Author: earmstrong8

A retired educator with past studies in creative arts, biology, ecology and education. Now pursuing a passion for fibre arts and outdoor activities.
I am inspired by the everyday beauty I see in the natural environment. When not outdoors, I can usually be found in my home studio where I play with photography, print making, fabric dyeing, hand sewing and free-motion stitching. I use these varied techniques in concert to interpret the magnificence of nature into tangible fibre art.

Things rarely go as planned

My latest adventure is enrolment in a block printing class at the Seniors’ Centre. Yes, you read that right, Seniors’ Centre…I have entered that realm. But, let’s not dwell on it.

The class has been a good mix of challenge and fun. We started off carving blocks of pine, which I discovered is tricky. Although pine is soft and yields to the sharpness of the tool, it also has a fairly strong grain which does not yield as easily! Well, let’s admit, it doesn’t really yield at all. We’ve now switched to carving on linoleum, and compared to the pine it’s a dream. The carving knife slips through as if carving butter–best to keep it slow though or it will slide on through to where you don’t want a cut, more akin to a hot knife through butter.

After three weeks of carving, we were all anxious to get on with the printing. I think we each had a vision of our piece in print, and of how the rolling on of ink and stamping onto paper would be the easy step. Turns out, it is going to take some practice.

The first big revelation that occurred to each of us at different times: it is relief printing. That means what you leave will pick up the coloured ink, and what you carve away will be the white of the paper. Also, when printed, you will have a mirror image of your design. Even though I knew all of this, I still spent a fair bit of time mindlessly carving a block for an initial stamp that came out white and backwards. Chalk that up to the learning by experimentation method.

The second lesson learned by experimentation, was that in the case of ink, less can be more. The ink needs to be rolled on evenly. Thick enough to print, but thin enough that it doesn’t glop, or fill your carving lines. The sweet spot seems to be different for wood or linoleum, as each has a different absorbency level. Ink loading will definitely take practice.

My best piece of the week, in my mind, was to be a pine carving of tree silhouettes, with a beautiful moon peeking through. I planned a deep inky blue, with a bit of black to darken up the scene. The bright white moon would illuminate the thready tree branches. It did not go as planned, but then things rarely do. I’ve debated posting it here, wanting to wait only to show ‘perfect pieces’, but I’ve decided to show the works in progress so you can see what not to do.

*Not as expected. Too black. Too gloppy*.

My first print run was a disappointment. Black, as I now recall, has to be added very sparingly or it will take over. The ink can’t be too thick or it will fill your carving and leave glops. The ink can’t be too thin or paper will show through in the wrong spots. The weight of lines is emphasized when seen in print. And of course, the print will be in relief and mirror image.

“Back to the drawing board,” as they say. I headed off to the sink to wash my carved block, so I could start again and spare the black.

Then some magic started to happen. As the water ran over the mucky mess, the rinse water revealed the most beautiful colours! I immediately stopped rinsing, and decided to go rogue. I lightly patted the wet block and then flipped it onto a fresh piece of paper. I had no idea what would happen. It could be too wet and turn the paper to a soggy mess. It could be too thin and leave no impression at all. Or, it might be a fabulous surprise! Well…I nearly got the latter. This print was much more interesting. It had some beautiful blues and more shading, but it was a little pale.

Not wanting to admit another defeat, I brought it home, propped it up, stared at it for a while, and then decided to play around with a fine line ink pen. Worse case scenario I could print another one, right?

*Also not as expected, but in a beautiful way! Look closely and see the lady in the moon.*

Well here it is. I think it was a success! I added sketchy lines to define the naked branches and defined some foreground rocks from the ink splotches. When I thought it was finished I took a picture. I like to take pictures of works in progress because it lets me see perspectives and angles I otherwise don’t notice. The first thing that stood out to me in this version was the lovely moon face that appeared. I swear to you, it is not contrived. It is just there, and I love it!

So, as in life, sometimes things don’t go as planned, but they end up better for it!

Boiled Wool

My memories of boiled wool bring up pictures of European jackets and alpine hats. Dense, sturdy fabric of matted wool. These days, what passes for boiled wool on the fabric market, in my opinion, is more akin to boucle. Remember those new coats we got to complete our Easter Sunday outfits? If you grew up in the 60’s, you likely had at least one! I used to think of it as ‘curly’ wool. Being spoiled by our British grandmother, we got new ones every spring. Mine was always pink, my sister’s blue. We felt so elegant, with our new white knee socks, white patent leather shoes, fresh white gloves and little flowered hats.

