How to Stick Weave a Snail Brooch

The book shelves swayed rhythmically as the printer churned out another set of pages of my minimum opus, an A4 book called 'Dye Plants'.
"Not a catchy title, is it though, Beaut?"
"Oh, shut up, Elinor."  My patience was wearing a little thin. Computer assisted self publishing is all very well, in theory.  
In practice, for technical reasons obscure to me, the oh so clever automatic A5 booklet format kept putting the pictures in all the wrong places and having redesigned it myself, for A4 size with a spine, I forgot that the wider margin had to be on the other side for all the even pages.  A warning message appeared.  The coloured ink was running dangerously low. Why oh why did I not get organised in good time for Wisley Arts Fest?
Elinor interrupted my concentrated collation of final copy mark 5.
"Heard of a wonderful new invention, Beaut.  It's called the wheel.  You should haul  your arse out of the Dark Ages and sell this as a download."

I have decided to take her advice on virtual publishing.  For anyone who comes to our Stick Weave a Snail Workshops at Wisley this weekend, if you fancy making another when you get home, here are the online instructions.

To read how to make your own weaving sticks, see this blog.  You will also need thin, bendy, lightweight wire, which you can buy in a coil in garden centres, two 4m lengths of fairly thick yarn in the colours you want for the shell and another 3m yarn for the head, two beads for the eyes and a large darning needle to finish off.  Cut a pair of one metre lengths of wire, thread one through the hole in each weaving stick, then twist all four ends of wire together securely.  Holding the twist in one hand, pull the sticks to the middle of the wires and press the bend in the wires firmly against the base of the weaving sticks, to flatten any bump of wire

which would stop your weaving slipping down smoothly.  Take the two strands of coloured wool, hold both weaving sticks in one hand and pass the wool between them. Working with the two strands together, bring the wool round

behind the left stick and from the front, pass it back between the sticks again.  Next, bring the wool round behind the right stick and back between.  To lock the two loose ends of wool, lift them up and over the first weave, then back between the sticks.  Leave the ends loose and carry on weaving the wool in figures of

eight around the sticks.  Do not pull the wool tightly, just wrap it gently.  When your weaving is near the top of the two sticks, pull one stick upwards so half of it is showing, then pull up the other stick to match, allowing some of the weaving to slip onto the wires.  If it is stiff to pull, rotate the stick between your fingers as you pull upwards.

Carry on weaving, smoothing the woven wool down the wires when it becomes tightly packed.  Once there is only 30cm left of the coloured wool, put the ends of the 3m white wool together and run it back through your hands to the mid-point.  Put the middle loop of the double strand of wool over 

one stick and continue weaving until there is only 5cm of the white wool left.  Slide all the weaving off the sticks and onto the wires.  At the far end, pull on the loose coloured yarn ends to tighten, neaten up 

the twist in the wire and wrap the yarn ends round it a couple of times.  Usewire clippers or strong scissors to cut the twist in the wire to about 1.5cm long.  Fold the twist down flat against the weave so it secures the wool twisted round it.The woven yarn will now be spread loosely along the length of the wires.  Starting at the tail end, slide the weave down so that it sits fairly firmly at the end

and start to curl the snail up.  As you curl it, press the next section of weaving up more firmly until your coil reaches the

point where the weaving changes to white yarn. Leave the 30cm long loose ends of coloured yarn hanging outside the coil.  At the top end, slide the white weaving down firmly, leaving the wires below the weaving sticks exposed.  Use clippers or strong scissors to cut the wires just below the weaving sticks. 

Take one wire from the pair on each side and twist them together.  Pull on the white yarn ends to tighten and wrap around the twisted wire, clip to about 1.5cm.  Remembering that the snail head will curl in the opposite direction to the body, flatten the twist against the inside of the weave and start to coil the snail’s head.  The two outside wires of the pairs need to be passed through the weaving when the coil completes one full circle.   Slip

one bead onto each of the remaining wire ends and bend them round to secure the beads, making the snail’s eyes.  Thread the loose ends of coloured yarn onto large darning needle.  Holding the coil firmly, stitch right through to the opposite side, poke the needle back in about one centimetre further round the circumference and stitch straight through again.  Do this a couple of times, then loop the yarn tightly round the weave

to fasten off and cut the ends.  Now you can either use a sticky pad to fix your snail to the bottom of an upturned flowerpot or wherever you fancy standing him, or use a smaller needle and thread to sew a brooch pin on to the back of your snail.

