Berwick Weaving Co

Hello, 2021!

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2020 brought many things. I actually achieved a sort of calm that I haven’t had in years – something about being forced to be home and having no social distractions made it oddly pleasant. But creatively? It was not great. I had some sort of covid-ennui, not just lack of energy but a lack of focus and desire. It just…wasn’t there. My craft suffered, but other things blossomed. It wasn’t all bad, as awful as it was.

2021 will be, I think, a better year. I’m not sure about it all in the larger sense, but on a personal level I have high hopes. 2020 made me weird: tentative, apathetic, non-productive. It wasn’t a way I like to live my life and thank goodness I’m getting out of my funk.

The past several months have been a time of transition, for Berwick Weaving Co. In mid-2019 I built the studio and got everything set up and I wove in it, but not necessarily with a lot of joy. The building was a fine thing, the fibre was lovely, and the view from my loom was stunning. The actual loom, though, was starting to get to me. When you work at a machine for hours on end, it has to fit. It has to invite efficient and ergonomic movement and processes. Mine did not do this for me. I’d end the day with an aching back, with a lingering irritation over tasks I’d had to do, with growing frustration because getting my tool ready to work on was not a pleasant experience.

Weaving can look – to the outsider – like a tragically tedious affair. Setting up a loom can take a long while, measuring the warp to put on the loom is exacting work. There are hundreds of heddles to thread, tension issues to contend with, the sometimes unwelcome task of a reed to sley… all before you actually start to weave. I’ve always enjoyed the entire process – it’s part of the entire range of activities that make up the art/craft. But I’d started to avoid it. I was feeling almost guilty when I bypassed my Mira ll loom and went to the rigid heddle, or to my Leclerc Compact. I told myself it was just because I wanted to have the relatively calm experience of the rigid heddle, or I needed 8 shafts to do something. But really, it was because I was avoiding what I started to call the “Big Loom”.

A loom is an inanimate object, but as one spends more time with it – with every part of it, checking, adjusting, cleaning, sitting at, crawling under – it takes on a personality. And this particular Big Loom, it seems, was just not my friend. Everything I made on it was starting to feel forced, or not-as-good as I wanted. I was starting to weave my frustration with my Big Loom into my work, and it was starting to show. The joy with which I embarked each day of weaving just wasn’t there. Weird timing, really, because I’d just spent a not inconsiderable sum on a studio to put all my gear in! I thought at first it was the studio – maybe I’d gotten too big for my britches, or I’d built a folly that would become a loom graveyard. Maybe, I thought, I should never weave again.

It was, I tell you, a bit of a crisis. What I finally realized, though, was that it wasn’t me, it wasn’t the studio, it was that my tool did not suit me. Sometimes, you can blame the tool. My loom was too tall for me (I’m approximately 5-foot-nothing). Every single thing I had to do on it and with it took some sort of accommodation for my (lack of) height. The bench was too tall; I had to stretch uncomfortably to treadle, or stand up while weaving (not a graceful position for me). I started to get cramps in my hands when threading heddles. I would sigh with surprised contentment when I sat at another loom. I visited a friend and saw his loom and was surprised at just how…right it looked, at how low and perfect the bench was.

It got me thinking.

I spent hours of my covid-gifted time online, figuring out what kind, how many shafts, etc. It was heady days, really. I talked to people online in facebook weaving groups, I read articles and pored over photos and technical details. I wanted to buy the One Loom To Rule Them All. I wanted something I could sit at happily for hours, something that will accommodate my needs for the next couple of decades, something that would not make me think quietly somewhere down the road that I’d made a mistake. I settled on a Leclerc Nilus (not Nilus ll, which is taller and made for people who don’t need step stools on a regular basis). I got 8 shafts so I have many options for design, and I got a jack loom because I have found that I prefer them. It’s 60 inches wide, and has a fly shuttle, because I like fly shuttles and want the width (coverlets anyone?). I have to thank Nina at Camilla Valley Farm for her insightful and cheerful service. She took care of it all, and Leclerc did a bang up job making this beautiful thing for me. It even came earlier than expected!

