Outdoors

This is the time of year when we can relish living in Doha. Balmy days, clear blue skies.
And I'm finally back to this again - maybe coincidence, or maybe the chance to work outdoors?

Here's my view while weaving:

And here's what I looked like (with thanks to anonymous Filipino guy who took the photo):

A better version of the view, since it's crooked in the first photo. Here's the Doha skyline these days.

And just for fun, a comparison with 2008:

Linen. Old.

Ancient Egyptian linen. I got to look at some, up close.

Having recently read Barber's description of linen splicing in Prehistoric Textiles, I knew that the places that looked plied were most likely spliced, and these spots were visible here and there in the woven cloth. There's one going across in the photo below, just below the center of the image. If it works to click on these photos and see them bigger, you may be able to find more splices in other images.

I found a blue striped border, which recurred in several fragments. As you can see, the weave is warp-dominant - probably because the weaving was done on ground looms (as per Barber.)

Similar designs were displayed in the British Museum:

I found some fringe, and a seam, both of which may be part of the "additional tunics" mentioned in the conservation article from 1979.

That's the view of the seam that was on the inside, as the fabric lay in storage. On the other side, there is some lint along the fold, which I found very interesting - what would the lint be made of? It looks fluffy, like wool. And how old would the lint be? Ancient Egyptian lint? Or storage lint?

And here's an absolutely perfect selvedge, top of the photo below. It's not folded or anything - it's that straight.

The bulk of the perfect-selvedge cloth looked like this, with some uneven spaces between warps.

I could not decide if this was a result of deterioration or distortion from long years crumpled in storage, or if it appeared this way when it was originally woven. (The dark spot up top is a hole.) Anyway, I let the unevenness encourage me, since my current backstrap weaving has a lot of variation in the space between warps.

There was a wide range of density-to-lightness in the fabrics, with the linen threads also thicker in some cloth and finer in others. Here are two quite different piece, the upper one much lighter and finer.

Did I wish I could open each of these out and see the full size and shape and speculate more about their purpose? Of course I did! However, I was asked to disrupt them as little as possible, and truly any amount of unfolding risked further disintegration, so this was not the time to sort them all thoroughly. I was hoping that someday someone will, though.

Here is a knot. Just because it's there.

And finally, the Gurob sleeves (listed with other things on this helpful website), which I looked at (in a case, with the aid of a museum-provided flashlight/torch) after having examined the other linens. I was happy to see that I could make out the spliced sections on this fabric, which is much more finely and densely woven, and well-preserved. Beautiful seams, too.

These child-sized sleeves were made separately, to be attached to a sleeveless tunic as needed. This was apparently the custom, since Egypt is usually hot and most clothes were made sleeveless. I'm thinking the sleeves are densely woven because they are a warm layer for the cold season.

My appreciation for ancient linen production grew immensely that day.

Questions and comments welcome - don't be shy.

Puttering, or a post to prove I'm alive

It feels so nice to putter again. I’ve just had a good hour or so of puttering about the apartment. When school is on, I don’t have time, and as soon as the winter break began, I got completely ill with a bad cold. Then I left town for two weeks, so had not had a good putter in ages.

After being away, it’s like a little ritual of attention, re-establishing the familiar order of things, adjusting the arrangement of the space in small ways (or bigger ways when, as now, my husband has been dealing with electrical problems and a daily parade of workmen in my absence.)

It’s very gratifying to get a bunch of normal, necessary things done, like wiping down the kitchen, putting away dishes, starting laundry, unpacking, making a grocery list. Nothing the least bit remarkable, but in the week before I left I was too sick to do any of it, which made me a little crazy, and so just being able to productively putter is so nice.

And the sooner I’ve done the right amount of puttering, the sooner I can dive back into spinning and weaving, which projects are calling out to me enticingly.

Then I can also talk about all the things I saw in London, like 5000-year-old linen,

and a spontaneous demonstration of North Ronaldsay fleece de-hairing in the British Museum atrium, courtesy of Sarah Wroot.

Mentor

(Judith Mackenzie and Velma Root - with kuchulus - at GGFI 2010)

During a week off school, I have been prioritizing fiber work and revitalizing the weaving part of my life. This poor neglected warp seemed almost dead, in spite of its bright colors. It had been lying around  collecting dust until I finally removed it from the dining table (ie, loom) not long ago, in order to clean and be free from the guilt of ignoring it. But this break, I tied it up and passed the shuttle and it breathed back to life - the sensation was quite palpable. Now it's off the loom because the weaving's DONE, and it's ready to be sewn into a conservation tool bag.

The reactivation of my weaving identity coincides with a whole lot of thoughts and supportive vibes pouring toward Judith, shown above. Her teaching studio burned down this week, and if I go into the details of the loss again it may make more than one of us cry, so I will carry on with this account of What Judith Means to Me.  I met Judith at Golden Gate Fiber Institute Summer Intensive, 2010, and she let me know I'm a weaver. I'm not a weaver because of Judith, but she recognized it and commanded me to get on with it.

