On the Significance of Handwork

Inspiring words!

Aurora

Here's my formal description of "Aurora" which is posted on the wall at Flow but which I lately realized wasn't available to my blog readers!  It's addressed to the general public, so forgive the redundancy if you've been reading my blog and already know about my process...For more pictures of Aurora see the June entry "Coming off the loom and into the Flow".

© 2010 Selinde Lanier

Now when Dawn in robe of saffron was hastening from the streams of Okeanos, to bring light to mortals and immortals, Thetis reached the ships with the armor that the god had given her.

But soon as early Dawn appeared, the rosy-fingered, then gathered the folk about the pyre of glorious Hector."

Homer's Iliad

Aurora

100% naturally dyed wool and silk, 2010

Ever since learning to weave, I have been intrigued with doubleweave, a structure that creates two entirely independent layers, each with their own weft and warp. Traditionally, the two layers are interconnected for stability and aesthetic purposes through the use of a pattern where the bottom layer is brought up to the surface, sending the top to the bottom and thus “tying” the fabric together structurally. Doublewoven fabrics are found in cultures all over the world, but some of the most complex and awe-inspiring examples come from right here in the Appalachian Mountains in the form of the handwoven coverlet.

With Aurora, I used the traditional coverlet pattern known as “Sun, Moon and Stars” as a point of departure, gradually removing its pattern elements from top to bottom as I wove; first the largest “sun” circular motif, then the medium-sized “moon”, leaving only the smaller, checkered “stars” which, when removed in the blue section, results in no means of interlacing at all, allowing the two separate layers to hang apart from one another.  Narratively in time, the actual weaving process of top-to-bottom pattern disassembly moves from brightest light to deepest darkness, in a downward motion, suggesting a dying light rather than the dawn of Aurora.  However, if the piece is read as a static two-dimensional canvas, divorced of its process of making, it could be read either as a sunset or sunrise.  In any case, Aurora gives expression to the other structural fascination that I’ve tackled in various ways over the years – how to get light into fabric. At the bottom of this piece, you’ll notice that I attempted to literally do just that - I used a Yoruban weft technique to weave holes in the top blue layer, exposing the space in between to light as well as illuminating the back layer with a pattern of stars.


Color, however, is arguably what this piece is most about, and I didn’t hold back. Three years ago, I began to experiment with growing and collecting natural dye plants and I was amazed at how easy it is to achieve a full palette of colors. Additionally, the colors all seem to share a common undertone which blends them in a mysteriously harmonious way, creating a magical union that I don’t find with chemical dyes. All of this yarn was dyed in my studio from plants native to this region, with the exception of the blue, which is from woad. Woad is an indigo variant that was the main source of blue in Europe prior to the import of indigo from warmer climates. Woad grows quite well here, producing this clear, bright blue, but to my knowledge, it was never popularly used by the settlers of this region in the way that indigo was.

“Aurora” represents the culmination of over a year’s worth of time and experimentation in the studio, as well as the realization of a dream to have the time and space to explore this pattern and its structure – truly a trip to the sun, moon and stars and back.

Selinde Lanier

Equinoxes and Estuaries

After a crazy hot August, I am welcoming the time of transition known as autumn into my studio, with all its luscious color, perfect temperatures and butterflies flying in and out through my open windows, even if it sometimes feels like there is a little sneakiness in that perfect air, an attempt to distract me with  beauty while the business of life has to go on.  This is the time of year I want to just unfurl a rug onto the grass, lie down and dream into the sky all day, but in the interest of cash flow, I decided to compromise and weave a rug for Flow.  I've had this magazine page (above) on my bulletin board for at least a year and in surveying my bins of castoff rug yarn cones from Rob Pulleyn (whose studio I'm honored and awed to have directly under mine!), I was able to match the colors in the bins to the color on the page - always a boon for a textile designer - and come up with a stripe rhythm that I feel honors the earth, river and sky that feed our town and little undertaking known as Flow. 

I am also welcoming my grandmother's rocking chair, recently back from the upholsterer with the new seat designed by me and needlepointed by my mother.  Here's a little video of it by Peggy Davis:

Happy Slow Craft Harvest ya'll...