PARALLELTHREADS tobeyellow.it sfunnythatishouldgrowupto become a fiber artist, writing a color forecast column for an international weaving publication DarylLancaster My mother was a stay at home mom, a terrific homemaker and a self taught tailor. She made all of the coats, garments, matching holiday dresses, and Halloween costumes for her three daughters.iwasthe eldest. Every Easter my father gave her money to buy a new Easter hat, to coordinatewiththenewgorgeouswoolsuit,or linenensembleshetailoredfortheoccasion. When I was four years old, we livedinasmallcommunityofbrickranch homes in eastern Pennsylvania. The homeshadwoodtrimaroundthewindow frames and my dad was fastidious about keepingthepaintfresh.irememberone spring, walking outside to see what he wasdoing,andiwatchedfascinatedashe dipped his brush into a can, and then wiped it across the window frame, magically changing the colour. I was holding my favorite stuffed toy, a small Minnie Mouse doll, with yellow fur feet. Apparently I never liked the colour of Minnie Mouse s feet; they didn t quite matchherreddresswithwhitepolka dots. So I did what any self respecting four year old artist wannabee would do, I dipped Minnie Mouse s feet into the can of green paint.thisbeing1959,andthe paint beingoil based, my father started to scream, and that brought my mother who started to scream, which set off my little sister who started to scream, and all I understood from this screaming experience was to never never, nevertrytochangethecolorofanything.after a week of turpentine and scrub brushes, my mother successfully returned Minnie Mouse s feettoadulledyellow,withwornofffur,which seemed a shame, because I sort of liked the green. When I was ten years old, my mom decidedmysisterandishouldlearntosewour ownclothing,andshetookbothofustothejc Penny department store fabric department. I hadtaggedalongonmymom sfabricshopping trips to South Street inphiladelphia,andi was pretty comfortable hanging around fabric. This time, I was allowed to choose my own patternandfabric.i picked red cotton, with giant yellow flowers and a pattern for culottes. Myfirstgarment. Years later I was still in therapy because I was so terrified of thinking outside the color box. Trees were green, the sky was blue,brickwasred,andminniemousefeethad 1
I was completely hooked from the first stitch I took, and remained undaunted when my mom told me what to do in case I sewed over my finger with the sewing machine. She showed me how to take apart the machine, how to care for it, and of course all the basics of fine garment construction. Every day after school, I would race through my homework so I could sew. By the time I was fifteen, I was tailoring my own coats, and had a small alterations business in my home town in Southern New Jersey. College for progressive females in the 1970 s was encouraged, though there was an understood caveat to find a husband while you were there. I dutifully found one, while getting my degree in Fine Arts, and it was to my great joy to learn that my new mother in law was a master bobbin lace maker and hand spinner who studied with Edna Blackburn at Albion Hills Farm School in Ontario. I still have my late mother in law s spinning wheel made in 1971 by Wes Blackburn, and all of her lace pillows. A degree in Fine Arts in the 1970 s didn t net much in the way of job prospects, but craft fairs were calling all creative persons to come and display their wares, and by 1979, I was setting up my first booth to sell my handwoven items. I knew too much about sewing and tailoring to think that I could weave garments from the yarns available to the average handweaver, rough spun wools and household linen yarns did not speak to me for garment use. Instead I wove placemats, throws, tapestries, and scarves. And some lacy shawls. It was one of those lacy shawls that inadvertently became my first production handwoven garment, and I couldn t make them fast enough. With a slit for the head, and a twist ply rope belt woven between the lacy warps at the waist, I had an instant tunic with fringe on the bottom. I loved the craft fair scene, the lifestyle fit my sort of Bohemian personality, this was the early 80 s, and I had the best of both worlds, a husband with benefits and security, and a creative life around creative people and a customer base that was loyal and dependable. I quickly found that I could fit anyone, and I made wearable garments for clients that wanted work attire, yet had a hand crafted edge. Burn out happens to everyone. It came to me after ten years of selling my heart out on the weekends after working around the clock during the week trying to fill orders and create new work on speculation. I was jealous of friends who attended guild meetings and could play around with the technique du jour, and see where their creative energies could take them. I was stuck in a cycle of manufacturing and selling, 2
