The Hawthorne Works

It was a Chris day today. At eight, he’s savvy, but measured in his speech and polite. He likes dining out, good conversation, and has an eye for the young ladies.

They have an eye for him too. What’s not to like? He’s a sensitive, stylish guy with a cool bike.

I proudly name him as the youngest recognized Warped Warrior. Not only does he weave (and understands fairly complex structures), he rides. No dirt-biker, he. As his heritage is mostly European, he tends toward Grand Prix. That’s good, as his bike is GP style.

Cute as a button, no? Behind that ferocious scowl of concentration, I mean. Believe me, it’s hard to ride those slick racing tires on a rutted dirt lane.

A very short shop day today. The fellow from the electric company knocked on the door by a few days ago (the advantages of a local outfit) and said that they would be replacing a pole up the road which broke under the snow . No electricity from nine ’till noon. In the remaining two hours before collecting Chris, I sorted out the warp and back beams on NilMIra.

Sometimes, we get stuck in bad thinking. As I was fitting out the two warp beams on the loom, I had an obstinate idea that both should be sectional beams. I clamped things up, and found that there was no way the system would work in the space allowed. I had to reconsider my ideas. Another paradigm shift.

In fact, one can warp from one beam to another or even from one loom to another. I’ve done this in classes, where time prohibits everyone winding an individual warp. If one makes a fixture to keep two looms aligned to one another (which can be done in twenty minutes, from four “two by fours” and a few screws, a teacher can sectionally wind a long warp on a “mother” loom and donate it under near perfect tension to all the gathered chicks. I’ll explain this and photograph it the next time I use the technique. NilMira can have one sectional and one plain beam

This solved my warping conflicts on NilMira. I have a very old, round-turned beam that I’ll repair the glue joints on. I need to make some “beam-heads,” or “flanges” to complete the system. I’ll picture those also. It’s much simpler constructing them for a round beam than the usual hexagonal one.

Here’s NilMira with her two warp beams and two back beams. The rearmost beam stands 1/2″ (13 mm) above the front one. This keeps the ground warp and pattern warp from abrading one another.

This is how they look from the back of the loom:

More soon. I’ve roughed out the wood to make the draw protion of NilMira. I expect things are going to become very exciting soon. I need to raise about $200 to purchase the steel to make the draw frames. As we’re in the “Great Recession” cash is short. I wonder how our grandparents got by.

Cowboy up all, I guess.

Tim

I’ve managed to obtain a quantity of pre-world war II British straight pack needles. These are fearsome objects, a full six inches long. The quality of workmanship is outstanding, as is the steel they are made of.

Visual confirmation:

I see them as useful for trussing poultry, very heavy sewing, hand-to-hand combat, or general self-defense if one rides public transportation. Me gentle Mum used to keep an old-fashioned hat pin for that purpose when she worked in New York in her salad days. These will put a hat-pin to shame. I’ve reforged several with a curve and find they work very well for darning ends into rugs at three epi. Sett tighter than that, they are too wide.

If anyone needs some, they are available at two dollars each, plus a dollar-fifty postage and packing. I can send up to three at the same shipping rate. If you’d like them curved, I’ll heat and forge them for an additional three dollars each.

Tim

Some time ago, I announced the formation of a club for motorcycling weavers, and was surprised to find that there were a few kindred souls out there who not only want to throw the weft, but also want to “feel the wind.”

I am pleased to report that none of the long, distinguished list of applicants for membership look like this:

Yep, that’s the Boozefighters from the infamous Hollister California riot of 1947. We hope to have a little more style.

In connection with Mary Rios, the Village Weaver, her very talented husband John, with some powerful computers and a complete lack of adult supervision, the club is proud to report we now have a name and “colors.”

Drumroll, please:

Wearing the “colors” allows one to do things not allowed to mere mortals: 1: Swagger into your local fiber shop. 2: Hog the buffet at the workshop dinner. 3: Drive through Sturgis North Dakota or Laconia, New Hampshire and not worry about one’s only clean tee saying “Friends of National Public Radio.” 4. Engage in turf wars with rival Weaving Guilds. 5. Recognize the twisted (ok, plied) readers of this blog on sight.

Currently, there are two chapters: Vermont (the mother chapter) and Greater Detroit (the other mother chapter.) You can be the first on your block (or road, if you’re rural) to start your own Warped chapter.

“Tim,” you ask with ‘bated breath, “Where oh where can I obtain such glorious habiliments?”

