QBL Part 3

I am beginning to feel like I am writing one of those endless Hollywood film series, met with groans from those of us not entranced by the particular brand of violence, horror, or silliness depicted in the previous offerings in the series. I had, however, planned from the beginning to write not just about the details of the class, but the influence Jane's class has had on me because I feel that something changed during the course of that week.

That I was changed should not come as a surprise because, according to a book that is on my to-read list, Self Comes to Mind: Constructing the Conscious Brain by Antonio Demasio, our brains are changing constantly. As you read this, as a matter of fact, not only are you not getting other things done but changes visible to an MRI  are happening in your brain, according to one reviewer. (Remember my brain has not yet been changed by actually reading the book.) So a week away surrounded by focused, creative people should have made a difference--that the change was big enough that I felt it is what I am trying to capture here.

But feeling it and articulating it are two different things. I know it had something to do with the Wednesday afternoon moment of panic. We had all been working hard and were looking forward to a quiet evening--a lecture by another teacher and then perhaps an early bedtime since many of  us had been up rinsing fabric the night before. I was feeling as if the week was going well; I was not going to feel overwhelmed or inadequate and was learning some useful techniques. Then Jane said, " Well, I need to give you a little something to do tonight," and proceeded to outline three of the major assignments for the week. I was not alone in letting out a small gasp. "Oh, you don't have to begin tonight," she said, trying to reassure us, "but I know some of you want to move on to the next step." As we returned to our work, you could feel the pace pick up. We all worked until suppertime and many returned after the lecture; some even skipped the lecture.

By the next morning, the creativity in the room was fully displayed by the number of samples up on the design walls, and my inner critic was working overtime. A quick glance around assured me that everyone was being more productive and more creative than me, and, as I stared at the second assignment, I could think of nothing to do for it. Then, without my even putting effort into it, things changed. I looked up at one of my samples and realized that it wasn't bad. I took a sip of my morning cup of tea. I forced myself to look more closely at some of the other working walls and realized the variety of approaches there were. Some were working; some were not working as well. And mine were right in there with everyone else's. It wasn't a matter of whether I was creative or artistic or whatever adjective you want to plug in here; I just needed to keep working. And so I did. Yeah, yeah. I have heard this, even said this before, but this time I felt it. Perhaps it was because of the spirit Jane cultivated in the class or because of the talks I had had with another student I had become friends with or because of comments by other students--or some wonderful savory stew of all of these. By the end of the week I had not produced breathtakingly beautiful pieces and certainly had not finished as many samples as some of the other participants, but I had produced some pieces I was pleased with for a number of reasons. I'm still not sure I have competently captured what happened--sounds rather oversimplified as I read it over, but maybe you have a glimpse.

My work will change because of the techniques I learned from Jane Dunnewold and because of her attitude toward her own work. But my own connection with my work has changed and I feel I have taken yet another step on this quilt making journey.

And here's a picture to fill that mandatory picture slot in a blog post. It's one of those samples I did in class that is now in the quilting phase of things.

Well, I have changed your brains more than enough for one blog post and, if you are still reading, thanks very much for the company--and this is definitely the finale in the Quilting by the Lake saga.

QBL Part 2

There are so many things I want to say about my week at Quilting by the Lake that I have been trying to condense into one reasonably sized post, but today I just gave up and started writing. Jane Dunnewold walked into class Monday morning and we were soon moving from the familiar territory of the basics of dyeing and fabric manipulation to dyeing silk and rayon and making stencils.  By the evening of the first day the common room of our dorm suite--all three of us in the suite were taking the same class--was covered with color, all small samples drying for the next step the next morning:

My fabric is on the coffee table in the upper left of this picture. Most of these fabrics went through an another overdye bath and some even a second overdyeing, and soon some of them were becoming backgrounds for the stamps, stencils, and paint.

"Now is the time to experiment with a color you don't like," Jane said at one point, and so I tried orange with my sun stencil, a color I shy away from using.

This is a piece of silk, although the photo does not pick up the luster. I fell in love with silk during this class, the way it takes dye, the way it moves, the way it shimmers, the way it feels.

