The Hawthorne Works

I always get a little hot when anyone in high government  weaves — it is so rare. Canada has a long tradition of supporting hand skills, but our neighboring Kay-becker the Hornarable Oscar Beriau went well beyond that. As the Canadian Minister for Agriculture, he published several books on hand weaving (which are worth a read) and apparently would wander throughout Quebec City with a little notebook sketching out drafts.

These were gentler days — one could run headlong into a passer-by and get away without a pummeling by explaining one was helping the commonwealth through teaching hand-crafts.

Oscar B has my vote as today’s swanky fish. He was a snappy dresser, too.

http://oscarberiau.com/

Tim

Ok, I’ve given this a lot of thought.

In weaving, we have down threads and up threads. We spend a great deal of money to buy looms that will allow us to put the up threads down or the down threads up in different combinations. When we want to move things up or down, we generally use our feet. The exception to this are tapestry weavers, who figure an up thread is as good as a down thread, and keep things simple for their feet but make work very hard for their hands.

Tapestry weavers almost never pick their noses. They can’t, their hands are too busy. This is why most tapestry weavers have large noses: it’s for storage.

The drawloom allows us to use our feet to move some up threads down, while using our hands to draw some of the same down threads up. As the mechanism allows one to move some of the down threads up or or up threads down, and then take a break, drawloom weavers obviously don’t need as large noses as tapestry weavers.

Rigid heddle weavers have the largest noses of all. They need ‘em. Their hands are so busy they can’t spare them for a moment. If they need to pick their noses, they have to use their feet.

That’s my theory, and I’m sticking to it.

Tim

Hi all. I’m suffering insomnia and some symptoms of the malaise that landed me in hospital last August. As communication is good for the soul, I hope a couple of aspirins and a cup of tea, along with a little blogging will set me right. Otherwise, I’ll have to truck out to Salt Lake to see Laritza, our weaving physician.

I’ve been pulled further and further into draw-loom design and practise. No, I don’t own one yet, but I’m now confident I can adapt a draw set-up on just about any frame I have kicking around Ice Station Zebra.

I downloaded a monograph off U-Arizona today, which can be found on either that site http://www.cs.arizona.edu or www.handweaving.net by searching “Ruth Arnold and Draw Loom.” Or so I hope. The weaving section of U Arizona is appropriately under the computer science section. Not that one needs a computer to weave, but that the modern computer is based on a loom.

Ms. Arnold’s monograph is a bit confusing. The illustrations and text are divided into two sections. The only way I could find to make sense of the piece was to print it out, and compare one section to the other.

With a bit of study, what became apparent (at least for the shaft drawloom described) is that the technique is not that complicated. Ties are very direct, compared to a multi-shaft set up on a countermarche. I’ve come away with the impression that, despite the apparent complexity, a draw loom could afford an easier way to weave richly patterned textiles than a dobby. It’s certainly easier than threading a Jacquard. If you want to re-create the Unicorn tapestries, or weave a reproduction of DaVinci’s Last Supper (which has been made on draw harness), please forward detailed instructions on your methods. Also, it would be nice to know the name of your prescribing pharmacist — as I’ve got to take some of that.

Best,

Tim

People ask me why I became interested in weaving. The general perception (which is wholeheartedly wrong) is that is a feminine past time. As I came into the fiber arts through machine knitting, weaving could considered a step up in butch. I’ve been a mountaineer, flown float planes, and done a stint as a white-water raft guide. I know my way around a chainsaw. Sometimes it’s hard to explain to the fellow at the garage what one actually does for a living.

My machine knitting era was interesting. The ex (a superb hand knitter, to her credit) worked with fine yarns. Something relatively simple and utilitarian (knitted tights, for example) could take a month’s hard graft by hand. I invested in a Passap knitting machine. When I brought it home, it was clear she “wanted none of the pie.”

As I couldn’t return the machine, I decided to learn it. I started with simple stuff in stockinette, and gradually progressed to more intricate pieces. When I discovered Susan Guagliumi’s Hand Manipulated Stitches for Machine Knitters, and purchased a very well-used bulky Singer machine, I thought I’d arrived. The old Singer still works. I swear one could pour sand through its mechanism and keep rolling.