This book, 'Dye Plants' is 23 pages long, with plenty of pictures.  It is a beginners' introduction to choosing, sowing and growing garden dye plants, harvesting leaves and flowers and making dye baths, with an overview of autumn foraging, berries, roots and bark dyes.  If you aren't going to Wisley, email me at tribulation2013@gmail.com and for only £3, I'll send you the pdf.  Printed copies are £5 plus p+p at cost.

Cracking cover, isn't it?  Original art by my friend BG, who is going great guns at local exhibitions, gets commisions from abroad and - she's even worse than me at IT.

Peg Looming Raw Fleece Mats at Fernhill Farm

."Glastonbury looked a proper mudfest on TV.  I'm glad this cold stopped me going on Spinning Camp."  
My companion, Elinor Gotland, was in the garden, sipping lemon and honey. She looked distinctly peeved to see me arriving home clean, fresh and in riotous high spirits.

"Oh, we had a ball, our new marquee is marvellous, didn't matter if it rained.  Great Hen Party last night, there was Prosecco all round and Long Island Tea to follow."  I carried in my stuff from the car.  "Look what I made on our trip to Fernhill Farm.  There's a whole fleece woven into both mats.  Go on, try sitting on one, they really insulate your bum from the cold 

ground, be perfect to cushion the knees while gardening."
Elinor gingerly lowered her arse onto a mat and tweaked at a lock of the wool.
"This sheep could have done with a shampoo."
"Fernhill Farm has 2,000 sheep. Their shearing barn is a dream of comfort and convenience, but funnily enough, I didn't see a Beauty Parlour."
My companion sat looking 

through the holiday photos.  
"Ooo, I see what you mean, that barn is a cut above kneeling on a groundsheet wrapping fleeces in the middle of a field."
"It certainly is.  They can even do weddings and parties in there, the farm has lovely, ecofriendly accommodation with reed beds to treat the waste.  We might book an indoor camp there this winter."
Elinor bounced on my fleece mat.
"Fair play, this is comfy, Beaut. Bet it took you a while to do."

"Only an hour or so.  Jen has had her Dad make these massive peg looms with 10mm steel rods 5cm apart.  They have a hole to thread strings through to be the warp, which you knot at the length the mat is going to end up.  She showed us how to take a whole raw fleece and just draft it a bit as you go, putting in a little twist while weaving it in and out of the pegs. Once the weaving is packed up to the top, the pegs get pulled up and the wool slides down onto the string.  Doesn't take long at all with a big, thick fleece."

"Looks like you all had a good time without me."
"Brilliant."
Elinor gave me a dark look and blew her nose violently. 
"Didn't mean it like that. I couldn't believe we were working with such gorgeous wool.  Jen only picks out the very best fleeces to sell for proper spinning.  Should have seen us rootling through those bags, with half the fleeces unrolled on the floor and everyone eyeing up what the others had their hands on."


"Oo look, it's Barry in this photo. I like his mat more than yours. 
A man of such good taste. Grey is the most elegant colour."

I've put my mats in the suint vat and given them a rinse, just to get the worst off while leaving the lanolin waterproofing.  The Happy Campers UK will be in Somerset again for a long weekend of spinning, knitting, weaving and pretty much anything to do with wool, 9-11th September 2016.  

Do come and join us, there is a B&B in the farmhouse if you don't have a tent.  It's very informal, just a random group of adults doing whatever project they have in hand, with general skill sharing. Don't imagine you haven't any useful skills, you can always join me doing my best thing - washing up.

I'm pretty sure Elinor will be there doing her thing - drinking tea and supervising.

Madder Silk and Wool Work

If there is anyone reading who fancies a go at metalwork jewellery, contact Mike at Tangled Web.  My sister and I went on a day course last year and during the morning, we both learned to make a silver ring .  Mike is a relaxed expert, a thoughtful teacher and a thoroughly nice bloke.  After chatting about my spinning, he twisted up a bit of copper wire into a new orifice hook for me in less than a minute, then helped me spend my afternoon making a copper diz.

We went again this year and while BG and Pip created silver accessories, I spent the day sawing out a circle of copper sheet and hammering it into a gong, while Mike brazed cross struts and fixed driftwood onto a frame of copper piping I just happened to have brought along. He is a total star and the jewellery he makes has a wonderful flow, I've been a customer on and off for years.