To get boiled wool, I have considered making my own by washing and beating old wool blankets in a hot water cycle. You may have done this unintentionally to some woolen socks or woolen sweaters that mistakenly made their way into the wrong wash load. If you are doing it intentionally, the trick is to get it out while it is the right density before it turns into completely shrunken, stiff felt–although that could get you started on some slipper making! For me, boiling my own wool is still an idea in the works. In the meantime, when ‘boiled wool’ aka ‘boucle’ went on sale last fall, I took the speedier route and bought an array of bright pinks, purples, blues, oranges and reds. I had a vision of mitts embroidered with colourful threads. A little something to brighten up the winter.

I really hate to throw out fabric scraps, so when I cut out my first pair of mitts I used the scraps to cut crazy shapes and appliqued them with bright No. 8 wt. pearl cotton. I didn’t have a pre-planned pattern, just played with shapes, stitches and colours. I already had a good stock of faux fur trims, and also some cozy faux fur for linings. The mitts were constructed using machine stitching, and the embellishment was added by hand. I used a traditional Inuit pattern that has gathered space to keep your fingers warm. They were toasty even on the coldest of winter walks.

The No. 8 wt. cotton thread is a bit heavier and I thought it would show best on this weight of wool fabric, but I discovered that No. 12 wt., although a bit finer, worked as well. (see pics below for the comparison)

With lots of wool left, I ventured into hat making. This time, both the construction and the decorative work were done by hand. I prefer hand work. For me, it gives the added bonus of quiet contemplation and excitement as I see the creations slowly unfold before my eyes.

*I love how they turned out. Lots of colour, and warmth for cold winter walks.*

Let it snow

This is the time of year when most people are desperately seeking spring. Although I admit that on the wettest of dreary days I do pine for the sunshine and growth of spring, for the most part, I actually love winter!

Overall, if it comes right down to it, I prefer cold temperatures when you can bundle up and feel the freeze of your cheeks and thighs when out walking. This year, to my taste, has been great for the amount of snow we’ve received.

Earlier in the week, the snow had cleared, the sidewalks were gritty, and the smell of wet grass was in the air. “Ahh, its coming,” we all thought as our spirits buoyed and our paces quickened. But this morning, we awoke to a glorious sight.

There is nothing more beautiful, and inspiring, than naked black tree boughs under a burden of fat, fluffy, new snow. I couldn’t resist posting this series of backyard pics. I know they will inspire me for quilting, or needlework, or printing…or something, but in the meantime, I’m going to go out and breathe in the freshness of what very well could be our last snow of the year! Enjoy.

Mend your way

I started sewing when I was very young. Likely five or six, but most definitely before I was seven. My mother started me off with embroidery. I remember embellishing tea towels and pillow cases as I learned the basic stitches, lazy daisy being my favorite because of the name. My Barbie dolls wore a variety of couturier outfits and gowns crafted from socks and scraps.

I have very early memories of visiting my aunt, and being enthralled with her darning and mending. As the eldest of my mother’s sisters, Auntie Al had lived through the depression and the second world war as a young adult and had learned skills for economy. Handwork for her was not a pastime, it was work. Not only did she knit socks on a square of four slim needles, but she also had bobbins and sewing needles of all sizes, a basket of wool scraps, and a perfect egg-shaped piece of wood on a stick. This ‘darning egg’ was used when carefully weaving wool into the heels of old worn socks to restore them for use. Although my fingers were itching to touch these treasures, I don’t remember her teaching me. As with all things, she had a very strict “look but don’t touch” policy for children. I did however watch for hours, spellbound and recording her skills in my memory.

In my teens, the 1970’s saw a resurgence of sewing and patching and embroidering, but mostly for decorative purposes, never for repair or from necessity or desire to reuse and recycle. In most cases, seemed more about cutting up new things to make them look old.

These days, with my rekindled love of hand sewing, I am aware of the ‘slow fashion’ movement. From the ecological sustainability stance there is a growing concern with the detrimental effects of fast, cheap, exploitative fashion and an urging for people to return to more local, natural and ethically sourced quality fashions. With this of course comes the desire to make those quality fashions last as long as possible by, you guessed it, mending!

My first adventure into mending for purpose was an attempt to save a beloved pair of Japanese wool socks. They seemed an extravagance when I bought them, but they’ve kept my feet cozy for almost a decade and I love them. I noticed the heels wearing thin and thought I’d soon have to part with them. That’s when I remembered the wool, the egg, and my aunt’s patient weaving of patches into old socks to create new heels. I wish I knew where that darning egg was today! No worries, online shopping has everything and I soon found a wooden darning mushroom that does the trick.

