Some time ago, a young neighbor asked if I could make him a tie-dyed shirt with the classic spiral design. I thought a better idea would be to teach him to make his own.
On a recent pleasant summer afternoon, some neighbors came over for a little tie-dye party. They brought t-shirts and handkerchiefs; I mixed up a soda ash solution and fiber reactive dyes in 3 primary colors, plus black. I provided mixing containers and plastic squeeze bottles, and the kids went to town, squirting dye with abandon.
My young neighbor turned out to be a natural at tie-dye; his sister just wanted to do abstract art on her shirt.
The adults produced their own t-shirts of various designs, and after curing, rinsing, washing and drying, we had a show and tell and admired each other’s work.
I have some other dyeing projects in the pipeline, but it might be a couple of weeks before I finish them. Meanwhile I thought I would post this quick story of how to perk up your mood with just a bit of color and messy fun.
One of the things I love about my rigid heddle loom is its simplicity. Its primary strength is its ability to make beautiful plain-weave cloth rapidly and easily. Plain, or tabby weave, is when a weft yarn crosses over one warp yarn, under one warp yarn, across the width of the fabric, just as you would do to make a lattice pie crust. If you like to create visual interest in handwovens by varying the order of colors and textures of yarn, and complete a project in less than a day, you can hardly do better than to warp and weave on a rigid heddle loom.
I weave with double heddles for a double-density sett with finer yarns on my loom, but I still am weaving plain weave. Both heddles go up for one shed, both heddles go down for the other shed. But after producing dozens of plain-weave scarves, table runners, pillow covers, etc., the thought comes creeping: “What other structures might I be able to create on this loom?”
My library of weaving books and videos is full of advice on how to make a rigid heddle loom act like a 4-shaft loom, but the process always seems so complicated! Weave with 3 heddles, or use multiple pick-up sticks, or add heddle rods. If I want to do a complicated weave structure, I have floor looms for that. I want an alternate weave structure I can create with just the two heddles I already use.
After poking around on the internet, I found an answer: twill weave, but specifically 2/1 twill. The salient feature of twill is its pronounced diagonal lines created by small floats of yarn crossing over two or three yarns in the web. Having first learned to weave on floor looms with a number of shafts that are multiples of 4, I tend to think of twill as a balanced 2/2 twill or an uneven 3/1 – 1/3 twill. A 2/2 twill means a weft thread goes over two warp yarns, under two warp yarns, with each new row offset by one warp thread. A 2/2 twill looks the same on both sides of the fabric and the diagonal lines form a 45° angle.
Denim, used for blue jeans, is typically woven in a 3/1 twill, whereby a weft thread crosses over 3 warp threads, under one warp thread on one side of the fabric. The other side of the fabric is a 1/3 twill, with the weft crossing under 3 warp threads, over one warp thread. Denim is made with indigo-dyed warp and white weft, so the two sides of the fabric look different. The “right” side shows more indigo warp floats, the “wrong” side shows more white weft floats, and the diagonal lines frequently form a 30° angle.
Now, back to the 2/1 twill that can be woven on the rigid heddle loom with only two heddles and no pick-up sticks or heddle rods. With the help of my internet sources and some mental gymnastics performed during wakeful hours late at night, I realized I could thread the loom at 1.5 times the density of a single heddle in a 2/1 threading. One third of the warp threads go through the holes of one heddle, another third go through the holes of the second heddle, and the final third of warp threads go through the slots of both heddles. Any shed made with this threading is always 2 against one – plain weave is not possible with this threading.
This picture shows the three groups of warp threads. Top layer goes through holes in back heddle, slots in front heddle. Middle layer is threads in slots on both heddles. Lower layer is threads in slots on back heddle, holes in front heddle. Each shed is made by opening one layer away from the other two.
This 2/1 twill is woven in a 3-heddle sequence: 1) one heddle up, the other in neutral, 2) the second heddle up, the first in neutral, 3) both heddles down, making the loom act like a 3-shaft loom. This fabric is weft-dominant on one side and warp dominant on the other, just like the denim fabric, but with the diagonal lines forming a 60° angle.