andeverydecisionimadewasbasedoncostof goodssold.iwasweavingthirtyyardsoffabric aday,atleasttwotothreetimesperweek,and cuttingandsewinggarmentsinbetween.itwas physically demanding and made for a non existentsocial/familylifesincemostimportant craft fairs occurred during prime holiday seasons. machines and learn to fit and decorate their bodieswithclothfromtheirhands. Handwoven clothing in the 1990 s was stillveryloosefitting,with styles that focused on rectangular shapes. By the end of the century, fit was becoming more and more encouraged and eventually demanded in both the fashion world and in the handcrafted garment movement. Silhouettes required more attention to body shape, and female assets. I began to teach more workshops that involved fitting and found that women, once they crossed into Menopause, became very disconnected with their bodies whichwereshapedquitedifferentlythanthose of their youth. It wasn t uncommon to have a studentcomeupforafittingwithasmalltearin thecorneroftheir eye as they reminisced about oncehavinga21 waist. Age is not kind to women, nor is the lack of estrogen. The skintonechanges, the middle spreads with such enthusiasm that finding a waist for measurement purposes becomes a challenge. Weight gain and bone loss seem to become proportionate.thespineshrinks,andshoulders comeforwardandthelowerregionsexpandto unrecognizableshapes. I learned so much from my years of production work, and I wouldn t trade a minuteofthateducation.in1990,afteryears of infertility, my husband and I were blessed with a son, and then three years later a daughter.bythistimeiwasnearingforty,and I slumped into a really difficult downward spiral, missing my creative life and feeling trapped at home with two very hyperactive toddlers. The work that I began to try to fit into this chaotic life with children became fractured and piecemeal, literally and figuratively. I usedthescrapsthat were left from cutting approximately fifty yards of fabric a week, to piece together new work, since there was no studio income for buying new raw materials. I did some custom tailoring, but longedfordirectioninmyworkandachallenge otherthanthatprovidedbymydomesticlife. I began to teach more once I could actually leave my children for a long weekend, and found a terrific satisfaction in empowering mystudentstodigoutanddustofftheirsewing 3
Howunfortunatethatourbodiesdonot cooperate with us, when we reach an age of wisdom and have time to experiment and explore our creative sides. An acupuncturist once told me that when a woman crosses into Menopause,alloftheenergythatwentintoher reproductive system now channels into her creativity.thereisasilverlining anymore.itismoreimportanttojustjumpin, andseewhereeachpiecetakesme. My style of working now is very different from my years of production. Each process I involve myself in, whether it be yarn buying,paintingwarps,weavingorsewing,each process stands alone and I move through it withoutbeingawareofwherei mgoing.when I shop for yarns, I shop because the opportunity is there, yarns are on sale, or I come across mill ends, or discontinued lots, andibuywhateverisavailableandwhateveri can afford, and whatever I have space to store.ihavenoideawhati lldowiththeyarn onceihaveit. Nine years ago, I was diagnosed withbreast cancer.it seems like a dream now, but the scars from the mastectomy are a constant reminder of my own mortality and that each day is a gift to use and cherish. One of the gifts of surviving a cancer diagnosis is losing the fear which holds us back. I remember walking into my studio one afternoon, after a chemotherapy treatment, and looking at the walls of yarn and fabric I had acquired and feeling sad that I might die never having gotten the chancetoseeeach cone of yarn or each cut of fabric become something wonderful. So I jumped in with abandon.thefear of possibly making something that isn t a total prize winning success doesn t seem so paralyzing I wind warps randomly, or I might wind warps to dye, and I usually wind until thereisnomoreyarnonthecone.ifigureout later what I m going to do with them. I recently wound a whole bunch of 10 yard white warps, emptying many cones, and they allhanginmyclosetwaitingforadaywheni m inspired to mix up some dye. When I weave yardage, I never have a purpose for it, I just weave because I adore the process and I end up with some terrific raw materials sitting on my shelves in the form of handwoven yardage. When I m in the mood to sew, orifindagreatnew pattern or style I want to sew, I grab yardage off the shelf, it usually shouts out to 4
me,clearlyindicatingwhichonewantstojoinin thegame! something that will live on after we are gone. Each project I undertake is like a new adventure,andwithnoparticulargoalinmind,i am free to follow uncharted waters and see wherelifetakesme.ilookforwardtoeachday in the studio, and each new fiber experience. Many years have passed since my early fiber experiences in the 60 s and 70 s. Fiber is a universal language I speak fluently, and often. My guilds are like my family, we gather regularly and share our adventures together, and conferences are like large family reunions, important for connections and important for thesoul. No one can create in a vacuum. Shopping expeditions, museum trips, gallery crawls,guildmeetings,conferences,magazines, movies,andlivetheatre,allhelpmegetoutof my studio, and showmewhat sout there and how it is being used and interpreted. My childrenhavegrown into the most interesting and wonderful adults, worth all the challenging years of chasing after hyperactive little ones. My son is in themilitary,andmydaughteraccompaniesme to many New York City galleries and museum adventures. A member of my weaving guild, shewillbeofftocollegeinanotheryear,andis interestedinmathandsciences,buthasafond placeinherheartforthe loom. I am looking forward to delivering the keynote address at the Ontario Provincial Conference next spring, and to meeting all of mycanadian cousins inthishugeglobalfiber family. Happyweaving! I m enjoying traveling the country, empowering weavers and other fiber enthusiasts to make something wonderful from their hands, to decorate and celebrate their bodies, no matter what age or estrogen deficits have done. It is such a short life, and each new day is the opportunity to make 5