Too Much Wool

its a gauge thing

I had the brief, although not surprising momentary "realization" this weekend that there's a good reason why I rarely knit garments. Gauge is not my friend (or as Claudia often says, gauge is evil).

I've been dreaming about knitting the cover tank (Lotus Blossom tank) from the last issue of Interweave Knits for a while. I know that this style would look good on me, I got a gorgeous color of bamboo yarn to knit it in, and knowing me and the sleeve issue, I figured that something so relatively sleeveless would be a good choice. (I might point out that, thankfully, IK also posted a charted version of the lace pattern, which you can download from HERE. Having just found this I'll refrain from b*tching about the lack of charts for lace in most magazine patterns.)

For once, I swatched. However, swatches as we all know, lie. Over and over again. I find it impossible to swatch in stockinette to succesfully predict what my gauge will be over a lace pattern. I knit lace in the round differently than stockinette in a flat swatch. But this time, I at least gave it a go.

Mistake #1:

I swatched on wooden needles, assuming that with a slippery feeling yarn like Southwest Trading Bamboo, I'd have to compensate for the slippery yarn. Well, no. I needed slippery needles to compensate for the lack of spring in a plant fiber yarn (this, so far as I can tell, is the only downside to rarely knitting with anything other than wool - I didn't know this ahead of time). So I had to switch to metal needles almost immediately.

Mistake #2:
I assumed that the stated needle size in the pattern was at least moderately accurate. Now, I tend to be a medium to tight knitter, in general. Very tight for socks, moderate for lace. But when starting this pattern, I was knitting very tightly, on Addis. So tightly in fact, that I had trouble moving the stitches around on the needle.

Mistake #3:
I ignored the fact, for several rows, that the lace fabric looked almost nothing like the picture of the finished tank. It was too loose and floppy on the needles to bear any resemblance to the tight, orderly lace stitches shown in the finished garment. Do not, I repeat, do NOT ignore those types of inklings.

Now, I rarely take pictures of my stupid mistakes, and this is no exception. But when I finally got to the point (9 rows x 200 sts in) that I should have been changing to a different needle size, I realized my errors. The embryonic tank was a whopping 4" bigger than it should have been.

I will say one thing, with no disrespect whatsoever intended to the designer and knitter of this pattern, which I adore. If anyone is able to get the stated gauge on the recommended needle size, I'm going to have to assume that they have bionic hands. Because at my tightest knitting gauge, I was way, way off on the recommended needles. Some of this may have to do with the slippery nature of 100% bamboo yarn. Other than that, it is truly inconceivable.

So, I ripped. Viciously and heartlessly, and restarted on needles .5mm smaller than those I had started with originally. And now.... I'm praying. That it works. Because I love the yarn color, love the drape of the yarn, and love the pattern. But I'm not sure I'm willing to go below a 3mm needle to get gauge on a pattern that was supposed to be knit on a 4mm (US6) needle.

Here's the second gestational period of the embryonic tank:

A measly 8 rows in, although I've knitted that +9 rows by now. I still have very little to no idea if the gauge is on yet or not. Obviously my row gauge is going to be off, but I can deal with that. I think.

And in another blow to fiber ennui, I also did a bit of spinning this weekend. I plied up the extrafine merino/silk I had spun a while ago. (This is from Capistrano Fiber Arts Studio/Lori Lawson - no website, bought at The Yarn Tree here in Brooklyn.) Although I often fizzle on the plying, I did okay this time around. Especially when I stopped watching what I was doing and started watching the movie that was on TV. I guess I spin better intuitively than I do when the logical portion of my brain is engaged. The yarn seems well balance, and looked even better after washing and drying:

The color is off, totally. Its more of a burgundy/deepforest-purple color overall. I was too lazy/hot to take a picture in natural sunlight, when I could show off both the true colors as well as the silky shine.[Please note, I shamelessly arranged the yarn for the photo so that the badly spun portions are not visible - full disclosure and all of that.] Tragically, the colors in this yarn look better on my daughter than they do on me. I guess I know what that means - college-bound scarf, I'm afraid.

a little problem

I suppose its PMS. Nothing seems right.

I can't get going on the second woven band. I mean, when one spends two days worth of free time working on something that must be ripped and ripped again repeatedly, I really think its time to call it quits. No matter how stubborn one is. It's time to look in another direction, at least momentarily.