I’m still proud of some of my cabled sweaters. Unfortunately, I discovered it was no way to make a living. If one can go to Land’s End and purchase a cabled sweater for $50 (often less than my material cost), there was no room for making a living for me. As I’m OCD, I’d be up knitting ’till the wee hours. The only piece I ever made a profit on was a skirt I knitted for Chris’ pediatrician. As a European, she understood the value of hand craft. I made her a winter skirt in fine lambswool and baby camel hair blend, in a fairly complex double-knit. That was gorgeous yarn, by the way. Almost like cashmere. I still have a cone or two in inventory, which I’m saving for an inspired weaving moment. It’s long been unavailable.

Unfortunately for me, I wanted the level of my finishing to match the level of my pieces. Finishing has always been my nemesis, and frequently took me longer than the knitting.

Finishing woven pieces can be a heck of a lot simpler. Sewing is one proven technique, and works well. It’s often a failure for knits.

I discovered then– as I’ve rediscovered with the Damask and Opphämta book — that there are many ways to interpret a particular design into cloth. Weaving is a simpler form of interlacement than knitting by far. The most complex form of interlacement happens to be crochet, which is fully psychotic to describe mathematically. This may explain why crochet is one of the slowest ways to build a textile.

In any event, to tie this wandering missive up:

The thing that gave me the most hope in the fiber arts as a man was a conversation I had with my good friend Commander Putt, RMG. (Registered Maine Guide). Mr. Putt makes his living flying airplanes very precisely over specified areas for an operation that takes stereographic photos, and then analyzes them for various purposes. The flying can only be done in clear air, which in New England means rough air. His work is hard. The Commander is a man’s man, who lives in a log home on the end of a seven-mile two-rut road in the Maine woods. He built his house completely by his hand, and cleared his land stump by stump. This all occurred in the latter half of the twentieth century and the beginning of the twenty-first.

Mr. Putt and I have a conversation every half-year or so. His telephone connection isn’t reliable, and it costs him to talk.

A fair piece ago, he called, and asked what I was doing. I said I’d been flogging on my knitting machine. I confessed with some degree of trepidation.

“Oh, you bought one too? They’re great. I found one at a yard sale, and learned it. I made socks, sweaters, and tights for the whole family.”

Mr. Putt thinks well of my looms.

Don’t just teach your daughters, your sons need skills too. Hockey and Football not included, we only get two knees.

Tim

I recieved my copy of Damask and Opphämta with Weaving Sword and Drawloom by Lillemor Johansson today. It is very worthwhile.

To prove how considerate our weaving community is, I’d first called Joanne Hall over at www.glimakrausa.com. Joanne recommended that I purchase the book from the Vavstuga in Mass, as they were able to offer a better price than she was.

I’m sure the folks at AIG could learn someting about the honorable way to do business from Joanne.

In any event, although this is not a particularly cuddly book, my first two skims have my head swimming with possibilities. The textiles are stunning. Two things are obvious at this point: I’m going to have to work through my fine-cloth phobias, and adapt the 90 cm Glimakra Ideal to some sort of draw apparatus.

I’m glad Laritza bludgeoned me into this. . .

Tim

I’ve been asked to make a pair of weaving swords for hand-patterned damask and opphämta. As is there little more effort in making a number of pairs, I was wondering if anyone else required a set. Contact me if you do by clicking the link over at my web site, www.hawthorneworks.com.

I also have a nice, vintage set of pick-up sticks in cherry. These are quarter-sawn, and very sweet.  Each is 1 1/4″ wide by 3/16″ thick. The longer of the two is 31″, the shorter 23″.

Oops, all gone on the PU sticks. They didn’t last long. I should have doubled my price, I guess.

Some time ago, I gave a few looms to the Orleans County Historical Society, and started a weaving program in their historic buildings.

The museum’s directress and I had a bit of a falling-out. As I’ve said before, strong people should hold strong opinions. Peggy is strong, and I hope I am. We’ve come to detente.

I’ve been invited back into the newly renovated Samuel Read Hall House. I hope it’s through strength of character on my part. The museum is a singular piece of American history. See http://www.oldstonehousemuseum.org/.

Hall House here:

To those not up on African American History, the buildings around the Old Stone House were constructed in part by the Reverend Alexander Twilight. The Reverend Twilight was the first African-American graduate of an American university (Middelbury College in Vermont), the first African-American elected to a state senate, and formed the first Academy in Vermont. He was a respected educator, pastor, and social leader.