 Judith took this photo of me weaving in her class, with part of my hair tied up in an indigo dye bun.

 My first 250-end warp, with Pony yarn, which included shibori and was dyed indigo like so:

In that class I also dyed this

 which became this

because, due to Judith's urging, I returned to Qatar and figured out how to set myself up with a backstrap in order to weave it.

And that was how it began, the weaving.  Because of Judith. And that phrase could be added to each of these things I wove, since she has remained a constant mentor in my mind, even though I have not communicated with her at all since that week at Point Bonita. Thanks to her encouragement, I keep weaving

 and weaving

 and weaving

So I feel distraught and a bit helpless when I think of her studio burning down, and all the precious material she has suddenly lost. When I first heard about it, my response was to weave. 

The community is responding quickly, a website has been set up, and there will be ways to help.  If an auction gets going, you can expect to see some of my handwoven items on the block.

I feel gratitude to Judith continuously, but now is the time to say it out loud and hope she hears it.

Go here for details: http://www.rebuildjudithsstudio.com/index.html#continue

A different world

This Conservation Studies degree is full of surprises. Every day I'm amazed by what we do and the variety of what we're learning.  Last week I was cleaning a ceramic tile under the microscope, and the view was enthralling.

Seeing it all differently

I went to a museum for the first time since becoming a conservation student today, and I’m afraid I’m doomed.

I used to see museum objects the way curators and conservators wanted me to see them: as consolidated things, basically whole, unless deliberately presented as fragments.  Now I see the cracks. The fills. The supports, carefully color-matched and integrated almost seamlessly. Almost.

This probably has something to do with having spent all day Thursday doing this:

(I'm studying for an MSc in Conservation at UCL Qatar, btw, that's what I'm going on about.)

(See? I'm in a lab!)

  

So I went to the Museum of Islamic Art, all innocent-like, and it was fascinating, both to suddenly see all these details of choices made by conservators, and also to see how my own eyes and mind have changed after a few short weeks of training. I realized I will never see museum objects as a plain old museum visitor again. There’s no going back. 

The ceramics are especially noticeable, because that's what we're focusing on right now. Up above, I'm trying to figure out the best color to fill in the hole in the tile. Finding a pleasing neutral is surprisingly difficult.

The exciting part is that every object in the museum is part of my education now.

So far, this degree program = total overstimulation.  Woot!

Yarn Gallery

With the addition of the above work of handspun art, Karen Barnaby's I Am Not the Shy Little Alien You Thought You Married, my collection of the handspun work of others has become worthy of its own gallery space.  Insufficient as my photography resources and skills are, I'm attempting to give these pieces such a space here.  To fully appreciate Karen's yarn, you'd have to witness its original context and Karen's own photos (Ravelry link.) This one was not giving it up for me during the photo session, so I only have the one shot. I must say, however, that this yarn makes a fabulous necklace, which I wore to the Jean-Paul Gaultier exhibit at the DeYoung Museum. 

The next piece is a grouped set of three skeins spun by Janet Scanlon. I can't seem to think of them separately at this point. A portion of this is called Medley for A-Muse, and includes handwoven and crocheted additions. It was spun on spindles.

Next is Naomi Ryono's Wonky Daffodils, which I purchased from her Etsy shop, Knotty Handspuns. Naomi's yarns have many different personalities. This one is particularly festive and cheery.

Laura Mayotte's wonderful skein from the "Spin your scraps" challenge remains an art object in itself, although I was sure I wanted to knit it right away when I acquired it in trade. It looks so good hanging on my wall, with its ever-changing palette of twists and wraps.  Maybe it should be woven....

The prized possession below is the work of Michelle Snowdon, aka Wooldancer. It is a double chain-ply of the softest, most luxurious fibers: polworth and alpaca and so on, with sparks of fabric and firestar and beautiful beads.  This one is also quite wearable as it is, making a lush, cosy necklace.

Velma!! This yarn is the first acquisition of the exhibited collection, the lovely and talented Melon Baller skein, which makes me smile every time I see it. The vintage fabrics and intricately scribbled thread add delicacy to this wonderfully fat yarn. Found this gem at Colorbomb Creations.

I received a stunning yarn in the Fairy Tale Spin Swap, from Katja Riley (Made by Pixies.) The story it tells is entrancing, full of gold and glimmer.

And the latest acquisitions, in addition to the alien yarn up top, are two of the most sculptural yarns I've ever seen. Janet spun this on a supported phang-shaped spindle, and it lives alongside my plants, as another grown thing. 

And finally, Karen Barnaby's world-renowned Stone Pile (Ravelry link.) Again, her photo is the ultimate presentation, but here you see how it has taken on a greenish cast in the intervening time. It's a mystery, why it's green, but the yarn is no less marvelous.

This is not an exhaustive list, mind you, just a curated selection.

I am getting very close to being able to decorate my whole house with yarn.