I wove a scarf with the weft-dominant side facing up on the loom, warp-dominant side facing down for the whole length of the project. The two sides of the fabric appear quite different from each other. Next, I wove a scarf with alternating sections of weft-dominance and warp-dominance. To achieve the alternating pattern, I modified the 3-heddle sequence to 1) one heddle down, the other in neutral, 2) the second heddle down, the first in neutral, 3) both heddles up. I also reversed the sequence to get a zig-zag pattern of diagonal lines.
The scarves pictured above were woven with a straight twill threading, i.e., 1-2-3-1-2-3. I wanted to see if I could thread the warp in a point twill: 1-2-3-2-1. The answer is Yes! I wove the scarf below with one 3-heddle sequence to achieve a pattern of diamonds on the weft-dominant side (blue) and another sequence at the opposite end of the scarf which created little elongated ovals on the warp-dominant side (red).
The lesson learned is that the versatile rigid heddle loom can do more than one simple weave structure. Let’s hear it for twill!
In my previous post on Shifu and Shibori, I posted a picture of a handwoven fabric whose texture reminded me of canvas – too stiff and coarse for clothing, but great for something utilitarian, like a bag. It turns out I have been in need of a carry bag for my rigid heddle loom for quite a while and the piece of shifu fabric had the perfect dimensions, 21 inches wide by 2.25 yards long, to create a bag for a loom sized like mine.
This fabric is woven with linen and cotton threads in the warp; the weft is paper plied with rayon. The hand of the fabric may resemble canvas, but the weave structure is not as tight and the fabric is not as strong as true canvas, so I decided to line the bag with some of my stash of old denim recovered from worn-out jeans. The denim lining will withstand the stress of the load of loom and tools the bag will hold, leaving the outer fabric to coast on its good looks alone. (Thanks to Judilee Fitzhugh for sparking that idea!)
I cut a large rectangle for the bag, two for the side panels, two for exterior pockets and two long strips for handles. I pieced the denim scraps together and cut that into rectangles of similar size. I added interior pockets for small tools, including two long, skinny pockets for stick shuttles or pick-up sticks. I used a jeans foot on my sewing machine to ride over the thick layers of fabric and lining, and used up two of my largest size machine needles in the process.
The bag comfortably holds my folded loom and a variety of accessories.
Several years ago I joined with a few other local weaving guild members in ordering some washi, or paper, yarns from Japan. My order included 3 yarns: a very thin all-paper yarn made from twisting and spinning a 2 mm wide strip of paper, a thicker yarn made from plies of paper and rayon, and a flat, ribbon-like strip of 2 mm wide paper wrapped with criss-crossing cotton and rayon threads. The goal was to weave shifu, or fabric woven from paper yarn.
While twisting and spinning the paper yarn does make it stronger, it is not usually recommended for use as warp yarn, because it will not often stand up to tension on the loom. Shifu is frequently woven from cotton or other fibers in the warp and paper yarn in the weft only. I used my paper yarns primarily as weft in a variety of projects: a couple of scarves with Tencel and cotton warp, one length of fabric with cotton and linen warp, and one with an overtwisted rayon in the warp to get a crepe effect.
Later, on the advice of another weaver, I did try warping with the flat, ribbon yarn, which was a little stronger than the other two. To my surprise, it stood up to the tension of my Baby Wolf loom, so I was able to weave a fabric of approximately 95% paper.
I had enough of the flat yarn to put on a warp 3+ yards long by 24 inches wide. I wove alternating rows of the thick and thin paper yarns for weft, and got about 2.5 yards of this fabric before running out of the paper weft. I wove the remaining 24 inches or so with alternating thick and thin rayon yarns. I took the fabric off the loom and separated the two fabrics by cutting between rows of machine zig-zag stitching. Having already woven and washed some other paper yarn projects, I fearlessly wet-finished, line-dried and ironed my paper fabrics. They held up beautifully! Then I wanted to dye them in indigo using shibori methods.