It was delivered by a quizzical (and thankfully, strong) delivery guy in 14 heavy boxes, each carefully (over-enthusiastically?) packed and sealed, shrink wrapped and stapled. It took 2 full van loads to the dump to get rid of that packing material, and many days to assemble. Leclerc thoughtfully included a USB stick with instructions – um, I can’t remember the last time I used a usb stick. I don’t even know if I own tech that could read it. There were also written instructions, with charmingly and sometimes unclear hand-drawn pictures. Most of the instructions were in English, but some sentences were in French. But I learned that if you go slowly, and trust the process, it will get done.

In the middle of this I got a new puppy. New puppies are not good to have around when one is emptying 14 large boxes and assembling a loom, just let me say that. Cute though, I’ll give him that.

And you know what? It was terrific. Like, really really terrific. And while I do love new things, it wasn’t terrific because of some consumerist impulse. It was terrific because it made me fall in love with what I do, again. The sometimes arduous task of building that thing was fun. It made me learn things. I know every inch of that loom, screwed in every fastener, took some of it apart and put it back the right way, and my hands touched every single last part of it. I dropped 500 inserted eye heddles on the floor and picked every single one up, oriented it correctly, and placed them on the harness.

Terrific, I tell ya.

Perhaps it’s necessary, this process. My old loom, “Big Loom”, I bought from a very nice woman in Cape Breton. It was disassembled when I picked it up, and the size came as a shock when I finally got it put together. Novelty kept me going with it for a while, and then pig-headedness kept me with it for longer. Guilt followed that, then literally months of avoidance. Then I sold it to a very happy woman who got a great deal, and I cleared out the studio for a fresh start.

Why was putting this new loom together different than Big Loom’s birth after I got it? I think it’s because this time I was aware of what I was getting, had thought about why I was getting it, and I took the time and energy to picture what I needed in a tool and wanted in an…instrument. Big Loom was acquired with much rejoicing, but it was uninformed and I was just so darn happy to have a loom that I didn’t think about the niceties.

New Loom, now, she is quite literally made for me. There’ll be a steep-ish learning curve with some of it (sectional warping is not what I learned when I started weaving, so I’m in the process of unlearning a lot of processes and replacing them with new ones), but it feels SO good. My brain is engaged, my hands are itchy to weave on it, and the studio smells of new wood, wool, and expectation.

It has me back in the studio on a daily basis. I’m excited again about making things. I’m excited about colour and fibre and texture. I’m thinking with my hands again. So, yeah, I got a new loom and it’s very cool, but the BIG news is that thinking long and hard about what I needed; planning and executing that plan; and making friends with New Loom kick-started something in my brain that I needed. Something that was long dormant because I was using the wrong tools and let the tool define my work, somehow.

A classic tail wagging the dog, I guess? Whatever it is, I urge you to take something time to think about how you do things. What tools you use, and why. This has been transformative for me, really.

Done!

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Back in October of 2018, I was talking to my husband about the mythical weave shed that I imagined for myself. I may have been talking about it for the past several years, to the point where the myth was taking a very definite shape in my mind. In October, we both started talking about it as if it were a real thing, and it was just that simple – one of us said “we could actually do it, you know” and the plan started to take shape.

So, Berwick Weaving Company now has an actual building to itself, and I could not be happier. Have you ever made something happen, from dream-to-actuality, and at the end of it realize that you have literally made your dream come true?

I have, and it’s terrific.

The road to the studio, from when we hired someone to when it was finished, was surprisingly short. We got quotes in October/November, and they started the building process in January. Working through a wet and windy wintertime, the studio emerged in about 4 months. They were quiet, respectful, and responsive. I am happy with our builder, Bentley Built Homes. It may be the first weave studio they’ve built, but it may not be their last.

Before, and after.

It wasn’t always entirely smooth, but putting it all in perspective the process was remarkably freer of angst and stress than I had expected. The building is so quiet, and such a difference from the old weave room that looked out over a busy street! It’s warm, sturdy, and peaceful. It’s tucked in underneath my favorite old maple tree, and looks remarkably like it’s been there for ages already (though I do need to do some landscaping).

It took about a week to move everything in and organize it all – organization was always my biggest worry, because weaving comes with a lot of gear. But I’ve been in the studio, working, for about 3 or 4 days now, and I really couldn’t be happier. The efficiency one gets from knowing where everything is in a space, from everything having a place, is valuable.