Mary graciously put together a wide assortment of merch for the discerning weaver on wheels. It can be found at http://www.zazzle.com/hawthorneworks.

I am attempting to put together a club meeting, tentatively scheduled for Labor Day weekend, 2009, here at Ice Station Zebra. Proceeds from sales will go to fund the event. I’d like to invite interested parties to come and camp (there are various hotels, motels and B&Bs also), discuss various weaving techniques, and attend a free workshop on making and modifying your own weaving equipment. This would be open to all weavers, of the two-wheeled persuasion or not. (Wot, no bike?) Northern Vermont is a lovely area, and well worth seeing.

Tim

I stopped at the P.O. Saturday on the way to pick up the Italian scooter. It was stalling at stop signs since last August (I infrequently encounter stop lights in my daily business. The scoot was stalling at them also.) I told the dealer it was a fuel pump malfunction. The marque is notorious for its incorrectly-tubed fuel pump, and there have been complaints from all over the scooter-riding world. The bike was at the dealer’s twice in the past, where they “could not replicate the issue.” If one wishes to deal with Italian motor vehicles, one needs patience, a strong romantic streak, and a few dozen bottles of Chianti.

Bro-bro drove it down in freezing weather last November (the dealer is minutes from his house), where it sat, untouched, all winter. Finally, I rang and asked where my bike was. “We still can’t replicate the problem. It’s not the fuel pump. We think it’s the security system. You got it wet.”

Oh, gee, I didn’t know I was only supposed to ride only on the three dry days last season. And yes, the bike has one of those little push-button security systems. This is so the it won’t get stolen from the streets of Rome. It’s an udder on a male bovine here (translation required, we’re trying to keep this PG-13), where we leave our keys in the cars in case the neighbors have an emergency.

Luckily, the recall notice on the fuel pump arrived at the dealer a day before it came here. They pulled the bike in, and did what I’d been telling them to do for eight months. The ‘Beo runs like a top now. Unfortunately, they pinched the vent line from the fuel tank fixing the pump. I found this out when I went to fill up and got sprayed with gas from the pressurized tank. This included a full shot into my eyes. I wrecked my new glasses (picked up that morning) flinching away from it. Gasoline burns skin and eyes, even if there’s no fire. Glad I wasn’t smoking.

I don’t understand this attitude. My machinist grandfather was never an “almost” sort of guy. If his work wasn’t as perfect as he could make it, he wouldn’t have been able to look in the mirror in the morning. I know many craftspeople that share the same philosophy. It’s not about money, it’s about honor, craft, and our duty to the community. It’s also about thinking about what one is doing before doing it, rather than reacting afterward.

Ok. That was a long diversion. As my fuel tank didn’t vent, I can.

The bright spots of that otherwise difficult Saturday were a magnificent rainbow that greeted me and my coffee mug in the early dawn. I hope it shows in the pictures. It was a wonderful sight.

The other nice part was obtaining  my copy of Alice Hindson’s Designer’s Drawloom at the PO. This is essentially an expanded instruction manual for a Hooper draw loom (see Luther Hooper, The New Drawloom, downloadable from www.handweaving.net in .pdf.) and some of its variants. The British and Scandinavian approaches to draw weaving are significantly different. After examining the pictures therein, I realized I could make a 45″ drawloom on the English pattern from pieces of my LeClerc Nilus and two severely battered LeClerc Miras I obtained two years ago. I’ll build Vicky as a regular loom. Although Ms. Hindson pictures a table draw loom near identical to her, it is noted she’s suited mostly to narrow warps and light work.

My brother is at rare times the voice of sanity. I was looking at the 75+ year old Mira frames and griping that they weren’t particularly shiny. (”Hammered” might be more appropriate.) I wanted to polish them up. “Ace, don’t do that. Those looms have MOJO!” Yes, they do. When I examine well-loved Scandinavian looms in various pictures, they have the Mojo of many generations in them.

I have enough bits to give the resulting Frankenloom two sectional warp beams, which is a large advantage. NilMira will have a wheelbase of 58 inches, which is happily just what Mr. Hooper recommended in his drawings. If I’m careful, the frame will support up to 36 pattern shafts, in addition to the four ground shafts. That’ll do me for a while, I think. I won’t be able to weave a proper satin on the ground shafts, but I think it will take some time before that irks me.

Here’s my copy of Ms. Hindson’s book. I recommend it highly. I paid sixteen bucks for mine — such-a-deal.

