- It's magic: Weaving a cloth patch with four selvages

As part of my early efforts during Jude Hill's online course "Considering Weave" I created a small bit of weaving on a "cloth loom" (some even weave linen stretched in an embroidery hoop). At the time it seemed insignificant so I didn't post it, but here it is for the record:

6-strand DMC floss, green warp, gold weft needlewoven on a 35-count linen "loom"

Today while tidying up I actually toyed with the idea of tossing it, thinking, "What's the use?" As I pondered its destruction, I absentmindedly picked out the linen threads and realized I had managed, quite unintentionally, to create a tiny cloth with four selvages.

Now this was worth saving ... and reiterating. Perhaps I could even control the dimensions.

With a goal of creating a 1 1/2" patch of cloth, I gathered some recently acquired white and black size 10 cotton crochet thread (which I had planned to weave into a tapestry version of the Cape Hatteras lighthouse), a square of green linen cloth (which changed colors in the photographs as the daylight coming in the window came and went), an embroidery hoop, and a very long, very sharp needle.

The steps I followed are documented below with details in the captions:

The green linen was marked in 1/2" intervals and the initial warp was anchored with a waste knot

Spacing the warp every 2 threads of linen seemed too tight

This is the back after I began spacing the warp 3 threads apart. I changed colors using a simple square knot.

I ended up with 8 warp threads for each 1/2" section

Another picture of the back, which didn't change for the duration. Note the loose warp thread at the lower right.

After finishing the warp, I simply brought the thread up to the front (lower left corner) and began needleweaving

When I reached the end of the thread, I buried it along the selvage

Then started a new thread by needleweaving up the other side

Here I left the black weft thread loose in order to try anchoring it with subsequent passes, which worked well

After each pass, I "beat" down the weft with a tiny brush (an unused hearing aid cleaner)

As I reached the end, things got tight so I needlewove one stitch at a time

Along the way I tried knotting some of the weft threads, which didn't work as well as weaving the ends in

Then I cut the woven patch away from the linen "loom"

This was the final back view ... which looked just the same as it did in the beginning.

After picking out the linen from the ends, I had a 1 1/2" square patch with four selvages.

- History continued: Marking stitch and even weaving

Linen napkin made in 1983 for my parents' 30th wedding anniversary

Long ago (in the 1980s) and faraway (in Virginia) I spent some time as the Needleworker at Colonial Williamsburg. In addition to teaching needlework I was given some interesting assignments, one of which was stitching napkins for the dining room in the (then) newly refurbished Governor's Palace.

A Smithsonian Institution publication entitled The Copp Family Textiles (1971) proved most useful as it described how colonial household linens were marked in cross stitch to keep sets together. Similar to modern day monogramming, marked linens usually included a married couple's initials. And, using the Ann Pasteur Maupin sampler as a Williamsburg precedent, it was decided that the back of each Governor's Palace napkin was to look virtually as neat as the front.

My project was overseen by the Curator of Textiles and passed muster. As best I recall, I made ten napkins (give or take). The following year I made a pair at home to give to my parents for their 30th wedding anniversary: B for Barnett, A for Arthur, R for Ruth. The linen was 60 threads per inch, so the marking was only 1" high. And yes, the back looked pretty tidy, which makes sense when you can see both sides.

Back detail

Fast forward 32 years ... as part of my online study at "Considering Weave" I decided to try weaving some 60-count linen by hand. Not having fine enough thread (50/2 was the only linen I had) it ended up closer to 1.75" across.

So far it's been an interesting experience and I'm starting to wonder where my bit of even-weave cloth will end up. I'll have to post another picture when it's complete and off my shadow-box "loom."

Oh ... about the quarter. I grabbed it out of Don's coin jar and realized after snapping the pictures that it's dated 1982, my last year at CW as Needleworker and (no coincidence) the year Meg was born.

- Heart strings: Mending a broken shell with weave

I'm taking an online course called "Considering Weave" at Spirit Cloth. As I've mentioned before, Jude Hill is a gifted teacher, but in this interactive setting, my cohorts are equally instructive.

One posted a woven meditation on beachcombed driftwood and shells, another a piece of driftwood encased in weave (I'm hoping she will grant me permission to post a picture).

Inspired, I dug into my shell basket ...

and pulled out a broken shell gathered six years ago after my mom passed away.

My first task was to figure out how to warp the shell, which took several tries before I found a way to keep the threads from slipping (I used 4 strands of DMC floss, btw).

