at the end of the post that is part 1 in this series.)

The pictures above show only a few of the books I produced during my years at Interweave. The first book, begun before I was officially on staff, was Rita Buchanan's A Weaver's Garden. I edited Alden Amos's book as a freelance project after I left. 

For fourteen years, my job was to encourage and showcase the creativity of other spinners, artists, and artisans, in book and magazine form, and to give them resources they could use to increase their skill and satisfaction in their crafts. (Oh, and I was a single parent for all but the first year.) My own spinning, always present, took a definite back seat. I spun for relaxation, centering, and the feeling of yarn forming between my fingers.

Editing the magazines and books, I got to know the fiber expertise of many outstanding spinners. Those who had earned a COE had obviously found in the program a rigorous support for their natural tendencies to master the craft. Many other equally gifted and proficient spinners, of course, had not used the COE as a tool to guide their learning and growth. Yes, there is something special about the skill levels achieved by those who have gone through the program. Yet a program is not the only way to reach a desired goal.

Save the Sheep

I capped my years at Interweave with the inception, coordination, and manifestation of the Save the Sheep project, which included a contest for readers, a juried fine-craft show that toured North America for two years, and a book/catalog that both accompanied the show and served as a standalone resource on rare-breed wools. Called Handspun Treasures from Rare Wools, that publication is now out of print.

A major surprise of the Save the Sheep project was that I had expected to simply gather and print the background resource materials. When I went to do the research to collect the information, I discovered no one had previously assembled the details on rare sheep and wools that spinners would need to know in order to participate. Was there some mention of "spare time" at the beginning of this series of posts? I keep getting myself into these situations. . . .

Nomad Press

Following my time at Interweave, I took on responsibility for Nomad Press, which had been started by master spinner and knitter Priscilla Gibson-Roberts, in order to present her work and that of others who are documenting and passing along important knowledge.

 

Textiles + publishing

To sum up, over the years I have been involved in the production of a number of textile books, as a staff editor, freelance editor, or publisher. Sometimes I simply had the idea and knew who the authors should be (In Sheep's Clothing, by Jane Fournier and Nola Fournier). At other times I coached the author through a stuck spot. Once in a while I have just tech edited. Frequently I have been involved with all stages, from the first idea to the final layout and production. On rare occasions I have written the text from the author's notes and samples. (No, I'm not saying which books those were. The creative work—the heavy lifting—was the authors'. I was simply a conduit to their publication.)

Here's a sampling of those titles:

 

To be continued in part 3.