Hmm, this mending with purpose was getting interesting and I went on a hunt for clothes that needed some TLC. I remembered a beautiful wool sweater, this piece pushing 20 years. It had last been seen somewhere in the basement and that’s where I found it in a heap and riddled with moth holes. I had always loved the soft luxury of this sweater and I guess that is why I’d never been able to part with it. It’s important when mending to use fabrics of like weight and composition and for this one I was lucky to find some muted, earth tone remnants of wool in my stash that went perfectly with the soft charcoal sweater. Some of the holes were sizable, but with the weight and thickness of the wool, and by letting the holes dictate the placement, I was able to fill the sweater with a field of wild flowers.

Of course, I’ve been reading up on techniques that go beyond lazy daisy and basic embroidery stitches. Seems the only thing I love buying more than fabric is books and I promise to give you a few recommended titles at the end of this blog.

Sashiko, is a traditional Japanese technique that uses the design principles of simplicity and repetition. It is recognizable as patterns of precise white stitching on indigo fabrics. Boro, another Japanese technique, uses sashiko stiches to secure patches under and over holes in old clothing. Rather than being hidden as invisible mending, both of these techniques add not only to the strength and durability of fabric, but also to its beauty. There are lots of books available to explain the techniques in detail and a quick internet search will produce some beautiful images. A few old pairs of pajama bottoms that had blown out large tears in the rump provided me the opportunity to give it a try. I adapted the ideas of shashiko and boro to suit my purpose.

In the spirit of slow fashion, sustainability, and being an eco-friend, I’m trying to convert to buying only ‘real’ fiber fashions. This will mean a return to more pure and blended cottons, linens and wool. I admit to a preference for these fibers, but I need to work at the price adjustment. A newly acquired cashmere/cotton sweater, after only about three wears, snagged and got a dime-size hole right on the front hem. Time to toss it? Noooo, not with my burgeoning mending skills. I tried free-style stitching, first in a pink lazy daisy stitch to replicate the knit, and then overlaying with a random blue and purple pattern to add depth. Looks a bit like a scribble, but I like it. This bespoke patch now adorns my hemline, waiting for the day when the sweater calls for more.

It can be tricky ordering books electronically, without being able to flip through them and carefully weigh their content/illustration/value balance. I have come across two favorites to recommend if you want to give mending a try.

The first, Visible Mending, Repair, Renew, Reuse The Clothes You Love, by Arounna Khounnoraj offers suggestions for basic equipment, a good primer of stiches and a nice breadth of techniques. The second half of the book is the ‘how-to’ for a large number of projects to try out the techniques. This section gives the beginner step-by-step instruction for specific projects, but could also be a jumping off point for more the experienced.

The second, I regrettably purchased in electronic form. I say regrettably, because I ended up liking this little book so much I wish I had it in hard copy for quick reference and to lend to others. Mending Life, A Handbook for Repairing Clothes and Hearts, by Nina and Sonya Montenegro is a small, fun book that advocates for repairing and mending rather than discarding and replacing clothes. Offered through a series of family stories and memories, the sisters give solid information on basic equipment and techniques simple enough for a child or beginner, but thorough enough to be useful even to a seasoned sewer. This handbook offers instruction on darning, patching and other common repairs as well as altering, hemming and adding pockets! For those of you in the Kingston area, I spotted a hard-cover copy of this little gem in Novel Idea, our local, independent bookstore.

I hope this inspires you to mend your way (pardon the pun) into reclaiming, reusing, and recycling fashion. Have fun and enjoy the everyday beauty of your work!

Creating the Beast

After the disappointment of my curb-side pickup, I knew I would soon need an in-person top up of retail therapy and it wasn’t long coming.

I thought if I could get one, maybe two, pieces of faux fur trim, I could whip up a quick hat or bandeau, using some of my newly acquired woolen fabric pieces. A short, cautious shopping trip could be beneficial.

I admit I do prefer real fur, but it is increasingly difficult to find and a bit cost prohibitive. There are some very ‘real looking’ faux furs on the market, but faux fur is definitely not something you buy without feeling it and seeing it; checking the colour, the luster, the softness. I certainly wouldn’t want anything that looks too faux!

These were reasons enough to send me off to the shop.

Long story short, modern faux are surprisingly delicious. Soft, silky, fluffy, luxurious even. In less than thirty minutes I was able to amass a very large bagful of irresistible trims, and pelts.

*Let’s say I am set for faux fur for a while!*

Now to create! I was picturing a toasty warm vest. Fur exterior, woolen interior. A vest would be quick and easy, right? Let this be the lesson: nothing is ever as quick, nor as easy, as you expect. Creating, as I’ve said before, takes time…oodles of time.