The studio is not a retail space; it’s really just a more private and efficient space for me to work. I do plan on setting up a studio tour maybe, and as always if people want to visit they can message me through Berwick Weaving Co.’s facebook page or email me and set something up. I am “open by chance” – no set hours.

For those of you interested in that storage I keep talking about:

These shelves are terrific. Taking advantage of the 10 foot high ceilings, the shelf is eight feet high, and eight feet wide. Twelve inch deep shelves, so I don’t lose anything behind something else. I was shocked at the amount of fibre I actually had – in the old weave room everything was compressed, or boxed, so I had no real idea until I took it all out there and started sorting! I love it, and every time I look at it, I am inspired. I find it so useful to have it all out, and in view.

Some weavers keep their fibre stored in plastic boxes, or tubs. I just can’t do it. This will require more dusting than if I’d chosen to do that, but it’s worth it.

On the other side of the room, I chose to repurpose shelves I’d had made for my in-house weave room. I’m very happy I did – I love the look of them, and the cubbies will prove useful.

I’ve managed to fit all the looms in, save one small rigid heddle loom I decided to keep in the house. It’s a convenient size to use in front of the tv, or in the sitting room.

I found a place for my beloved mangle, and put a good sized table in as a workspace, or for (future, planned) teaching space.

I love this space, and am over the moon with it. I look forward to many happy hours in there. Thanks for taking this journey with me.

Details, details.

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When I used to think of that someday when I would build a studio, I called it “my future weavery”. I assumed that it would be a long slog – full of details and difficult decisions and…mud.

I can tell you that the mud part was bang on, but the others…not so much. I think that the best decision we made was to find a reputable builder and trust their process. Like total idiots, at one point we figured “how hard can it be? We could do this ourselves, right?” but thank goodness we scuppered that idea fairly quickly.

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View of the backside of the building.

Since I last wrote, the future weavery has become much closer to being in the present. The siding is on most of the structure, a lovely charcoal/black (depending on the light). The front of the building has no siding yet, because they haven’t yet installed the doors (a showpiece glass-paned garage door, and a lovely transom “man door” beside it), and they need that front space for other things. [Side note: can we just remove the term “man door” from the lexicon already? I get that it’s to differentiate from the garage door (“car door”?), but the term just drives me crazy.]

At the moment, there’s a temporary plywood lean-to built on the front, to accommodate a heater that they’ve hard-wired into our panel on the house. It’s been running for days – to warm up/dry out the place, and to allow for the slab to be poured and power-troweled. The electric heating mat was placed, and the slab poured over it. Next week they’ll run the electrical from the house to the studio (this step is where the mud comes in). I’m trying to ignore the tick tick tick of my electric meter clocking the amps from that heater.

I’m super pleased with the entire project. We’ve had a few bumps, but nothing big, and nothing that makes me lose sleep. In the interest of giving information to others who might want to do this, I want to mention a few things that took us by surprise. The site manager took me into the structure before the slab was poured, and it was gorgeous. Warm, on a middling-cold March day, partly from the heater but also because of the neatly insulated walls, and early spring sunlight through the windows. I mentioned that I was under the impression that electrical goes in prior to insulation etc., and he reminded me that this building is not entirely ordinary. It’s above code, and will have not only exterior walls, but interior walls. This is for several reasons – with the radiant heat, it’s important that there be as high an r-value as possible, and it provides a clean space for electrical and plumbing (the latter of which I don’t have). Traditional walls are entangled with  wires etc, and doing it this way allows for more insulation and a cleaner route for any future re-wiring etc. that will not disturb the integrity of the outside envelope.

I had no idea, because my eyes kind of glaze over with the more overtly technical aspects of the service contract and plans, to be honest. Anyway, they’ll be building that wall soon and I  understand the usefulness of it; I appreciate the builder’s commitment to creating a really sturdy structure.

What I hadn’t figured into my equation was that it’ll take up some of the footprint in what is already a fairly bijou space. For the sake of warmth and structural integrity, I’m sacrificing a foot, give or take,  around the perimeter of the entire footprint. It adds up, but I’m okay with it. It’s better to be warm and sturdy than to have a drafty extra foot or so, I always say.

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Looks done, no? Nope – these are the interiors of the exterior walls… who knew?