Then I started weaving the inside with a variegated floss ... which I can't show you because it was "Not good enough" so I tore it out ... but it looked something like this test weave on another shell.

I turned to the front and did what I'm good at: plain weave, plain color ... uniform and consistent.

Then I turned back to the colorful shell interior and decided to make a heart from variegated floss ...

But my inner critic said, "Not good enough" and I began to cut it out ... only to find that I liked the cut threads. So I pushed the two bands together into a rainbow arc before tearing out the heart.

And then I remembered a pink silk scarf of my mom's that I had over-dyed with onion skins. Tearing a strip off, it was so fine that I could thread it on a needle ... the loose fibers like nothing so much as feather down.  I wove the silk from top to bottom, until I missed a thread and the silk became hopelessly tangled in the warp. So I stopped ... and didn't try to fix it.

Nudging the threads of the arc down in the middle I once again had my heart ... this time a broken, frayed version tied by a slender thread to the perfect exterior.

And it was good enough.

- At the beach: Poetry in a tee (or two)

This pretty much sums it up:

- Mountains or beach? Mixed media assemblage

I originally planned to title this post "What's cookin'?" since Don was starting to play around with the welded trio of cake pans I found at Junkology.  As usual, he got ahead of me and had already started painting and placing components for "Beach or Mountains?" so I had to get him to back it up a bit for the photographic record.

And once he got going, things happened fast.

I absolutely love how he can envision something when there is nothing there to see (while I'm much more adept at tweaking something that already exists)

... taking a long-standing Ackert family interview question 

... then turning it into its own answer.

Also as usual, the details are crazy cool:

A knot of floodplain driftwood, the inside of a prickly pear cactus pad, and a bit of metal ...
Can't you just feel the moonshine?

Bits of Nags Head driftwood blowin' in the wind

Time is at the heart of the matter ...

.... and the answer is key

So "show it to your people, don't forget to sign your name."

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The beginning of a long story with many chapters (7)

We've collected ceramics forever it seems. Some pieces have been given to us, but most have been found wandering through galleries, art shows, and antique stores. Not having large wallets, we have a tendency to go for smaller pieces like bowls and mugs ... lots and lots of bowls and mugs!

But with Don's "good eye" in mind, this is the one that made the most sense to start with:

It's not signed, it's probably not old, and it was definitely not expensive (I think we paid $15). But it's one of many things we found in the miles of aisles at the Williamsburg Antique Mall off Lightfoot Road ... each held up in turn for inspection with the inevitable question, "What do you think?"

So reader beware ... there are a lot more stories where this came from.

- Try ... try again (redux): Harem cloth robe

Just about the time I finished the muslin robe (which resembled a hospital gown more than a robe), the harem cloth that Jude Hill recommended arrived from Dharma Trading Company. It was ever so much finer than the muslin. So I started over ...

and made some adjustments (narrower, longer, with some overlap in the front) having learned a few things the first time around.  

As with the first robe, I only seamed the shoulders and everything was done in running stitch with two strands of cotton floss. 

I have no illusions about how sturdy it will be (or rather, how sturdy it won't be), but it's not going to see a lot of heavy use. Besides, it only took a day to make, even though every stitch was done by hand. 

You might say my ugly duckling first effort turned into a swan the second time around ... which reminds me of a story.

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A modern day fairy tale (6)

Once upon a time there was a retired gentleman who thought he had no particular artistic talent. Nonetheless, he decided to try his hand at carving decoys.

His first efforts were somewhat blocky and he simply stained his little wooden ducks rather than attempt to paint the feathers.

As time went on, he read books, went to art shows, watched videos, and bought special tools. He learned to woodburn and paint each feather.  

Slowly but surely he realized that he did indeed have talent and his humble little ducklings grew to be beautiful swans. 

Swan decoy by Donald Bruce Ackert, Sr. aka Pop Pop

Now who does this remind me of ... ?

- Fish story: Mixed media assemblage

Don finished one of the folk art fish from this post several weeks ago, but since then it has been sitting on a table awaiting some other fish to keep it company on the wall. Until this past weekend, when Don put it on a bit of wood:

So the Bonefish --which is what we are calling it unless or until we can figure out what this metal is--

If you have any idea what this metal could be, please let me know!

is happily swimming on the tin top table that sits next to the grill.  As always, there are some cool details

The head is cut from some rusted, pressed tin (ceiling?) that we got at By the Bridge,
the eye is composed of a couple of pieces of metal (washer and bolt?)