Here are a few more tips for successful creating:

Make a pattern. It is always worth it in the end to measure properly and make a pattern. This will make good use of all the home delivery wrapping papers you have saved.
Try to think ahead of the logistics: will it have closure fastenings? will it have pockets? do you have enough fabric? do the weights and textures of all the fabrics work together?
At a certain point, you have to jump in and make the first cut. What is the worst that can happen? (It’s not like you don’t have more fur!)

I’ll try to speed it up for those of you who are anxious to see the final piece.

I did make a pattern, and chose my only 1 meter length of heavy, long-haired fur. Determined to use the non-boiled wool from my stash, gold went well with the fur, but having only .5m I had to supplement it with .5m of faux leather for the lining and trim. The colour was a perfect match and I figured, once committed to faux why not go all the way?

I had decided on pockets, but didn’t have enough fabric, so this is where it got interesting. I decided to use the sizable bag of onion skins I’d been saving in the bottom of our fridge to try onion skin dying on a recycled, old, cotton flannel bag.

Boil onion skins for about an hour (more skins = darker colour).
Strain out the skins.
Put the dark liquid in a pot large enough to allow your fabric to move around.
Wet the fabric (with water) and then add it to the dye pot.
Boil for about an hour, or until it is slightly darker than your desired colour.
Rinse thoroughly with cold water.
Keep the leftover dye for one or two days in case you come up with anything else you want to dye–after that you’ll have to toss it out (it is basically onion water).
That’s it! This step was easy–but not quick.

I decided I did want some closures and hunted around the house for something the right size until I came up with the clothes pegs to toggles idea.

Cut the pegs to the desired length, and drill holes for your thread or elastic (useful to have a carpenter on hand for this step).
Throw the toggles into the left over dye bath for an hour or so, and they will be the perfect colour!
The thinner, lower parts of the pegs worked best for this piece, but I’ve kept the upper pieces for a future project.
Attach the toggles with some elastic cord to allow leeway in buttoning.
Sew some reinforcement on your faux leather to add strength.
Tie the toggles only to the inside so they don’t show when vest is worn fur-side out.

I folded the fur inward around all the openings (hem, armholes, collar) so the vest could be reversible.

*Leather bound arm holes, inside plaquette and hem make the vest fully reversible.*

Voila! Not quick, and not necessarily easy, but the Beast is born. I am now the proud owner of a toasty, full-length, reversible, faux fur vest, which only took about 100 hours, and should last 100 years, or maybe more. It is faux after all.

*Fur side out, with toasty flannel pockets*

Beyond Retail Therapy

I am the first to admit that in precedent times, I have been known to occasionally succumb to bouts of self-prescribed retail therapy, but during lockdown–arguably a most desperate and unprecedented of times–what was a gal to do?

Well, I decided to throw caution to the wind and try online ordering with curbside pickup. I found it wasn’t really as satisfying as an in-person session–and it led only to the need for follow-up sessions.

My downfall: fabric. I have uncountable stashes of fabrics, yarns and notions of every kind, some dating back as far as the mid to late 1970’s, but that is beside the point.

On a particularly dreary day in December, I hankered for some boiled wool. In fact, lots of boiled wool. In lots of colours. As luck would have it, while reclined on the couch arduously surfing my phone, I noticed it was deeply discounted at a local shop and was offered through curb-side pickup! I was quick to imagine it into all sorts of artistic creations.

At first, the online order option went smoother than expected. I spent and hour or so browsing and submitted my modest test order electronically. Within hours, I received a follow-up call and had a very helpful assistant walking the floors as my surrogate shopper doing her very best to describe options and colours. “Yes,” she assured me, “we have lots of boiled wool. I’m standing right in front of it.”

My excitement picked up. “Great! What colours?”

“Blue,”she said.

“What shade of blue?” I pressed.

“Hmm, kind of dark,” she offered.

Okay, I could see this wasn’t going to be the nuanced description of shade I expected. Nevertheless, I carried on. The price was so good, what did I have to lose? Might as well throw in some threads and notions for good measure.

Not three hours after placing my now hefty order, I was off to the curb for pick-up. I texted from the car, donned my mask, and skipped up to the store. The door opened a sliver and my gargantuan bag was handed out. No questions asked. Not a word spoken. Minimal human contact.

Before starting the car, I shredded open the package like a six-year old with a birthday goodie bag. Stacks of fabric! All carefully cut in .5 meter pieces! All colours! None as described. Sadly, none boiled wool.

*It does contain wool, even if not boiled!*

Oh well, it does contain wool, and it was colourful. I’d had an outing, and I was optimistic that I’d be able to re-vision my ideas.

In fact, I already have… In my next blog I’ll tell you about the in-person-follow-up session that led to a faux-fur frenzy, and creation of what I now call ‘the beast’!