Another piece of silk became a beautiful mottled purple after three dyeings, and then took two layers of stenciling, the second layer with a metallic paint. 

One of the assignments was to choose a background with a gridlike pattern and add shape/color to it:

This is a rayon fabric, and I began with adding the colored rectangles and later in the week when we learned how to apply gold leaf, I added that. I think I am ready to add some stitching and see how the gold leaf responds.

We also made stamps and then played with creating a repetitive background pattern.

While we were learning all these techniques, we were also getting a hands-on course in color theory since we had to mix paints to create analogous or complementary colors, according to the assignment.  And I finally understood how a color wheel really comes in handy.  

Another new technique I got to try out was screen printing, and probably due to beginner's luck, I really like the piece. We covered our screens with flour paste, let it dry, and then scratched something into the dried paste. For some reason, I was thinking of all the beautiful tall grass in the fields I walk through with Terra each morning and so drew four grass stems. Jane suggested I print several of the same image on the same sample fabric, just moving the screen a bit each time, and adding another color after a couple of prints. This is the original background that I manipulated and overdyed one more time to get the soft grid behind the grass:

And here is the printed piece:

It was calling for something more--a round moon that I originally thought would be gold leaf, but I waited until I got home to decide and ultimately added two layers of tulle so that you can still see the grass through it.

I am not sure what I will do with this sample yet, but it's good enough to take to another stage.

So here's a picture of Jane "wrapping up" the class, after a very stimulating, busy, exhausting, hot week. (Thank goodness for air conditioning as we broke 100 degrees one day!)

I'll save the analysis for the next post. And if you're still reading, thanks for the company!

Composted fabric

So my little packets of compost bin fabric had been air curing in our barn while I was away and I couldn't wait to take a peek at them. It had been the requisite couple of weeks and there they were, looking rather......mummified:

The next step was supposed to be discarding the grass they had originally been wrapped around and hanging them out on a clothesline to cure a couple more days--no mention of what to do when they were desiccated and board-like. 

So I soaked them in cold water for a bit and began to carefully pull them apart. And now I know what you get when you put fabric in a compost bin--composted fabric.

Perhaps our compost bin is just a bit too enthusiastic, but the fabric had begun to digest just like the vegetable peelings and weeds that had surrounded it. Cotton does, after all, come from a plant and should react the same way. 

One site that I had consulted online had said that bug damage could be a problem, but she optimistically went on to say that a couple of holes would be acceptable for the kind of quilts she makes. This is way beyond a couple of holes. No pictures, by the way, of how her experiment turned out. As a matter of fact, I realize now that there was a curious absence of pictures of the finished products.

Anyway, the fabric fell apart in my hands, just as if it had been in a tomb for a couple of centuries. But when I looked closely at some of the bigger bits, there were some intriguing patterns of a rich brown color that made me wish this had turned out better.

Hmmm. Perhaps if I let it compost only a week, instead of a month. . . .

Oh, and if you are still reading, thanks for the company!

QBL Part 1

I drove off to Quilting by the Lake last Sunday and Jane Dunnewold's New Complex Cloth class with plans to blog during the week. I even took a couple of pictures the first of my work-filled workspace.

But I never got even a few minutes to throw together a blog post. Jane kept us all busy--all the time. Got home last night exhausted and excited about the possibilities in what I learned. More details later but right now  laundry and putting away all the stuff I took with me is occupying all the energy this swampy hot day has left me. 

And if you are still reading, thanks for the company and hope it's cooler wherever you are.

Madalene 

Warning! Yucky Pictures Ahead

As I continue to tumble through this busy summer, quilting and blogging seem to have taken a back seat to visiting kids and grandkids, cleaning for overnight guests, and helping a fledgling growers' market take root, but I have not forgotten the grand experiment. I began to worry a bit about it since the weather has been quite warm and the compost, I was sure, was cooking away. It was actually a bit hard to identify the two packets of fabric and grass among all the rotting veggies, but after mucking about a bit, I was able to get a picture so you can share the entire process with me.

