Taking A Breath

The summer fantasy of reading trashy novels at the beach while sipping something cool sounds fun, but everyone we know seems to keep a pretty fast pace during the summer.

In the whirlwind, there are magical moments. I was up with the birds on July 4, so took my morning mug (no trashy novel, though) to the Ridges on Washington Island. A pair of sandhill cranes objected to me walking all the way to Carlin's Point. It was getting hot anyway, so I headed back to Sievers to meet a friend for coffee before my class began.

When I left home a week ago yesterday to teach the 5-day Digital Fabric class at Sievers, there were at least two more posts I still wanted to write about the Willow Gathering at Decorah in June. But the pace of summer is what it is.

I got home Friday in time to do laundry so I'd have something clean to wear on Saturday. That's when our local Independence Day celebration was scheduled. The volunteer fire department's fundraiser at the festivities is a corn roast. They always need willing hands to cover while some of the guys are driving fire trucks in the parade.

 
Bill and I left those festivities in time to clean up and drive to Michigan for a wedding. This couple's ceremony and reception were absolutely beautiful, joyfully relaxed and fun for all ages. We visited with old friends, ate good food, watched kids play, and celebrated the union of two people with feet firmly on the ground and stars in their eyes.

Yesterday, about all I did was read the Sunday paper. But our friend Annie called to say she was attempting her first blueberry pie baked over an open fire in a cast iron dutch oven. The conversation around their campfire is always good, and her excellent pie just made it better.

Today I chased some dust bunnies around the house, cleaned the toilet, filled a book order, and chipped away at what piles up during the transition from one trip to the next. It's a few weeks before I leave to teach again. For now, I'm catching my breath and looking forward to getting back in the studio. And blissfully grateful to enjoy cooler weather and a quiet evening at home with Bill.

Does This Revise Your To-Do List?

December is a month for impossible to-do lists that look something like this:

• Select and/or make perfect gifts for everyone.
• Wrap those perfect gifts creatively, beautifully, inspired-ly.
• Decorate home (interior and exterior) perfectly so it accurately reflects a) love of family, b) love of season, and c) love of Martha.
• Turn oven to preheat for perfect baking every time you enter the kitchen.
• Spend time with family and friends making perfect memories.

We all know that's impossible, don't we? Does that stop us from trying to attain at least a few of those impossible goals -- and work, too? Um, don't answer that.

This year, I decided to post a Daily Doodle on my Facebook page every day in December. It was my commitment to myself to spend five minutes a day during the season of impossible goals to do something that's doesn't aspire to perfection -- just a simple little doodle on a 3x5 index card. I missed one day, which I blame on the sugar coma induced by overconsumption of Christmas cookies. But on the whole it started off as a very do-able and enjoyable routine in a month where routine is turned on its head.

And then I did something insane: I thought, "Why not take this opportunity to practice doodling with the Wacom tablet I bought last summer and haven't taken out of the box?"

On the one hand, I've enjoyed spending a few minutes a day away from Etsy selling and gift making and preparations for an upcoming eCourse -- just starting to learn how to use this new tool. On the other hand, I find myself on a slippery slope that leads toward a midden pile of impossible goals: I seem to expect more perfection from something made using an unfamiliar device that has to be plugged in than from something made by my own hand in the few minutes it takes for the oven to preheat.

Over the weekend, I put away the tablet, went back to index cards, and got some perspective. I may still be insane, but I have some perspective on my craziness. In other words, I got my tongue unstuck from the frozen lamp post that pops up when I double dog dare myself to try something new in the presence of witnesses.

And then today, a holiday miracle arrived, via Liz Massey's Creative Liberty: Liz shared The Done Manifesto by Bre Pettis and Kio Stark. Here are my favorite elements.

#6 -- The point of being done is not to finish but to get other things done.

#10 - Failure counts as done. So do mistakes. And

#13 - Done is the engine of more.

It may be impossible to be perfectly at peace with imperfection and failure to achieve the impossible. I wouldn't be able to diagram that sentence perfectly, but I'm OK with that, too.