On a warm summer day, I got my indigo vat set up outdoors and did some folding and clamping for itajime shibori. I wet out the fabric bundles and dipped them in indigo numerous times for a dark shade and high contrast with the undyed portions. Then came the rinsing and soaping and more rinsing. Who would have thought that paper could withstand so much washing? Not me, but I was very happy to learn what a strong fabric paper can make. I dyed a few other shifu pieces as well that day, so now all my paper projects have indigo shibori patterns on them.
Now I am taking the next step: cutting and sewing the handwoven paper fabric into garments. I made the largest piece into a top using my favorite old Burda pattern (See my previous post New Work from Old Fabric). The fabric of linen and cotton warp with paper weft has a texture and hand very similar to canvas. This will probably be made into something utilitarian, such as a bag or table runner. I will have to ponder the other small pieces for inspiration.
Learn more about the time- and labor-intensive craft of creating handmade paper yarn and shifu: Susan J. Byrd has written a book and posted online videos about making paper yarn. Hiroko Karuno also has authored a book and articles, as well as videos, on making paper thread and shifu.
One important difference between commercially-made and handwoven fabric is the former is usually woven on mechanized looms at a width of 45 inches or more, and handwoven fabric is frequently made on a smaller scale loom and often woven at a much narrower width.
Using a formula to calculate how much yarn will be needed for a project, the weaver must figure out the sett, or how many ends (individual warp threads) there will be in each inch, multiply that by the number of inches of fabric width, then multiply by the warp length, usually in yards. That number is the total yardage of warp yarn required for a project. The required amount of weft yarn must be estimated similarly.
Many of us impulse-buy a given quantity of yarn and add it to our stash, uncertain of the exact project for which it will later be used. At some time in the future, the light bulb of a creative idea lights up overhead and we have to determine if we have enough yarn available to create our desired project. For example, perhaps we have just enough of THIS yarn available to warp a 25-inch wide fabric set at 12 ends per inch with a total warp length of 3.85 yards. And perhaps we have enough of THAT yarn to weave as weft, assuming 10-11 picks (woven rows) per inch, weaving a total of 112 inches, or 3.1 yards of woven fabric.
Figuring that we will lose about 27 inches of warp to the parts tied to the back and front beams of the loom, as well as draw-in, take-up and shrinkage, we will be lucky to produce a finished fabric that is 20-some inches wide and barely 3 yards long. After wet-finishing and ironing the fabric, if it becomes evident that it would be beautiful made up into a jacket or some other wearable item, we now must find a garment pattern with pieces small enough to lay out on the narrow and short fabric and still have enough to cover a body.
Such was the challenge I faced late last year with two narrow pieces of handwoven cloth. One fabric was woven with a slate-blue silk noil warp and a black wool weft. The finished fabric was about 24 inches wide, but just 3 yards long. I thought it would make a great jacket fabric, but it was going to be difficult to find a pattern that could be made up with such a small amount of cloth. Likewise, another handwoven I had made with an alpaca warp and a wool crepe weft (plied with a silver lurex strand, for a sparkling winter white effect). The crepe yarn wants to collapse; it is stretchy and it pulled in at the edges of the fabric as I wove. This finished fabric ended up only 20 inches wide, but about 4 yards long.
I needed a jacket pattern that called for minimal hems and no overlapping facings. Fortunately I found a pattern for a zipper-closed puffy coat: McCall’s 7695. Rather than make the outer fabric puffy with batting, I purchased a quilted lining for the blue/gray fabric and a plain white lining for the alpaca/wool fabric, as well as separating zippers for the non-overlapping front closure. On the blue/gray fabric the pattern pieces extended selvedge to selvedge and I had to crowd them end to end. No extra fabric to spare! The jacket back pattern piece extended past the selvedge of the alpaca/wool fabric, so I had to cut just a portion of it, splicing in a piece down center back. Again, no fabric to spare!
This story does not fully convey my lengthy and nerve-wracking search for a jacket pattern solution, nor the late-night layout problem-solving that disturbed my sleep. But the story has a happy ending: I have two new lined jackets made from my own handwoven, albeit too-narrow, too-short cloth.
Old blue jeans were recycled into a rug, then recycled again when the old rug wore out.