So, today I looked around. I did one proactive thing, which was to take a (heavy) pile of unwanted books and sell them at a used bookstore. I was all excited about the $28 dollars I made (that's almost the price of a spindle, or a fleece or ....) until Juno so tactfully pointed out to me that selling unwanted things was more like reclaiming money than making it. Saying you made money that way is like saying you "won" something on eBay - a pet peeve of mine. You didn't win the lottery there babe, you bought it. At any rate, I got rid of several books that I had to wipe the dust off of, weighing at least 20 pounds according to what my shoulder told me later, and made a teeny dent in the piles of unloved books. It felt good.

When I went to the post office this morning and my mailman recognized me on the street (blocks from home) and said, "Hi! How're ya doing?" like we were old friends I realized that maybe I have a little too intense of a relationship with the mail. I got a package in the mail today, but the thing about the package was that I forgot I had bought it. One pound of Icelandic fleece that I unconsciously (¿is that possible?) wrote and mailed a check for. It arrived and I was stunned. I had no memory of it. Of course its lovely and all, but....

Here's the thing. You know ..... um.... the title of this here blog? The part about the wool and how much of it there is? It wasn't true when I started the blog. At least relatively, it was small potatoes compared to what's happened here in the past year and a half.

I know its the spinning. Anyone in the wool world worth their lanolin knows that roving and spinnable fiber takes up more room than skeins of yarn. But its starting to scare me. I mean, 8 oz or those cute tiny bags of hand-dyed silk/cashmere that you can pick up at fiber festivals aren't too bad, but the fleece? The fleece is deadly.

I've noticed it particularly lately. Hot weather and all. There is fleece that still needs washing and the heat brings out that unmistakable .... scent. But rather than cutting down on the wool, I'm selling (quilting, mostly) books to "make room". I keep telling myself that all of this warm, fresh wool will come in really handy because when my daughter goes away to college (one month, and I still haven't freaked out about anything but the money) in the Berkshires, she's going to need warm clothes. Very warm. Hats, gloves, mittens, scarves. Even - dare I say it? - sweaters.

However, I've been doing nothing. I can barely look at the blogs of the productive folks who spin and knit through the heat of summer with finished objects to show. Because I can't even show anything in progress right now. I have blog-guilt about it. Gotta show them something, gotta have something to talk about (never a problem for me, but its tough pulling up pictures of what you're thinking about but not doing in real life). But its almost-August, we're in the midst of monsoon season and nothing seems right. I can't even think about wool socks right now.

I actually considered (remember what I said about PMS?) taking a break for a while until I have something to talk about. The trick is that I do have things to talk about, just nothing to show off. Yes, the inkle loom is winging its way across the country to me now, as we speak. Yes, the house is full (FULL, I tells ya) of wool and I can't really find places to put it anymore. But that's all potential and not product. So the blog will be boring. Or I'll put up more spider pictures. I've always been non-functional/dysfunctional in the heat and right now is no exception.

I feel like I'm floundering. I suppose some people can do it, bloggishly and gracefully and still make it sound interesting. I tend to flop about publicly, in a rather ugly kind of way, which probably means I'm not so good at entertaining by writing. Or hiding how I'm feeling about things. Or self-discipline to make myself produce something.

However, I do feel like I'm deep in the midst of a learning process right now, and I guess that's progressive and productive in its own way. Just, as I said, not so good for the pictures.

in which I contemplate

Since people seem to like the posts where I think out loud, and that's about all that I've got to talk about, I'm going to contemplate the distinct possibility that I've lost my mind.

I have been eating, sleeping, and breathing nothing but weaving for at least a week. Possibly more. There are piles (and I mean huge, honking piles) of weaving books everywhere. [Who knew I had so many? I turned them up in the oddest places - turns out I've been buying weaving books for years, a very bad sign.] There are five - count them - five full bobbins of singles sitting on a chair in my living room. For a reason I cannot explain, warping has seemed preferable to plying. And that's scary.