I finally understand the theory of “simple lashes” after a number of hour’s study. This is wicked powerful stuff! Although, in Ms. Hindson’s words, draw loom weaving can require an “oriental sense of time,” the deeper I delve, the more I understand the scope of it. The technique allows one to go as far as humanly possible in weaving without mechanical or electronic patterning devices. Very, very cool.

So after a day in the shop, here’s the nascent NilMira draw loom. It will be two distinct looms when finished (which is what a draw loom is, by the way.) The pattern shafts and draw unit will be mounted on the rear section — the old Mira. This will allow threading the pattern shafts without having to work through the front portion. If I ever want to convert the Nilus back to a plain ol’ 4s, it will be a matter of an hour to do so. The Nilus is dusty in the photos, but otherwise near perfect.

I’m probably barking mad doing this with little formal instruction, but I’m confident that I can make it work. Stay tuned.

Sorry for the silence in the past days. My eyes were irritated from gasoline, which made work on the computer difficult.

Tim

Another short day in the woodshop. I collected Chris from school on the motor scooter in celebration of Earth Day. I would have done so anyway, as the weather was fine this afternoon. Still, it felt good to be out in the air getting 70+ mpg on the noble steed. The snow has finally subsided to random patches on the north sides of things.

I’m thinking of starting a gang for motorcycling weavers. I know of at least three others, there must be more out there. Unlike many bikers, weavers tend to ride because of economic reasons. I was razzed down at the hardware store yesterday as being a big guy on my tiny little bike. So be it. I can sneer at Prius drivers from higher moral ground.

If you are interested in joining the gang, please reply. I’m trying to get Mary Rios’ husband John www.grafixjam.com to work us up some “colors.” It’s all very hush-hush right now, but I promise my readers will be among the first to see ‘em. The criteria for membership are, variously: 1: Being a weaver. 2. Riding some sort of two-wheeled thingy. We’re not proud, the club will also accept people who weave but know what a motorcycle is, or motorcyclists who know what a loom is. If we’re desperate, we might relax this to all people who know what a textile is.

I probably won’t do a long stint in the shop tomorrow, either. My brother is arriving with a pickup truck, and we’re going to make a dump run. For you city-slickers, this may sound horrifying. For country folk, the dump kindles fond memories. Now we have a “transfer station,” so much of the romance is gone. In my teens, Bro and I would go to the dump and find treasures. The fellow that watched the place would sort the garbage from potentially useful items, which were available for re-use. My brother found a chest full of hand-sewn 19th century quilts on one occasion, and I have a 1929 Singer Model 99 sewing machine that needed a little oil and a few kind words to reenter the job market.

Victoria’s legs came from another loom that I started to build, but which had taken a spot in the corner for lack of ambition or inspiration. My idea here is to first create a fully-functional light floor loom that can work either as an eight-shaft (settled that) workshop loom or a light draw-loom. I’m going to sort out the conventional portion first. The draw section will be connected onto Vicky’s nether regions. If you’re wondering why her wheelbase is still so short, it’s because the “stretch” hasn’t been fabricated yet. The draw portion will be a semi-independent unit. I hope to be able to design the thing so that the draw frames can be threaded while the front end is conveniently out of the way. If I had to sit deep inside a 27″ frame, I’d have precious little room between the frames to scratch (!) my nose.

Although I think back-hinged treadles are the cat’s meow, it looks like Vicky will have front-hinged ones. This will allow me to mount them off a front extension. If they were pivoted off the back, they would likely be too short to be functional.

Here she is, on day two. Neat, sweet, and petite. There’s still a lot of bracing that needs to be added.

Tim

Jeez, I crack myself up. I have to. I’d get lonely if I wasn’t talking to myself.

I bit the bullet and began project table-draw today, with my bits of the Glimakra Victoria loom. As shipped (with the comment from Ed Hall that the loom was incomplete, but it was cheap and “looked to be right up my alley”), my Victoria was supposed to be a 4s table loom. I have her predecessor, a Glimakra Pyssingen (or something like that.) The old table loom was never as popular as it ought to have been in the US, as the name ”Pyssingen” lacks poetry in English. Like other Glimakra products, the Swedish table looms are soundly built and can be used for real work. This is a refreshing difference from most other table looms, which are distressing to weave with for more than a few minutes at a time, and are a TOTAL BEAST to thread.

The hint here is that in order to deflect a warp thread, one needs a certain length of material to work with. One cannot make a loom fit in a glove-box and expect to weave anything on it.