The building is, on the outside, 16’x24’, inside once all is done, it’ll be about 14’x22’-ish, roughly speaking. Still a good size, and still something I cannot believe will be mine.  Another benefit of these walls is that they will give me lovely deep windowsills, perfect for plants, coffee cups, and weaving ephemera. It’s all good.

But it’s got me thinking about my current obsession with regard to storage. Really, I’ll have to wait until the drywall is up before I can measure for storage options. I’ve veered from IKEA to something more minimal, since the space I’m losing to the boring (but important) interior walls is about exactly what I’d planned on for storage. I don’t want it to be…busy. I want serene uncluttered space, something my eye will not drag over but will instead  glide over. Weaving and the attendant accoutrements takes up space, and is textured and colorful, so storage isn’t just a fetish of mine, but a necessity.

I kind of  don’t want to move my looms into what would be, essentially,  an IKEA showroom. Somehow, that doesn’t seem right.  (And, every time I look at the IKEA website it tells me that the shelves I want aren’t in stock, or there’s only one….) I’m leaning toward a couple of other options at the moment. Industrial wire shelving? Long wooden shelves with minimalist brackets? Closed storage? Built-ins? Dunno.

I’ve had to tell myself it’s not entirely necessary to have this all figured out right now.

And that, my friends, is the important lesson here (aside from making yourself familiar with building processes). It doesn’t all need to be finished. This is a process. I’ll absolutely be moving my looms in as soon as is humanly possible, but it isn’t a big deal if the fibre stays in the current weave room for a while. It’s not a big deal if it’s all in Rubbermaid totes for a while. It’s not a big deal. Given the (intentionally) “over-built” construction of this thing, it’s going to be here for a long time and it’s okay if it’s not turnkey ready for me the moment the workmen leave.

Another milestone was the floor. They tidily removed the dumpster to make room for the concrete mixer, poured it, and began to power-trowel. I don’t want a fancy floor – I want to move looms around, spill things, and not worry about it overmuch. It needs to be easy to clean – lots of fibre fluff and dust comes off the loom.

Concrete seemed the way to go, and I love the look of it. It will also conduct the heat nicely, and feel cool and smooth in summer. I had some things I thought were important – I don’t want it polished to a mirror finish because with all those windows I was afraid I’d go blind from glare, but I wanted it sealed in order to keep it clean. I want it to be smooth, so the power trowel made sense to me. Currently, I use the heated floors in our bathroom to dry wet-finished items, and it’s perfect; I wanted to do that in the future weavery too. I weave barefooted – it’s my favorite state to be in, and shoes get in the way when treadling. I hate socks, and want to avoid them whenever possible.

Turns out, though, that being able to communicate to the guy running the power trowel about level of smoothness is important. I had assumed he’d come by with samples or something? But instead I trooped out there and had to look at it, and tell him if it was smooth enough. “How many more passes should he make?” the builder asked.

Ummm. I had no idea. I ended up saying “well, just make it closer to the smooth side of the continuum, as opposed to the rough.” I mean, what else can you say? It’s like trying to explain colour to someone who’s never seen it. I left him to it, and went out again later when it had been troweled and sealed with as matte a seal as they could manage.

Looks lovely, and I never have to think about it again. There was some  glare, but the sealer was still wet. If glare is a problem in the future, I can buy blinds, or lay down a rug or two.

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Smooth and beautiful! When asked how it would age, the concrete guy said “It may darken. Or get lighter.” I’m fine with that. Apparently this is an imprecise art….

In about two weeks, the doors will be installed, we think. Then, it’s going to really look almost-done. There will still be work, but it’ll look like it’s going to look, and we’ll be drilling down into the fine details.

This whole thing has been super-easy so far, compared to what I feared. I’m astounded at the quiet labour the workmen engage in daily, the industrious growth of something-out-of-nothing that I watch daily. I’m really pleased with the ease of communication with the builder/trades (they have an app!).

 

The art of seeing

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Some days, I walk into the workroom and pause. I look around, and I see the tools that I use for weaving, the glorious fibres and colours, the objects that are both functional and beautiful, and I am grateful.

Other days, I take it all for granted – I forget that this workroom (though small and cluttered) is a haven. I forget that all of this work has stretched my abilities, that practice and time invested have made me able to create things that are beautiful, complex, comforting.