Yesterday Bee helped me wind warp for a second band. To those who asked what I was using the first band for - I don't know. It's too long for a bracelet but could make a cute strap for .... something little. It was for practice, learning, and I never intended to use it for anything at all. I spent quite a bit of time doing the warping for a second band, rearranging the warp threads (don't ask, its a pain) and making more little string heddles. String heddles aren't as big of a deal as they were, oh, three days ago. I've done them and redone them so many times that I can do them late at night when tired and while drinking wine. (This is a good thing. The bad thing is when I get too smart for my own good, try to innovate, and realize my bright idea didn't work and I have to redo the whole thing. I'm nowhere near ready to be innovative with this.)

I've been collecting sticks. Anything. Round, flat, popsicle, bamboo. I've been combing the house looking for things that will work to improvise things like a warping board (need one of those but in the meantime I used the legs of a clothes drying rack to do the last band.) I've probably read every single website that mentions backstrap weaving. And inkle weaving and tablet weaving too, because I'm nothing if not tangential.

I've been contemplating Peruvian textiles. In books, but also in the very small selection (the daughter needs to learn to spend money more freely) that Bee brought back from Peru. Rather than just making you listen to me, I will entertain with some pictures.

This is a small bag Bee brought home from Peru. Its done in basically the exact type of weaving I'm puttering around with on my own (at about 10 or 20 times the width). If you're paying attention, you'll notice that the twisted fringees on the bottom match the pattern bands on the bag.

Now, here's a closeup of the twisted fringe.

If you click on it for the closeup, you can see that

• most of the yarns if not all of them appear to be singles, not plied
• They all appear to be handspun.

I'm boggled by this. Not the handspun part, but the part about singles. All of the reading I've done has told me that the yarns are plied, and very much overspun in the plying, at that. I'm just going to assume that because this bag is relatively loosely woven, and definitely made for tourists, it was probably not made super strong.

Then there's this belt, which she bought in Pisac. It is truly mind-boggling.

The belt is all of 3.25" wide. Its so densely woven that it feels like iron. The patterning on it is incredible. Some of the threads (especially the white) are so fine as to be laceweight, and all of them are so tightly spun as to be wiry and feel rather rough. (They're also all plied, just saying.) I suspect that this piece would/will last forever.

So, this morning I went out to do laundry and brought along two books on Andean weaving (this should not surprise anyone - and in my defence its way too hot in the laundromat to knit right now). As I'm looking through one of them, I see some of the everyday coca bags and carrying cloths done in plainweave. In other words, just some stripes, no fancy patterning or bands of intense design.

I began to wonder. A sane person would have started with something plain. I mean, plain can be boring but stripes add interest and I could have handled that. I may have to do that too, just for practice on a wider band.

So, I was contemplating my obsessiveness. Wondering which particular psychological disease it might be indicative of. Thinking back to obsessions past and realizing that this is how I do things. Always have, as far back as I can remember. When I get interested in something I will read anything and everything I can get my hands on, on the subject. Speaking of which, can someone please tell me why books on Andean and Peruvian "art" usually contain 90% metal and pottery and about 2% textiles? Its driving me nuts - do these people have any idea what they're missing?

Anyhow, I seem incapable of just puttering along all the time. Sometimes I do, and am happy. Then something new will start me on a crazed course of insanity and I will lose hours and days in the pursuit of it. Whatever "it" is. The frenzied obsessiveness is scary, but its a cycle I've seen myself go through time and again. I would like to stop hearing the little voice in my head that says "jack-of-all-trades and master of none" but I've gotten pretty good at ignoring that broken record.

In the meantime I'm all ready to start on this

Please note gratuitous Alice.

torn

So, I've about reached the end of the band I showed yesterday. I like it. I got sloppy with my tension in the middle and then improved again at the end. I can also see how my extra care with beating in the weft at the beginning gave me smoother borders than when I got faster and sloppier towards the end. Which is all good because I'm learning.

So. Next up? I can't decide. After the frustration with learning something entirely new, I feel a sudden and very strong urge to knit. Because, you know, I already know how to do that. Then again, I'm also very tempted to immediately wind warp for another band. Except the one I want to do is wider and way more complex, but it uses the same techniques as the one I just did (and the pattern has birds!) so I figure it would be good practice and maybe more satisfying.

I also wanted to say that I'm sorry if I scared anyone off of weaving with the post yesterday. I tend to do irrational things, like doing something that everyone says is easier to learn in a class, at home, by myself, with nothing but a book for a teacher. Given my lack of immediate comprehension of the text, it was no wonder I had to puzzle my way through something that was pretty straightforward. Now that I've done it, I could probably teach someone else to do it. At least the one thing I've done so far.