About 25 years ago, when I learned to weave, one of my first projects was a set of rag rugs made from strips of denim cut from worn-out blue jeans. The rugs were woven with colored cotton rug warp set at 8 ends per inch and the denim strips averaged approximately 1 inch wide. A header of cotton yarn was turned and hemmed at both ends of the rugs.
One rug was placed in a hallway; the other was positioned just inside the front door of my house, where for almost 25 years it received the dirt, mud and road grime from thousands of feet wiped on it before they entered the main room of the house. The hallway rug did not get quite as dirty as the door mat, but it was trodden on by just as many, or more feet, and eventually the warp threads frayed and broke. The denim strips frayed a little along the edges, but remained surprisingly intact as the warp threads deteriorated.
The exposed cloth strips started to become a safety hazard, so I decided the rugs must be replaced, but it seemed so wasteful to throw out so much fabric that appeared to have a lot of life left in it. I decided to wash the rugs and recover as much of the denim as possible, then re-weave it into new rugs. I put the rugs in the washing machine and sent them through three full wash cycles with detergent and a dose of washing soda. The frayed edges of the denim strips held up well through the washing and I hung the heavy rugs outside to dry.
When I brought the rugs indoors, I cut off the cotton headers, opened them up and recovered the cotton yarn to use again. I pulled the now scrunched-up denim strips out of the warp yarn and wound them directly onto a large stick shuttle. While the denim in the door mat rug is certainly clean after all the washing, many of the strips are just too stained and dirty-looking to use again. Still, I was able to recover 75-80% of the strips to reuse. Meanwhile, I had warped my loom with a red linen-cotton blend yarn, again set at 8 ends per inch and 28 inches wide. I wove a 3-inch header of cotton yarn, then started weaving with the now twice-recycled denim strips.
I wove one rug with recovered denim and another rug with strips freshly cut from old jeans. The twice-recycled rag rug doesn’t look as pristine as the once-recycled rug, but it will be a welcome addition on my concrete studio floor, where I hope it provides cushiony comfort under my feet for another 25 years.
At last it’s January, one of my favorite months of the year! The holiday decor has been stashed away for another year and the marathon of shopping, cooking, entertaining and visiting is over and done for a while. The stores are calm and quiet now, in transition from glittery displays to resolute offerings exhorting us to exercise more and eat healthy.
Starting with Thanksgiving in late November through New Year’s Day, I spend an inordinate amount of time preparing, cooking and serving an abundance of fattening food. My household is tiny, but I still have to cook the full meal deal on Turkey Day, as well as bake cookies, breads and other sweets throughout the entertaining season.
Besides the holiday weight gain, a major downside for me is restricted time in my studio, where I would rather be weaving, sewing, dyeing, or planning new work. Fortunately, my rigid heddle loom comes in handy for small projects that can be completed relatively quickly. During the recent holiday period, I wove three scarves, using the oven time of baked goods to warp or weave a few inches. I would set the timer and then enjoy 30-45 minutes of rigid heddle occupational therapy before heading back to the kitchen.
Last year I acquired a few ounces each of three rayon seed yarns in different colors. I used each of these as weft in a scarf, since I don’t want the bumpy seeds to struggle through the holes of the rigid heddle. For the warp, I selected yarns in related colors from my stash. I finished the last scarf just a few days ago, then wet-finished, ironed and trimmed the fringes on all three. What a great stash-busting and stress-busting exercise for the hectic holidays!
The weather is turning seasonably cold and wet here in the Pacific Northwest – perfect for indoor activities, like sewing something wearable from handwoven fabric.
I recently pulled out a length of yardage I made earlier this year from two silk yarns, of which I had almost two pounds each. They are both silk noil yarns, the kind of silk spun from short fibers, with a matte appearance and rougher texture, sometimes mistakenly called “raw silk”. In fact it is fairly soft and warm, but lacking the shine of reeled silk, it is less expensive. My warp yarn is a strong black bouclé and the weft yarn is a loosely spun turquoise thick and thin. I purchased the yarns long ago and forgot how many yards were in a pound, but I guesstimated the black was slightly more than, and the turquoise slightly less than 2,000 ypp.