Today, I saw it all, and was glad. The studio build continues, and some days have more dump trucks and equipment in the driveway than I ever thought there’d be, but here in my little workroom is a lifetime of colour, texture, and fibre.

The sun is out today, but the sky looks threatening. It’s cold, and the wind is whistling around the house. Later today, in my snug workroom, I’ll start planning my next weave and the next after that.

It’s a good life.

Studio build update:

It’s starting to shape itself into a studio-sized form. Since we moved here in 2003, there was a garden shed, just in front of the new construction site. When it was removed, we realized just how much of a difference it made – they took down the fence, too, and all of a sudden we remembered the size and shape of the yard that was hidden behind that little shed, and bisected by picket fence.

A giant hole. Footings and foundation walls framed and poured.

I’ve begun to think about the inside of that studio too, trying to figure out where all of the stuff will go. It’s not a horrible task to have, and I’ve enjoyed having to think about my practice this way – where do I like the light while I weave? How to arrange fibre (type, colour, type and colour, size?), what makes more sense – a table or a long counter?

Arts & crafts project – a scale drawing with construction paper to-scale looms etc.

A Studio is Born

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I’ve been weaving since the Fall of 2013. As with most weavers, the looms started to fill the place pretty quickly. This craft does not have a small footprint, and the tools of the trade can be fairly unwieldy.

IMG_4253I remember buying my first loom. I got it online, used, and I knew absolutely nothing about weaving or looms except that I really wanted to do it. The previous loom owner actually delivered it to my house and reassembled it for me, in my front sunroom (thank you, patient and harried loom man, for doing that!). For a month or two before I took some lessons with a lovely teacher, I would just go in there and look at it, and take in the loom-flavoured air – a mix of wood, cloth, dust, and promise.

I moved my desk into another room, and figured that I still had lots of space. Over the years, that room has been completely transformed. I took out the couch, the chair, the books. In went another loom, built-in shelves for fibre and tools, benches and boxes for fibre that wouldn’t fit on the shelves. It’s a beautiful room – about 11’x13, with two walls of windows. It also has three doors, wonky heat, and is a sun trap in the warmer months.

It’s also crowded.3D6530DD-8033-4B30-8491-A3DCB9658A7D

I have to move a loom to get to my fibre, move it back to get to the other loom. My warping reel is folded and in front of a shelf, and I have to move it to access my sewing machine. Then I have to take the machine out to the dining room to actually use it. It’s a drag, and it makes me a less efficient weaver.

So yeah, it’s hard to work in there. I know it’s already a massively privileged space, but I am lucky enough to be able to look for solutions to make it better. I have for most of my life,  fit whatever I did into the spaces I had. It wasn’t always a good fit, and there’s been a lot of making do over the years – a Harry Potter office-under-the-stairs, looms spread around 3 rooms, home offices with kids nearby, etc. A life lived with buckshee solutions is not a solution forever.

So that’s the problem.

The solution? Build a studio in the back garden. Have you ever visualized something you wanted, and then made it happen? A big ask like this seemed ridiculous, but I thought about it for years, made a Pinterest board , and dreamed. Then one day it occurred to us that we could build one and oddly, after that it was simple(ish). I think that making an imaginary future-studio a part of my headspace finally opened up the opportunity to bring it to life.

I spend a fair amount of time looking online for pictures/blogs about workspaces. I’m kind of fascinated by the areas other people use to make their art. There’s something so beguiling about dedicated spaces.  When I started this whole thing, I had a lot of ideas, a lot of misconceptions, and absolutely no idea at all what I was doing.  I looked online, and never really found what I wanted – a blog about the steps involved in making a dedicated space, from start to finish. Pictures about the things that matter to me – storage solutions, lighting, space management. Even the building process itself is mystifying to me.

So, I”ll demystify some of it, here.

We’re in the very early days – they start on Monday with the machines that will remove the current garden shed and start to dig a big hole for the foundation. That is not, however, the start. As with weaving, the process of setting up takes quite a while! We started this process in October – 4 months ago – and it has taken that long to muddle our way to this point. We ended up working with a terrific local company, Bentley Built Homes, and they have helped to shape all of my ideas into something concrete.