In any case, Little Vicky’s castle has been missing since I was in college. I am completely capable of reproducing it as made, but here are my thoughts:

1: The average table loom beater is a miserable object, as are those supplied currently and in the past on Vicky and her sisters. One cannot swing on a tight arc and expect to weave good cloth. My preference is for an overslung beater, with a minimum 24″ (approximately 60 cm) arc. Therefore, the Vicky’s new castle will be 24″ high when finished, with a proper overslung beater. Her harness should be able to do something useful.

2: Jack looms are out. There are too many compromises with the jack system. If Vicky is to be resurrected, she’ll either be in the form of a countermarche or a counterbalance, and will no longer be a table loom. The draw-loom weaver’s friend is the counterbalance, but there are issues within that system. If one wants to weave on Drall pulleys, a ten-shaft tie can be a simple thing. This limits one to a few structures. A four-shaft counterbalance tie as normally worked is fast, very accurate and simple, but limits one to paired sheds. These are the 2/2 twill sheds, 1&2, 2&3, 3&4, and 1&4 on a sinking-shed loom, with tabbies on 1&3 and 2&4. To weave on a standard CB, one must look at the odd sheds, i.e: 1/3, 3/1,and other “unbalanced” structures with envy. All fourteen sheds on the CB tie were woven in the past, but by weavers with knowledge of the “tricks of the trade” on looms of a great deal longer length than are produced currently. Another option is to make Vicky’s castle to accept eight thin shafts in “parallel countermarche order.” The parallel CM is a fairly modern set-up, and has issues on a wide loom. As Vicky is only 27″ maxed, I suspect the system could work. Unfortunately, for complex structures, it still demands sixty-four ties. In the confines of a 27″ frame for a big boy, that’s a lot of string.

3: I could cut my losses, and mount Zielinski’s “shed regulator’ on four ground shafts with a counterbalance mounting. This allows all fourteen sheds possible from a 4s CM, and works faster than a Ferarri. As every thread is positively treadled up or down, there’s no wondering whether shafts have fallen. (I hate unintentional warp floats like the the plague.)

Here’s today’s work. It was short working day, as I collected Chris at 2:30. We built a ship model. 

Vicky on horses, with a part of her new uppers:

Thanks for your patience.

Tim

In my usual style, I’ve been pulling all the documentation I can on drawlooms. I’m not yet up on the harness system (which was replaced by the Jacquard,) although I nod to its complexity.

A shaft drawloom has begun to make sense to work on, simply because it could be wild fun.

An individually drawn warp is daunting at best. A “simple” on the harness drawloom (where every warp end can be raised individually)  isn’t simple at all, and requires a master (mistress) of exceptional skill to operate it. Drawboys are thin on the ground in the modern era. I don’t know if I have it in me to weave on the harness drawloom. Actually, I’m sure I don’t.

The “shaft drawn system” is clear. It’s a way to expand the power of a few shafts to a few hundred, without all that annoying clicking from a dobby (or several dobbies), or spending twenty-plus grand on a Jacquard. Shaft draw works in repeats, but the repeats can as wide as 100 shafts.

Here’s my plan: I own a beautiful 90 cm Glimakra Ideal loom, with eight shafts and eight treadles. It’s ex Joanne Hall’s studios, and is as close as I own to a perfect loom. In one of her usually gracious moments, Joanne transferred it into my care, when GAV/Glimakra ceased production on the 90 in lieu of the one-meter loom. This will become my “long loom” test-bed.

Ok, let’s look at our problem. Most of my readers are American, and therefore believe that more and bigger is better. (I’ve got tracking software to prove it). If one is to throw a shuttle by hand, one meter is a very comfortable throw. Less is actually better. A standard width for cloth in the past was 28″, which comes off a 32″-36″ loom nicely.

According to the sumptuary (clothing) laws of Venice, circa 1545 common era, a silk brocade should be woven at at least 269 ends per inch. (They brought it down from 358 epi in Venice in the 1400’s.) That’s wild stuff, even for my clear-eyed Tien and Goodly SC Peg.

My humble plan is to extend the frame of the Ideal by a foot, construct a draw-bridge (likely less than twenty shafts to start) and sample some draw work in the Swedish Opphämta method, with cotton warp at 25-50 epi, and linen and wool weft (which I suspect doubles density when beaten.) The nobles of Italy in the Renaissance would drum me to the gates, but I have big fingers.

Of course I’ll document the business.

Thanks.

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