I should also mention that the band I wove isn't the simplest thing you can weave with that technique. Certainly not the hardest, but if I had just started with something plain it would have been a piece of cake. This had complementary warps (warps in two colors, in matching pairs) and pick up patterning (which involves finger-picking threads to create a pattern). But I chose to do that because its precisely the kind of thing I'd like to learn to do. I can weave over-and-under plainweave (I did tons of those loop potholders as a kid). I wish I had Photoshop, because it would go a long way in showing and trying to explain all the weird words I used yesterday, if I could label all the different things I was talking about.

Now, 'scuse me while I go dig around in my colorcard collection for the weaving yarns. I know they're here somewhere.

string heddles are not my friends

Okay, its been quiet. Or, I've been quiet. Except when I've been sitting on the floor with piles of cut string littering the area around me, muttering and cursing under my breath. Its been so bad that no one in the house has even spoken to me until spoken to since last night.

I was trying to weave.

Now, granted, I don't know what I'm doing. At all. And I have serious issues with spacial reality at times - that, combined with an absolute lack of ability to visualize something I've never seen done before almost did me in.

But I'm really really stubborn (you all knew that already, didn'tya?). Now, someone I respect absolutely and without question told me several days ago that the book(s) I was trying to learn from weren't the best for that. But I thought I was smart and I could do it.

I guess I kinda did. Eighteen hours later. After wrapping warps on improvised implements over a dozen times (I'm being conservative in my estimate) and attempting to tie string heddles probably twice that many times.

String heddles look like this:

Or maybe that's just a multi-loop string heddle, I have no idea.

Then there's another heddle/loopy thing (I think its called a shed loop, although at this point it doesn't matter what its called because now I understand what it does). It's also known as "heddle #2".

This is a picture of the orange multi-heddles thingy on the lower left and the single, loopy heddle/shed loop thingy on the top right. You can see in the middle where the warp yarns cross, the colors change. That has to do with it being a complementary warp design. Which I think I understand, now that I've done it, but there's no way I'm going to try to explain it. I figured it all out about two hours ago.

And then there's all of this thread manipulation with fingers and such, beating up/in of weft threads with a very satisfying thing called a batten (mine is more or less a stick that I found in the pottery tool section of an art supply store), and when I actually got going I quit tearing my hair out and felt a little proud of myself.

I have some popsicle sticks at the bottom, and you can see the orange heddle strings (ugh) resting above in a clump on my leg. It was all very satisfying until my daughter pointed out to me that 18 hours was an awfully long time for about 3" worth of weaving. I assured her (not without some doubt) that it would be easy the next time around. Because I've finally figured out a decent (if silly) way to get all the heddle loops the same size (credit card), and things are starting to make sense. Not only that, it really didn't take me that long to weave the 3", it was figuring out how to set it all up that almost did me in.

I need some work on the tension at the edge. And probably the middle too. If anyone wants to know, its a "complementary warp uneven twill" band.

And now can someone tell me what the best kind of string for making string heddles is? Because there has to be something better than what I'm using.

Oh, forgot to mention - if this is really easy and you learned how to do it when you were six years old, please don't tell me. I need encouragement.

because I'm so easily amused

a somewhat bedraggled web


and the shy girl who didn't want her picture taken

I seem to have managed to meet my second deadline without any hitches. Hopefully I'll be back for real, very soon.

true inspiration

It seems, from what I can tell, that there are commenters and lurkers out there who have blogs and are sneaky about them hide them under a bushel.

Case in point is Ellen. She's been commenting on my blog for a while, I knew from her email address that she was a weaver, and we've "talked" a bit over the last year or so, although we never managed to get together for a badly planned meet-up at MDSW.

The other day when I posted about Peruvian weaving, she casually mentioned that she was taking a three day backstrap weaving workshop with someone from Peru. We'll just skip the part where smoke came out of my ears and I turned green with envy and all of that.

To cut to the quick, Ellen did a fabulous picture heavy post on her somewhat hidden blog (her work is also amazing, so you should go look) about Alex Gallardo (the weaver), backstrap weaving, and his amazing work. You can see it here. Go look, please, its more than I'll ever be able to share. 