Have you recently recovered from some impossible expectation? Hit the comments button below, or tell us on Facebook. I double dog dare you!

Tension, Tangles, And A New Language

Does this happen to you? You're working on some fiber technique when bam, it hits you: "This sums it all up right here -- Life, the Universe and Everything." (Thank you, Douglas Adams.)

On Monday, I picked up my new spinning wheel and started practicing. By the time I was ready to change the bobbin, I was feeling pretty good about things. That, of course, is when it all fell apart. I could only produce severely overtwisted stuff (can't call it yarn) that wouldn't feed onto the bobbin. I fiddled with everything that could be fiddled with, and emailed Kathi for help. The main cause of my problem was that I put the new bobbin on (mumblemumble) backward, so it couldn't rotate (my husband hero, Bill, figured that one out). And because it wasn't operating properly, I was getting more and more excited and thus treadling faster and faster.

This is all good, though. I won't make the bobbin mistake again. I have a much better feel for adjusting the Scotch tension on this wheel now. And I'm making my treadling speed much more deliberate. As you can see, all of this is now producing results that I can, in fact, call yarn.

Many of my thoughts this week were as twisted as that mess in my hand. I had some time to try to sort them out, thanks to this week's record number of mechanic and vet appointments, but am still looking for answers.

Daryl Lancaster gave me a lot to think about with two posts. In the first, she shared her excitement at seeing the work of a new generation at the Conference of Northern California Handweavers.

I don’t know if there is a Project Runway influence here as well, but the rectangular shapes of the garments that came parading across the runway were not the shapes of yore…  I’m going under the assumption that since home ec is not part of the current curriculum in most schools in the US, that these amazingly talented young women are learning fashion skills somewhere else.  The influence is pretty clear, since the rectangular clothing up on that stage was thoughtfully draped over someone’s body (a dressform?) and folded and tucked and seamed, stitched and embellished into some extremely creative clothing.

Daryl also wrote a thoughtful post that touched on why she didn't post images of those garments but really addressed the larger issue teaching artists protecting their intellectual property.

More than one of us noticed that as we were teaching, there were small video cameras or cell phones pointing at us and we realized too late, that our seminars were being recorded.  I’m going to assume that because the equipment is so available, just point a cell phone and press start, that no one actually thinks about the long term ramifications of these actions.  I’m also going to assume, at least I hope this is the case, that those who are recording the seminars, are just trying to remember everything that was said, fine points the teacher made that weren’t in the handout, and that that recording will eventually go by the wayside and never be looked at again.  Trouble is, those recordings will now be downloaded to a computer, and will be available for viewing by anyone anywhere for the rest of all time.... And, once a guild has passed around the handout, seen the photos of all the samples, and listened to the video of my seminar, where is the incentive to actually hire me to come out and teach.  This is no different than making twenty copies of the latest sock pattern in Knits magazine, and passing them all around the knitters’ guild.  This is all about protecting those of us who spend our lives providing projects, creating inspiration, and pushing the envelope of what we do all the while trying to eek out a living. It is about having control of your work...

I'm guessing that the students recording seminars at CNCH were probably not the youngest people in the room, probably not meaning harm, probably not intentionally disrespectful of an honored teacher. Hold on. One more thing to add to the mix.

Out of the blue, I got a phone call this week from an artist whose work I've long admired. We have friends in common on Facebook and my name kept popping up on her screen. Her curiosity led to a call, which led to a lovely conversation. Here's the part that relates to this post, heavily paraphrased by me: She developed her unique style in part because Native American elders with whom she studied told her plainly that she could learn but not copy their traditional styles.

As a teaching artist, I'm shoulder-to-shoulder with Daryl. If this were an easy way to make a living, more people would do it. For the most part, students are very respectful of our work. But like those native elders, we may have to more clearly state what behaviors we expect from students. And yet...

We want to see young fiber artists learn, grow, and be part of the community for many years to come. That applies not only to those in the CNCH fashion show, but also to young embroiderers, surface designers, garment makers, knitters, spinners, and all their brethren and sisters.