Over the next several months I’ll keep you filled in on what’s happening here with Berwick Weaving Co.’s new digs. Once it’s open, it’ll be so nice to have people drop in for a studio tour, or lessons (or even just a coffee, if you notify me first). I’m so excited about this – making a dedicated space that is quiet, peaceful, organized. Making a space that is uncluttered, airy, and light-filled.

This process has made me think about my process – what I want from my weaving practice, how I want to move forward, and why I’m doing it. The construction process will probably disrupt some of my work, but it’s also going to focus it, I think. This year, I’ve decided that I’m going to be sole instructor and student of my own impromptu weaving school – there are things I want to learn to do better, processes that I haven’t tried or that I couldn’t try because of other commitments, space constraints, a cluttered mind.

Pop back in for occasional updates. I’ll leave you with this tantalizing view of the plans.

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…a long drought

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Here in Nova Scotia we are experiencing a heat wave. Just brutally hot and humid weather. It makes one feel sapped of energy and creativity. I’ve been experiencing just this sort of drought metaphorically, as well. A long time has passed since I wove with the regularity and fervour that has been the hallmark of my creative process.

It’s early August, and it’s still stinking hot, but I think I feel autumn in the air – in the cooler mornings, and the occasional cooler evening. Something about the light, the timbre of the birds, and the dark-earlier twilit nights.

September has always felt to me like a new beginning. Once a student, always a student, I guess? I’m starting feel stirrings of impulse toward weaving more, toward experimenting, and in finding the joy in quiet work amongst colour, fibre, and texture.

Recently a really terrific store opened up here in Berwick, hotbed of creative activity – Market Between the Mountains has a great selection of work from local/Atlantic Canadian artisans, and mine is included. I still do commissions, but you can also come to Berwick and poke around the store to see some Berwick Weaving Co. pieces. Once the weather starts to turn, and you begin to think longingly about lap blankets and throws, scarves, shawls and stoles, you should come out and see what’s what.

In the meantime, here’s what just came off my loom. A stupidly soft blankie with Harrisville Shetland wool and a velvety one-off wool from Mineville.

 

…And here is what’s on my little rigid heddle loom. The earthy-toned warp is a little out of the ordinary for me, but paired with my old fave tourmaline, it really speaks to me. Once complete and wet-finished, this will be a velvety wide scarf that will have a lovely hand, and will stop traffic (or, at the very least, cool wind from hitting one’s neck).

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Happy creating to you all! Get out there and make something.

Online Holiday Shopping: blankets

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Oh, how I love blankets. The wide expanse of handwoven loveliness. The interplay of colours, the beautiful function of them.

This year, I went on a bit of a spree with shetland wool. It’s got a lovely warmth to it, while still being lightweight. It’s got texture, and depth of colour – little flecks that give it dimension.

Here is my inventory, as of mid-November 2017. If you see something you like, there are a number of ways to buy: I take credit cards, Paypal, e-transfer, & cash. Just message me and I’ll be very happy to take your information and send you the piece. If you click on the highlighted price, it will take you to my paypal page, if you wish to pay that way.

 

Sea blue merino with multicoloured Shetland warp. This mixture of fibres makes the blanket feel much more weighty. It’s a great feeling to cozy up underneath this velvety piece.  (69”x 40”) $200

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Shetland wool, in a mysterious woodsmoke green with pretty blue-grey highland wool border trim (78” x 36”) $200

Highland lap blanket: in a tweedy mix of blue/green/chartreuse and one purple end, this is a very pretty little car- or lap-blanket. Just the thing for a night of of Netflix, when there’s a chill…. (52” x 40”) $150

~SOLD~ Highland with one border: Highland wool is slightly thicker than shetland, but just as soft and lightweight. This blanket is another that would be a great car- or lap-blanket. Excellent for a night on the couch with a movie, stored in the boat or cottage, or in the back of your camper. This one has a pretty little twill detail on one end (56” x 38”) $150

Striped Shetland (80” x 36”)  This isa second, but one of my favourites of the bunch. It is not without some slight imperfections so you get a super deal. Happy stripes of gorgeous colour make for a very pretty throw. $150

Green/blue shetland (78” x 35”)  Another second. It’s a great deal, and admit it – if you squint, you’ll never see those “flaws” again… $150

 

Online Holiday Shopping: Scarves

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Here, for your viewing pleasure, is the current inventory of scarves and stoles available for purchase.