My calculations predicted I could get around 6 yards of 30 inch wide fabric if I set the warp at 20 ends per inch and wove about 18 picks per inch. I wove plain weave fabric and got almost exactly the amount I expected! The yarn was dusty from sitting around so long, so when I washed the fabric, it brightened considerably. The combination of black and bright turquoise give the finished cloth a dark teal color, one of my favorites.
I chose to make it up into a jacket using Vogue pattern no. 2915, a Koos van den Akker design that includes a lot of artsy appliqués, but I just like the simple shape of the jacket, so I made it unadorned with anything except pockets on the outside. To give the garment some reinforcing structure, I used a quilted lining. Bias-cut strips of thin black fabric finish the edges. The pattern calls for large buttons to close the jacket, but I thought slicing a buttonhole through the fraying handwoven, batting and lining would be courting disaster, so I went online to find some pretty metal hook and eye clasps to hold it closed. Check out Benno’s Buttons for more like these.
Stylish, warm and comfortable, from winter through spring!
In late summer, I resolved to try sun printing with transparent fabric paint and compare the results to reverse-stenciling plant materials with fiber reactive dye. The latter can be frustrating if you want a lot of control over the reverse-image process. A breeze blows your plant matter aside, the dye drips and runs under the edges of leaves, flowers, etc. That lack of control doesn’t bother me – I feel like I am collaborating with an entity I barely know. I start with an idea of what image I want to make, but relinquish my expectations of the actual results. I am usually pleased with whatever result I get; it can be exhilarating if the effect is something I never imagined.
Some of my students have been hesitant to embrace a process that gives an unknown and unexpected outcome, so I wanted to try a method of reverse image-making that gives a modicum of control over the result. Transparent fabric paint can be used to create sun prints by applying the paint to fabric, then placing objects on the surface and letting sunlight “develop” the color and leave the resisted areas uncolored.
Putting to use the last sunny days of September, I gathered leaves, ferns and flowers, then painted some fabric samples. Setacolor, the fabric paint I used, is meant to be mixed with water. Two parts water to one part paint gives a pale shade, which leaves the fabric with a softer hand after sun printing and washing, but the contrast between color and reverse-image is very low. A ratio of one part water to two parts paint gives a much more intense color and higher image contrast, but the fabric feels thick and stiff in the end.
So, the upshot of the comparison between dye and paint: I encountered similar problems to the dye stenciling with the resisted images on the sunprinted fabric. You have to leave the fabric in the sun until it is dry, which can take an hour or more on a cool day. The wind blows the leaves around, they curl up and let light in underneath, creating a blurry mark, any wrinkles in the fabric create shadows in the final color, etc. And I really don’t care for the stiffness of the painted fabric. As to control over the final result, I think they are about equal. While I am glad I have tried both methods, I realize I am likely to be buying more fiber reactive dye and less fabric paint in the coming year.
Many years ago (don’t remember how many), I took a large piece of commercially-made linen/rayon fabric, cut it into four equal-size pieces, prepared each piece using different shibori methods, then dyed each one in indigo. The fabric was originally about 56 inches wide by 3 yards long; I divided it in half lengthwise and crosswise, so each piece ended up about 28 by 54 inches.
The first piece was a radiating series of lines of ori nui stitching, where you fold the fabric, then stitch along the fold and gather. The second piece was a radiating series of lines of a simple running stitch and gathering. For the third piece, I machine-stitched and gathered several rows, then left the remainder of the fabric unstitched, but hand-pleated and bound it with a rubber band at the end. Piece number four was hand-pleated in large folds then bound with a few rubber bands.
I dyed all the pieces in indigo, then tried to figure out how to combine all of them in a single garment design. They sat on a shelf and years went by. Every now and then I would take them out, sketch some design ideas, give up, and put them back on the shelf. This year it dawned on me I could make two garments of simpler design. I used an old Burda pattern (3221) and made one pullover tunic with the fabric pieces oriented vertically, and another pullover top with the pieces oriented horizontally.