As my friend Hollis, a somewhat later educator, African-American, Reverend, journalist, and a true poet says, “If this gets out, it will turn the interpretation of Black History on it’s ear.” It’s one project I’m working on with H-Dawg. The other is a revisionist history of the Massachusetts 54th Volunteer Infantry, whose story can be found in the film Glory.

While stopping for a sip of water while riding my Italian Job scooter last summer, I found something about the 54th that has immense promise in understanding our history. And you all thought I was just a weaver.

However, if you don’t care one whit for history and just want to weave (or spin, knit, or quilt, there’s a militant group for each at the museum) drop a line. I’m trying to put together a schedule for sessions into the fall. I can’t promise that classes will be free of charge. They will be exceptionally reasonable in price.

Up there in Brownington, one can hear the wind working through the trees. It’s an amazingly calm and peaceful location.

Tim

I’m trying something new here, so bear with me. A number of posts ago, I wrote about a blanket I’d made for a friend recovering from breast cancer. She’s fine, and has recovered completely. I find this something to be joyful about.

I wove the piece as a 16 shaft point twill over a tabby ground, as one would weave Summer and Winter or overshot.

I found the small sample I kept today. It looks like this:

A more representative view is here (though not so nice as the woven piece):

Despite my fat fingers, I think this qualifies as complex weaving. I wove the piece on a computerized loom. I’ve since sold my computer dobby and gone back to pegging bars. The next time I explore the weave, I suspect it will take longer. That’s Ok with me. I’ll feel even more connected to the piece.

Despite my Luddite tendencies, I make use of my weaving software continually. It speeds things up and creates more time to weave. I’ve also been able to access tens of thousands of drafts to play with on www.handweaving.net and other places.

Drafts are generally supplied in a .wif (Weaving Information File) format. Wifs are compact and very handy, even on a non-computerized loom.

Here is (I hope) the wif of the blanket as I wove it:

lb-blanket-52×84

First, definition of terms. I by no means a fine fabric weaver. As I’ve said, my work tends toward the robust. I beat too hard on the fine stuff. I admire people like Tien and Peg from SC who have the patience and delicacy to work fine threads.

For most of my work, I use a temple. For some reason, North American weavers seem to see temples as cheating. I find this an odd attitude. Even my heroine Mary Meigs Atwater spoke harshly of temples. Some see them as using dynamite in a “fly fishing only” stretch of river. In other lands, temples are used as a matter of course. They make controlling things at the edges far easier, lead to a better beat, better tension and sound sleep at night. Temples are practically always used on power looms. If my readers don’t wish to pony up the cash to purchase a temple, a reasonable one can be constructed for pennies by following the advice here: http://www.woolgatherers.com/id105.htm. The Von Treskows are thinking weavers, and carry some nice looms and wonderful linen.  The Ulla Cyrus loom is a heckuva pice of gear, and I’d like one in my stable. They are gorgeous.

With a very soft material, controlling a selvage on a wide piece can be a challenge, even with a temple. Let’s say, for example, we want to make a nice blanket or throw in lambswool. Yes, we can use lambswool for both warp and weft with caution and a properly wound warp. If we don’t use a temple, edge threads will rapidly fail from abrasion as the piece draws in. And yes, it will draw in. Although there are more than a few urban legends that this won’t happen if one is “careful to keep the edges out”, the physics of interlacement are solidly against it.

Using a temple against soft material has its own difficulties.

So let’s outflank the problem. If we use a stiff, strong selvage thread that can be removed later, we can weave a clean, straight piece that a temple won’t damage. The temple can attach to the strong material, and leave the softer stuff untouched.

In the current example, I’d wind the warp as usual. If the piece was in twill or another weave where things wouldn’t catch naturally at the selvages, I’d thread a selvage on extra shafts, if I had them. Worst case, I’d use a floater. I rarely do.

Wind the warp normally, thread and sley. On the outermost threads, string through a piece of braided dacron fishing line. Bring this through the outermost heddle and dent in the reed, and tie in to the front stick. Bring the line through the same dent and heddle as the actual selvage.

If using a floater, skip the heddle, but thread through the reed.

Weight the fishing line off the back beam. A simple loop knot works, but if you are knot-challenged, something like this works:

This is a rapid mock-up. I hope you get the idea.

A pair or two of Kelly forceps are cheap, (particularly for weaving physicians) and lock tight on the line. You’ll need to move them as things progress. It’s a simple solution. It works well for tensioning loose ends with lighter weights.

