Weaving progress and goodbye

I'm very much enjoying my weaving. I keep having to unweave and reweave as I go wrong. But I'm happy with where this is going, and am learning a lot. 

Because I'm doing the 1YearofStitches2017 project it is an easy transition moving from one thing to the next: because you are in the same room; because you see it awaiting your touch; because you have awoken the inner whatever; because colour and texture are there calling to you. 

Part of that daily practice opening doors.

We had the funeral service for Cecil this week, a gentle saying goodbye for a very few of us. Pen lead the service, as she did for Mum. She is exactly who you want to help say goodbye to someone you've loved; her kind heart shines out, she is reverent, firm, gentle in her words, gently humorous too, all expressed through the foundation of being that is her faith.

When I stitched that afternoon, I nestled in some last seeds, dispersing in the spring breeze amongst the ripe buds of new beginnings, life always arising in the release of old life passing. Part of letting go of a beautiful person, adding a little memorial - not to remember her by, she is engraved on my heart, but to say

"this person meant something"

Robin Moon

This little chap was singing his spring heart out as I walked down to the seaside last night

Practice too

One of the pleasures of Christine's classes is the lunch time discussion. Last time we talked about the benefits of using sketchbooks and also a daily practice like 1 year of stitches. In both you take yourself out of, analytical, active rational brain mode, which tends to predominate in our day to day lives, and relax into doing and being mode. We talked about the way this sort of practice can release creativity. One of our class members was very dubious so it's got me thinking about it as I stitch or weave. What is happening here?

I would liken it, in part, to the hours spent practicing scales, arpeggios, five finger excercises and then my pieces, when I learnt the piano. I think in part you are developing muscle memory; allowing your body to do just this thing, whatever it is, without thinking about the why. You are being with your needle and thread, piano keys, the shading in this bit of the sketch, these colours of weft and the rhythm of the weave. You are getting into the zone.

But the other thing that is happening is that the act of doing allows the subconscious to make associations: it resembles when you're trying to remember something, and the minute you stop trying it pops into your head, or a day later, or the following week. The trying can act as a block, but in doing, you are opening yourself to the possibility of something, without worrying about what.

With my tapestry weaving, still very much in its infancy, I am just watching what happens as I work. My fingers are learning the shape of the weft on the loom, my eyes are absorbed in colour and form, I have a sort of plan, but mostly I am learning how to do that thing; how to make shapes, to change colours, to put colours together.

So, having noticed that my weaving wasn't covering the warp threads, I loosened out my tension, creating "bubbles" to allow the yarn to flex at round the warp, shown here before beating down.

Then I realised that my weaving was putting on weight, a diet was needed. I had begun with three colours, one thread of each, to allow a level of refinement in the shading ....... however

So I cut down to two colours on the go at a time, with the odd insertion of a single pass, or half pass in a different colour, just to see what will happen.

And meanwhile the sort of design, shady in the back of my mind, continues to emerge

Likewise, with my stitching ......

Bright lights big city

So I went on an adventure, to the big city with some girlfriends. We went to the Knitting and Stitching show, on its first day, when everyone is fresh and there are all sorts of temptatious things to buy. 

We met up on the train, met others we knew when we got there, parted, wandered around a lot, saw lots of wonderful pieces, Dorothy Caldwell, Debbie Lyddon with The 62 Group, so much to see, so much queuing involved, such lusciousness. Oh there were lovely things, crochet sumptuousness, soft sleek knitted dresses - not really suitable for someone soft but not sleek, simple timeless patterns that even the soft but not sleek can risk. We met up again for lunch, but felt shopping wasn't quite over so wandered off once more. There were stalls upon stalls of fabric, my overnight case weighed more when we left than it did when we arrived. 

Yes, overnight case, that's what you take when you stay overnight. A proper adventure (though without rhinoceros). So I had the chance to wander up to the Vauxhall Bridge and view the beauty of London at night, all reflected in the depths of the Thames

Proper fairyland stuff. 

I had myself a pleasant meal in a little cafe  near the hotel, where I chatted with an interesting woman, briefly, about offshore wind farms, I slept a good night's sleep and got up the following morning to go and see Paul Nash before he is no longer there to be seen.  There's a lovely review of the exhibition here.

I have loved Nash for many years, both for his dreamlike evocative landscapes and his war work, so utterly contrasting. It was a pleasure to see favourite paintings in the context of his life's work. I thoroughly enjoyed it, though it was a struggle to get round, and I was glad of those rooms with seats so I could rest my aching bones! My body's not used to all this activity. Note to self, get more exercise. 

The breadth of what was on show, and the arrangement in themed rooms, meant that you could follow his thoughts and interests, seeing how they transformed according to both his experiences and his artistic explorations. I took the catalogue with me so I could read at least some of it before going - sitting in bed the previous night, then read more on the train on the way home. I was interested to discover how local he had been to here at some significant times of his life. Nash and his wife Margaret stayed at Oxenbridge, just above the Rother valley, overlooking the river where Mum, Cecil, Nanya, all spent time when they stayed at Nirvana. His wife was a Christian Scientist, as were Connie and Ganna, the background to my childhood was Mary Baker Eddy, her books nestled on Ganna's shelves, her thoughts a quiet undercurrent to our lives. Also, Nanya painted around Iden, and Connie and Harry were a lesbian couple at a time when that was something rather hidden. Nash and his wife also stayed at Rye, where Radclyffe Hall lived for a while. In our family treasury we have a letter from her to Connie commenting on how lucky she was to have had a sympathetic mother who was determined that her daughter should have a wedding, even if it was not to a man.

I wonder if all those paths ever crossed.