If you see something you like, there are a number of ways to buy: I take credit cards, Paypal, e-transfer, & cash. Just message me and I’ll be very happy to take your information and send you the piece.  If you click on the highlighted price, it will take you to my paypal page, if you wish to pay that way. 

Click on each photo for closer detail.

~ SOLD ~ Sea and sky, a luxe silky linen and mohair stole, generously sized at 90” x 14”.

Velvety brew of witchy purples, greens and blues with an aqua cotton warp. Generously sized at 82” x 14” $80

 

Thickly textured, velvety and heavy. I almost kept this one for myself.  Made of 96% Merino, 4% Nylon, this feels sooooo luxurious, and has a weighty luxury. One of my favourite colour combinations, this gorgeous emerald green-blue buzzes against the dark beet-red crimson. 81” x 7” so you can wrap generously. $85

 

Silver thick-and-thin textured blue-faced Leicester wool mixed with sparkly acrylic/cotton blend. (82” x 12.5”) $85

 

Autumn colours that you can keep all year round: Merino and nylon (4%) red and gold/orange variegated stole, 76” x 14”. $100

 

Purples and greens: a purple merino wool weft with a colourful springtime warp of Treewool (mix of 70% merino and 30% tercel). (74” x 14.5”) $100

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Blue and Rust merino, very soft and an attractive colour combination. (84” x 8” – a great size for multiple wraps around the neck). $80

 

 

Merry Xmas Reds and greens! A velvety mix of merino and 4% nylon, thick and bouncy. Subtle and understated holiday neckwear. (76” x 9”) $85

 

Smooth as silk

/ jlevack / 1 Comment

I’ve been spending some time lately trying to make my work processes more efficient. It’s really bearing fruit, too.

Today I warped my loom (meaning I got all the fibre on the beam and rolled up). It can be tricky sometimes – if you are, like I was today, using delicate fibre, or if you are trying to keep the tension  regular throughout and the dog is barking, something snags, the phone rings… or you all of a sudden find that you really need three hands….

I’ve been dressing my looms for years now, but it’s still tricky to me, every time. Sometimes my husband helps, sometimes I just do it myself and muddle through. Weavers are a clever bunch – we use weights, water bottles, hang weights from strings. We use trapezes, friends, dowels, etc. We’re always looking for an easier way to wind on.

Today, though?

I used this lovely tool made by my talented friend Lee Yorke, who made it after  seeing  other tensioning devices online. It’s custom fit to my loom, and even has a spot for me to hang a roll of paper that will magically roll between the layers of warp. It’s quite something.

Here it is, in action. It seriously hastened the process, and was a pleasure to use. I just had to share because I didn’t swear once during the entire process. A miracle!  (Please note, the noise is from traffic outside my window, not the tensioner.)

This warp, by the way, will be jewel-toned mohair shawls, eventually.

Spring!

/ jlevack / 2 Comments

I’ve been weaving with a purpose for the past little while. I don’t do a lot of shows, but there’s one here in Berwick on 08 April (this Saturday), and it was so much fun to try to work up some spring-like weaving. I’ve got some “seasonless” shawls – silk and mohair, cotton, merino. I’ve also made something new to me – a few “stroller blankets” – the perfect size for a stroller (hence the name) and machine washable materials.

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The information: the “Swing into Spring” Craft Show is Saturday 08 April, and runs from 10-4 at the Berwick Legion (232 Main Street).  Admission is free. There will be a canteen that will provide lunch and various treats. There will also be a “Kiddie Korner” so the kids can be entertained while you look at 40 tables of local craft and art.  There is an ATM on site (and I take credit cards at my table). Here’s the link to the event on Facebook, so you can see more information about other artisans who will be there. Did I mention 40 tables?

There will also be a 50/50 draw, so you may end up with more than you came with!

As I write this, Spring has overnight come to the Valley. It’s sunny, the sky is blue. There’s been a little rain (it is April, after all). There are crocuses! This is the perfect time to get out of your late-winter fog and come see some colour, and to buy local.

Here’s a bit of a slideshow of what I’ll have available on my table tomorrow. Remember, though, that I do a lot of commission work, and so am happy to discuss with you making just the right thing.

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Looking forward to seeing you there.