A further advantage is that our dacron selvage can be marked for changes in the weave with Sharpie pens. A similar idea in woodworking is called a “story stick.” Hopefully, you’ve done warp and calculations, and know where things will play out.  Say your design calls for a six-inch stripe six inches from the end. If a piece loses 10% through warp interlacement, we know a 6″ stripe will actually land at 6.6″ (just under six and five-eighths of an inch.) Our selvage thread doesn’t interlace, it runs straight through.  Make a tick mark at 6.6″, then another at the end of the stripe, If a six-inch stripe shrinks 10%, I’d make a mark at 6.6″ +6.6″. or 13.2″. It’s handier than measuring all the time, and more accurate.

To take the “cheater” selvage out, I clamp one end of the blanket to my worktable, using a c-clamp and a 4″x4″ piece of plywood to distribute force. Clamp close to, but not on the selvage. Pulling the blanket straight and tight, I wrap the end of the fishing line around a dowel and withdraw it. If it is really “in there,” it sometimes works better to clip it in the middle and withdraw it from opposing ends.

Tim

My first business, at the tender age of 14, was making fishing flies for a local sports shop. At the time, I think I made upwards of two dollars an hour. Now, I weave. I’ve almost doubled my pay.

I haven’t tied a fishing fly in years, but I have had the pleasure of teaching Chris the art and ethics of the angler’s sport. This past summer, he caught his first trout in the ponds north of the house. We return many of our trout to the streams and ponds, but several of Chris’ fish were too badly injured to survive.

“Chris,” I said, “These fish will die if we put them back in the water. As we’ve hurt them, we should eat them so they are not wasted.”

“Ok, papa, but you know I really don’t like fish.”

In Chris’ defense, he loves vegetables (he gardens!), dislikes junk food, and drinks soda on exceptionally rare occasions. “Papa,” he said recently, “All the kids at school drink soda and get rude and crazy. I don’t like that.”

We ambled up the hill, and I prepared Chris’ first trout. It weighed upwards of an ounce. It was a matter of thirty seconds’ cooking.

I’m sure many of you have eaten with a (then) seven-year-old. There’s a pained look, a furrowed brow, and a first minuscule forkful. Chris, buddy, if that trout were Kashmir saffron or a truffle, you might get a taste, but I don’t see how that micro-gram is going to trip the receptors. Another, more substantial forkful, then a smile. “I like it.”

I started preparing the second fish as the first disappeared, and the other two rapidly after. I made a sandwich for my dinner.

We were at the market today. I said, “Chris, would you like to have fish for dinner?” “Papa, you know I don’t like fish. I like trout.”

As this is a hard-hitting, substance-filled weaving blog, I’m sure that you’re all waiting to see how your humble narrator will pull this particular anecdote around to topicality. Heck, I wouldn’t have started without that in mind. Y’all watch and learn.

I think the perfect position for any weaver is to be in partnership with one who fishes. There’s absolutely no debate over one’s latest fiber or gizmo purchase if the significant other has dropped a few large on tackle. You will hopefully note my caution in using non-gender-specific language.

In any case, there is much useful for weaving in a good fishing catalog. I’ll detail other things later, but the foremost in my arsenal is fishing line. To be specific, braided dacron. Braided dacron line is available in a variety of diameters and breaking strengths, from “ten pound test” to “two-hundred pound planer-board line.” I use quite a bit of it. When weaving a blanket, my outermost thread is 45 lb Cortland “fly line backing.” It takes the reed’s punishment in stride, and will hold a ridiculous amount of tension, keeping a straight selvage. When the piece comes off the loom, it pulls out easily, and disappears. The lighter weights do the same for lighter work.

I use 135 lb test planer board line for extensions on sectional warp beams. I’ll send you the engineering data  on request, but a doubled strand may break the frame of your loom before failing. At .032″  or .8 mm, it lies nice and flat, so it will not disturb fine warps. The 200 lb planer line is my choice for heavy ties, including where “loom cord” was once used.

Show me a picture? Ok, but it’s pretty dull stuff. I’ve found it recently only in chartreuse, which is not a comforting color. It used to come in International Orange, which was slightly better.

Most of this is avaliable at a local sports shop. I trade at www.fishusa.com, as they seem to be service-oriented and ship cheaply and rapidly.

How do we tell weavers from fishermen/persons? Watch the subject while reading a magazine. If their lips do not move, they are either a weaver or a fish.

Tim