The tail pieces came off an old screen door (By the Bridge again), white washed with milk paint,
then tied on with a bit of wire and a scrap of fabric (see Repurposed)

and we are now on the lookout for a cedar post to better serve as a base ... or not.

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The tale of a table (5)

My mom loved old stuff. And she loved raising money for St. Andrew's church in Williston Park, NY. She combined those two passions by running a thrift shop out of the church basement, chairing countless St. Nicholas bazaars, and running Attic Auctions.

The Attic Auctions were the most lucrative, eventually earning her (and my dad, who served as auctioneer) a Bishop's Medal of recognition. The concept was simple: ask parishioners to look in their attics and basements for unused treasures. The church auctioned the items and kept the cash, while the parishioners got a tax write off. Everybody won.

Since some of the items were sizable pieces of furniture, it wasn't unusual for bidders to pay for an item and come back to pick it up later. So it was with one vintage tin top table and the four maple chairs that accompanied it. Bought for $10, it sat in the church basement for weeks awaiting its new owners.

Who never came to get it ... at least not before we came on the scene, looking to scour  Mom and Dad's attic and basement for furniture to put in our first house at Wilson Circle. So Mom took us to the church and offered us the table and chairs for $10 ... to be refunded to the bidders, if they ever showed up.

Sold! to the furniture-poor newlyweds. It rode down to Virginia in the aforementioned U-Haul truck, traveled from house to house in Williamsburg, and made the downsizing cut when we moved to Texas.

It now sits out on the back porch next to the grill, overseeing the delectable cuts of chicken, pork and beef that Don cooks to a turn.

Which reminds me of another story ...

- Trees on the Homestead: Improv applique

Here's a quick update on my last "What if," which seems to be working. After using Jude Hill's invisible basting technique from Spirit Cloth 101 to attach the back of a repurposed linen blouse to the Homestead towel, I started cutting away the areas in the design that are not tree-covered:

Where there are trees on the property, I'm turning under the green linen and tacking down the edges using Jude's appliqué technique.

It's slow going, but it's giving me the look I wanted. Hopefully my efficiency will pick up with practice, but that remains to be seen.

Meanwhile, I'm pondering a post on Spirit Cloth that takes exception to the concept of "stealing" from other artists. It's a legitimate gripe since the internet makes it incredibly easy to rip off someone else's work and misrepresent it as one's own ... and Jude Hill has been so victimized.

As a (retired) librarian, I have to agree with Jude's concern up to a point, since citing sources is part and parcel of quality research. But if you attribute or give credit to the inspiration for your work (as I did above), that's not "stealing," right?

"Steal" is a provocative word. And I can't speak for Austin Kleon, who uses the word in the title of his book Steal Like an Artist, but I actually like his use of "steal" because it makes me think he's trying to provoke his readers: "to stir up [them up] purposely" (to quote Merriam-Webster Online, www.m-w.com). Stealing sounds anti-social and not at all what we expect of artists ... which is why the title gets your attention and makes you think. 

In fact, Austin Kleon gives credit to his sources (even after he comes up with an idea on his own and only realizes later that it's already been done); he does not countenance theft. If anything, he's raising awareness about the difference between stealing from and being influenced by another person's work. So I would characterize him as a provocateur in the best sense of the word.

And that's not a bad thing at all.

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An Artist's Story (4)

There's a watercolor in the guest room made by my grandfather (aka Pop Pops).

I know he painted it around the time he retired from the plumbing business, because he thoughtfully signed it:

He also informed his viewers that the subject of the painting was Old Ironsides, aka the  ...

And I just discovered Pop Pops copied it from another artist's painting. I know that because he wrote this along the bottom:

Which I think is pretty cool. I'd be hard-pressed to make a copy of this quality and I'm willing to bet that my grandfather got a fair bit of practice in mark making along the way to finishing this:

But he wasn't satisfied with copying. In the mid-1960s he took a correspondence course in watercolor painting from the Famous Artists School (which still exists).

His technique improved and he learned tricks of the trade, such as masking medium, which he used here to create an impression of grass blades and to sign his work.

Greatly influenced by Andrew Wyeth, my grandfather painted landscapes of the Catskills (using old photographs) and  Shelter Island shore birds (with details researched in field guides). Two of the bird paintings spent a lot of time on the walls of our homes and eventually landed in Meg and Paul's house, where we enjoy visiting them from time to time.

As wonderful as they always appeared to my (then young) eyes, I do remember my dad muttering darkly about "Jack's perspective" (or lack thereof). But that's another story.