I'm out of comission until after the weekend. I've got a Monday deadline, and a husband who has decided to run a high fever with chills. If you need more weaving you can go see Sigga Sif's newest obsession, tablet weaving. I would be jealous but I attribute her steep learning curve to her scientific mind.

In the meantime, I'm watching the sky for falling looms.

To the Universe

Dear Universe,

You're scaring me.

Sometimes I don't really know what to think. Conspiracy? Destiny? Be careful what you wish for?

I know, I know. I asked to be directed to an inkle loom. But instead, you more or less threw one at me. Somewhat reminiscent of last year (just about this time) when you threw a table loom at me.

Okay, I realize that I didn't get the hint. The table loom has sat and I've done nothing with it other than weave a few feet on the warp that was already in place when it came home with me. I'm intimidated. But then the weaving thing came front and center once again and I just asked to be directed to the right inkle loom.

So you threw an inkle loom at me. I asked for it, you provided - I cannot complain. (Actually, I should be bowing at the feet of your agent in the matter but I figure she knows that I'm thankful.) But then, in the space of 24 hours it seems you lobbed two looms right at me.

Yes, I'm slow. When the first loom fell on me I thought I was lucky. Or had good friends. Or something. Now that I've uttered the merest 'peep' of interest in weaving again, you've come out with the big guns. I give. Its obvious to me that I have an obligation. One not of my choosing [are we getting mystical here?].

I know, I talk to spiders. When I see them on the deck I say hello. When I see them with their prey I congratulate them. I prefer to think that its You, Universe, providing the loom(s) rather than my little collection of spiderfolk that I nurture in my spare time. I've never been scared of spiders but the idea of those girls arranging falling looms is just a bit .... much.

But still, there's this sense of obligation. I want to weave, I read about it, I practically dream about it. I attach mystical feelings to the wearing of the one handwoven article of clothing that I own [a wrap-skirt from West Africa]. However, dear Universe, you've taken all of this and given me all that I could wish for in ..... equipment.

My buddy Juno told me yesterday that I'd really better listen to what You were trying to tell me. Because with the falling of looms upon me, and my lack of attentiveness, I'm just asking for more, a sign I cannot ignore. If the looms-that-fall keep getting bigger, I could get hurt. So I'd better just pay attention to the signs and get going on the weaving.

As I said, I'm slow. I've tried to negotiate my way out of this. "I'm a spinner. I'm a knitter. Who has time for more?" - none of this pseudo-reasoning seems to have saved me from the universe's - Your - plan.

I apologize. For my lack of motivation. For my inability to properly read the signs that are all around me. I'll try to do better. I'll do my best to make use of the gifts that have come (whether I like it or not) my way.

My dear Universe, please have some mercy on me. I live in a NYC apartment. I will start weaving as soon as possible. Please don't send anything more in my direction. I will attend to the matter at hand, I promise. There is only so much patience my family will have for the accumulation of looms. I realize that with gifts come obligations and I will fulfill my part.

Respectfully yours,
Cassie

somewhat grouchy NY moment

By now I'm sure that everyone has heard (or noticed) that its hot out. Not just here, but obviously in a lot of places. My parents' place (about 2 hours north of here) was 100 yesterday, and I'm not even sure if the temperature got that high in the city or not.

When I was out with Juno and Naomi on Saturday, we got off at our subway stop [which was undergoing construction and therefore had only one exit staircase out of 3 available for use], which was about 100 degrees - before the weather got that warm aboveground. There was a group of tourists standing in a clump directly in front of the only staircase out of the heat-infused station, and they had parked themselves oblivious to traffic patterns.

By the way, please don't ask how I knew they were tourists. I know these things, I'm from here (3rd generation, and before that my family is from Europe). Years ago my daughter and I were on the train together and I pointed out a group to her and predicted that they'd get off the train at the Museum of Natural History station. When I was proven right and she asked me how I knew, I explained to her that no NYer would wear pantyhose with tennis socks, sneakers, and a pair of shorts. And knowing the stops ahead of us, I knew where they'd be going.

So..... back to Saturday. This gaggle of tourists was blocking the only exit from a horrendously hot underground subway platform. I looked at them and said, "If you're not going to go UP the stairs then please move." - Or something like that. I was probably more rude than that because Juno actually said something to me a minute later about how I was acting scary.