It did look like one corner of one of the packets had started to decompose so it was definitely time to move on to the next stage--letting the bundles cure for a couple of weeks. But since this whole experiment is more serendipity than planned, I had not thought about where this curing would take place. In case you didn't get the full glory of their rottiness, here is a picture of them lying on the ground.

I thought about just leaving them there, but we live in a rural area with raccoons, foxes, and even the occasional bear wandering through, any of which might pick up a strange bundle, not to speak of what Terra, our domestic lover of rotty things, might decide to do with them.

Strangely enough, they do not smell much--a good mix of ingredients in the compost should not smell as it cooks and I guess we were lucky this time, but there is enough of an aura about them that I did not want them in the basement. The barn seemed possible and Tom, who has been my intrepid helper, found some old open weave plant trays to put over them, held down by a heavy bucket. They should get enough air circulation to get the curing process going and yet won't be easily carried off by some curious critter.

So we are back in the waiting period again for a couple of weeks. And if you are still with me, even after those pictures--the next should not be quite so disgusting--thanks for the company!

Ew, Yuck!

A couple of months ago, I received in the mail an article from Betsy, a friend of mine, about compost dyeing. Said she was reminded of me when she saw it. (I'm hoping it was the dyeing part and not the compost that reminded her of me.) Although my first thought was that this was a thoroughly disgusting idea, I couldn't help wondering what kind of fabric it would produce. So one day I decided that all I would risk was a yard of fabric and why not give it a try.

The article said to wrap grass clippings and some other vegetation in the fabric, roll it up into a packet, and then bury it in the compost.  I of course had to take a picture so you could share the experience with me:

And here it is decently buried in the most recent additions:

I am a bit skeptical about how much of the color the fabric absorbs will permanently stay because the article said nothing about treating the fabric with anything or adding a mordant and usually vegetable dyes need something more to make them stick. But the fabric packets are supposed to cook for a month or two and then air cure for several days so we shall see.  It has now been decomposing for over a week.

And if you are still with me after that stomach-turning picture, thanks for the company.

Fiber 101

Instead of staying home and working, I took a field trip today to visit The Fiber Factory near Alfred, NY, where Jen, an artist friend of mine, works and where sheep and alpaca wool is processed. At one point in my checkered career, I was a spinner, even hand carding a fleece (although that was the first and last one I ever did), and then knitting my yarn into sweaters and hats. Although I now work mostly in cottons and silks, all things fiber still interest me, and the afternoon at the mill became even more interesting when I realized that cotton probably follows a similar process to end up as fabric or the thread that I sew with everyday.

Our tour began where the dirty fleeces begin--in the washing machine. One does not want to investigate too closely what exactly is in the fleece.

Then on to the drying rack--still maintaining a bit of the home turf.  

  The dried fleece goes through a cleaner/fluffer-upper machine










and the now cleaner, fluffier fleece is placed on a belt that moves it into the carding machine. I know how much wrist-wrenching labor this machine saves and my chest and back muscles can easily start aching thinking about it.  This was a very touchy, feely afternoon, by the way, since you couldn't help wanting to sink your fingers in this stuff and try out all the changes in texture that take place.

All those drums, and teeth and gears and belts produce roving

that is doubled or tripled in the next machine to make a bulkier roving.

And now, to really put the handspinners to shame, comes a machine that takes not one roving but four at a time and turns them into yarn.

The one-ply thread can be twisted with others to form two or three-ply on the above machine and put on cones. The yarn on the cones was wound around the arms of this machine

to make skeins that were washed a final time and hung up to dry. This is undyed alpaca, their specialty, since they own an alpaca farm.

Jen has been doing some beautiful work with felting and showed us one more machine--the needle felter. Remember that large carding machine? It can be set to produce not long, narrow roving, but flat batts. Here Jen is feeding three layers of thin batts--that were dyed in the wool--under  the many needles of the machine.

and here's the finished product. It felt like a very soft blanket at this point and Jen will run it through several more times to join the fibers more tightly. Later--perhaps this is already obvious to many of you, but sometimes it takes me a while to find the light switch--I realized that a similar machine must produce the cotton batting that I use that is labelled as needlepunched.

Quite the day! And I got home in time to do about an hour's worth of stitching. And if you are still  with me, thanks for the company.