For the better part of a year now, I've been working to learn new skills I think will be necessary for communicating with learners who are native in a language I still speak haltingly. Communicating in 140 characters or video involves translation, for people like me. While I'm translating, they're designing LED clothing, for pete's sake. I believe their perceptions of media and access to information may be as different from mine as, well, take a moment to reflect on this from Hisako Sekijima on values regarding labor and possessions.

Even when two people or groups treat each other with respect, when you're not speaking the same language things can get messy. Now I've got all this overtwist in my head, and it's not winding on to the bobbin.

How can fiber elders meet the needs of learners who speak this new language? Could fiber teachers make information so available that copyright protection is a non-issue, and still make a living so they can keep teaching and inspiring that next generation? How do we balance all this?

What do you think?

Slightly Frayed

Normally I try to stay on the topic of fiber art in this blog. I'll get there eventually with this post, too. But first, here's the situation that has my thoughts in such a tangle.

Over the weekend, my sister was in an area where flash floods and landslides left dozens dead, more injured, and many homeless. As would be expected, services like telephone and internet connections were disrupted. Let me skip the details and jump to the good news: She called and is safe. We're grateful beyond words. At the same time, our thoughts are with the the families mourning losses.

I know many of you have been through this with loved ones in the military, in New York and Washington on 9/11, in the area of the DC sniper attacks, in the path other natural disasters, and (I hate to say it) the list goes on. I hope you won't think I'm trivializing those situations when I say this: 

I now have a Twitter account. 

A Worldwide Web
Before I clicked "Sign Me Up," at Twitter, I used all the resources I could think of on the worldwide web. The U.S. State Department site had a number that then connected me to the duty officer in Lisbon (very helpful). Google Maps helped me visualize where my sister's area is in relation to reports I found via Google Searches and videos I saw on You Tube. A topical Facebook group sprang up almost immediately, and several kind people provided information. Google Translate help interpret other people's posts and convert my own posts into Portuguese. My own Facebook friends (and friends of friends) provided their prayers, considerable good karma, and a ham radio operator.

But after hearing reports of how tweets helped broadcast information after events in Mumbai and Haiti, I didn't see how I could not try Twitter.

Please remember that I live in a fairly remote rural area with more limited resources than are found in more populated places. Cell phone coverage here is better now, but there are still dead zones. Until last October we were on dial-up for internet service, and I had never seen Facebook or You Tube. Both my husband and I are self-employed, and the faster alternative we finally chose was a stretch for our budget. I have trouble picturing how we would manage the kind of monthly bill we see advertised with smart phone plans. And while we've managed a couple of test messages on our Trac Phones, texting without a full keypad seems like an exercise in character building, not communication.

So Twitter was not on my to-do list. Until this.

I signed up and started tweeting. With zero followers and no clear idea of how things were supposed to work, I asked my Facebook friends for help. They started tweeting and their friends retweeted. At one point I almost looked for Google Translate Twitter option (what do "@somebody" and "#something" mean?), but a friend posted a very helpful crib sheet for me.

By the time my sister could call us, I was following a freelancer writing in Portuguese and being followed by friends, friends of friends, some possible spammers, and the Tehran Free Press (no idea).

Oh, What A Tangle
For my sister, this story is far from over. And as I have all my life, I'm watching and learning from her: If the road is blocked, you hike to town. I have a feeling there are other lessons, less dramatic, that I'm supposed to be getting from this, too.

I haven't forgotten how it felt to be separated from my family with limited communication options on 9/11. I haven't forgotten how in 2007, when a tornado touched down a little over a mile from our house, how I worried that my parents would see it on the Weather Channel before I could phone to say we were OK. I'm keeping the Twitter account. It might be like grabbing an umbrella after it stops raining. Fine by me.

But how to manage one more thread? Are these signs and portents that I should be writing more, which means doing less of something else? How do I best meet the needs of my students and readers and friends and family, and still make that monthly mortgage payment? After family, what is it that I do that really makes a difference in the world?

So today, when I'm feeling slightly frayed, I'm asking you to pick up the thread and help me untangle some of these thoughts. Your comments are greatly appreciated.