I think its the weather. Underground subway platforms have been clocked at over 110 degrees (easily, I can assure you), and the heat of the city doesn't dissipate with cooler night air. We create our own heat here with all of the concrete and cars and buildings. I've noticed people getting snippy. Very snippy.

I've been doing okay. After a stint with rearranging the living room to get the A/C plugged into the optimal location, the house was cool. The trip to the doctor yesterday wasn't too bad [I'm usually okay if I can alternately cool off and then bake - take away the periodic air conditioning and I more or less pass out.] I had a class last night but figured ... I'd manage. There isn't much to be done, it being work and all.

On the ride home from the class (after 10pm) I got all the way into Brooklyn, when I had to switch trains. I had been fine, sitting and reading about Andean weaving and thinking how nice it would be to be home. I got off the train for my transfer, and while walking through the station, someone dropped a cup (not a bottle, a paper cup) of .... red liquid over a bannister and onto the stairs I was walking down.

It landed, more or less, on my foot - in my sandal. It was sticky. It was red. And it also splashed my unbleached linen dress. I think if I hadn't been so tired, I would have screamed at someone. Anyone, really. I hate to think that I was a moving target because I was wearing light colored clothes, but its the only thing I can think of. I didn't see the morons who did this, I didn't want to look because if I made eye contact I'd probably lose it.

The point of all of this? The heat. I think it creates an underground version of road rage - people get very easily riled. In my case, it created enough of a soporific effect that I was barely phased by some jerk who did something that would normally inspire me to blinding fury. I just kept walking, and when I stopped I used the water in my bag to try to sponge off my foot, dress, and shoe.

I still love the city. But sometimes the heat makes it a little harder to handle.

no title

The other day I got an email from an old friend, wherein she kind of ..... mentioned that it sure would be nice if I got my act together and starting posting regularly again. So I'm trying to post today. I'm sorry that this has become a theme - "nothing to say, sorry, but I'm going to blather on anyway". That's just how it is right now.

So, on Saturday I went into Manhattan to meet up with Juno and Naomi. Theoretically, it may or may not have had something to do with lunch, but we met up at School Products. I walked in and staring me in the face was an inkle loom. Figures, huh? I went to one of possibly only two shops in all of NYC that has anything to do with weaving, so I guess temptation was inevitable.

I didn't buy it. This was less a triumph over aquisitiveness than a reality check about what would be involved in schlepping it around the city, bringing it to lunch, and then trying to get it home on the subway.

I didn't buy any yarn either. Something in my brain (conscience?) reminded me that I haven't been knitting, I've just been spinning (aka making yarn) so there really wasn't much temptation, yarnwise. I did come home with a book called Sling Braiding of the Andes (don't ask, really, things are just getting worse around here). But that was all.

The weather has changed, more or less for the worse. Now its really NY summer - this means very hot, humid and still air that doesn't cool off at night and stifles you during the day. I have now almost passed out twice standing on subway platforms in excess of 100ºF, but there's absolutely nothing to be done about it. However, fleece is drying almost faster than I can wash it - I'm really trying to be upbeat about the weather, I detest the heat of full-on summer. The good news is that we spent yesterday evening testing every breaker for the apartment so we could figure out where the isolated outlets were and avoid losing power by plugging the A/Cs into the wrong spots. Thrilling, eh?

Other than the fleece washing, I'm still reading about Andean weaving. I got one of the books I ordered on Saturday and have been immersing myself in it, mentally. I still have deadlines so there's nothing actually happening outside my mind. I'm still spinning Finn/Clun X, and probably will be for the rest of my life a while. I've got a lot of the roving, and I just started a third bobbin as I'm pretty sure I'm going to make this a 3-ply.

Since its July, and I feel I have a tradition to uphold, somehow, I thought I'd share with you the newest resident of our deck (not the raccoons, although we're pretty sure they've been up here we haven't seen them, so no pictures).

I was actually trying to get a picture of the trail of moth powder in a line across her web, but even getting a picture of little spidergirl here was difficult. (It involves holding a piece of white paper behind the web and steadying myself, not breathing, and hoping for no wind so the web doesn't sway - all while wondering if my neighbors think I'm insane.)

Obviously the weaving idea has taken quite a firm hold.