Back home, I draped the frame with some silk chiffon contact dyed with geraniums and had a go a spinning silk fibres dyed in a madder root afterbath.  Just as well the effect didn't work out right, because neither did the yarn. Threading up the frame with some common or garden grey wool, handspun from a sheep of unknown breed, might be less of a statement, but in this instance, less proved to be more, as

the whole lot was solely intended as a backdrop to fibres dyed with fresh madder.  A batt of mixed shades got tweaked about and fixed on with a combination of needlefelting, weaving and sewing.  Dissatisfied with any of my other dyed silk fabrics to cover the bottom of the frame, it occurred to me to keep that part simple too, knitting some heavyweight, felted Zwartbles single yarn, using short rows to

shape the piece to fit the space.
After I had hung it on the wall and stood back to consider the effect, my companion, Elinor Gotland, wandered in, .
"Calling that art, are you, Beaut? "
"I'm calling it a Silk and Wool Work.  Knitwear and fairies are not my only fruit.  Actually, Elinor, I think I will call this one 'Rose'."

Elinor peered at it from a safe distance.  She still hasn't quite got over meeting Belle Dame 2.
"You've put a fairy in that fire.  Who's she - Vesta, goddess of the hearth?  Looks like she's burning down the house." 
"Well, that's good, I wasn't aiming for cosy domesticity.  More Ceres without her Proserpine."
Elinor went a step closer.
"Assuming this Rose is another of your 'Belles Dames sans Merci', where's her bell?"
"That round thing.  It's a gong.  And the midwinter spring sun.  The fire and the rose are one, if you catch my drift."
Elinor set her hooves on her hips.
"You need a nice lie down with a wet flannel, Beaut.  T S Eliot's rose is too heavy for a scrap of wool.  Still, All manner of thing shall indeed be well, soon as we've got the kettle on."

Trying to Spin Art Yarn

Clearing the garden borders at the end of last November, the weather had been so mild, there was still a bit of life in the coreopsis stems and even a few flowers.  As the days darkened, I fancied a last go at contact dye printing on a strip of coarse wool fabric.  See the paint brush on that table?  You may have noticed I've been coming over all artistic since I retired.  It is such a luxury to have time to arse about with bits and pieces.

Neglecting the routine garden jobs in favour of yet more self indulgence, I laid out the coreopsis and some oak leaves, then dobbed on some fermented evernia prunastri, splotches of copper solution, a couple of rusty nails and some Hopi sunflower seeds, rolled the whole thing round a length of plastic drainpipe, tied it up with string and put it to simmer in a dye bath of all the last odds and sods still surviving in the

dye garden.  The pipe was a bit tall for the pot, but what the hell, I left the whole thing to cool, turned the bundle upside down and simmered it again.  By the time the rolled wool had had a week or so to dry out, Christmas was upon me and I had to stop being silly and spoiled and get back to family friendly function.  Got a head of steam up which carried me through a January spent reorganising cupboards and cataloging the incremental growth of my fibre stash, efforts frequently punctuated by escapes to the dunes to walk the dog.  The marram grass had been stretched flat by the onshore winter winds, even the stiffer stalks of dried out flowering plants were permanently stuck on a wonk.

Laying out the contact printed wool fabric, ready for wind inspired needlefelting, all that organising of stash meant I could readily pull out a palette of handspun yarn in natural sheep colours and plant dyes.  What is more, since form here trumped function, it turned out crappy, underplied, lumpy old handspinning would

needlefelt to better effect than my more recent, evenly twisted products. 
"You see, Elinor," I mused during one of our walks, "I was spinning art yarn all along, destiny never intended my wool to become socks."
"Bullshit, Beaut. Proper art yarn is a riot of colour and texture and art is intentional, not  

some random shoddy spinning and dingey plant dyed cock ups."
"Ah, but the old yarn was just for the top half of what I'm making. The whole thing is more about roots, Ygddrasill and Norns.  The important bit will be spinning the earth.  I am going to learn core spinning and make real art yarn."
"Beaut, my inner Norn foretells this yarn will end up a right bouquet of barbed wire."

People on youtube make their skills look everso simple. Much encouraged by this video, I selected locks for colour and texture. No problem for a woman with a card index of her fleece cupboards to find Black Welsh Mountain, unknown Down-type grey fleece, Manx Loaghtan and some Welsh crossbreed.  Using a cone of carpet wool for the core, I had a go at spinning 'funky and cool' yarn from the locks.

It wasn't quite as easy as it looked.   The locks were strangulated by the carpet wool rather than wrapped around it and once threaded through the holes I had drilled in the homemade picture frame, the yarn was much too skinny and far too white to represent earth.
Back to the computer for another youtube search.  More typically, core spinning technique starts with fibre in the form of a batt. The teeth of the Louet Junior Drum Carder disgorged for me a rough batt of the same fleeces with less white and a greater proportion of Black Welsh Mountain. Drafted out, I managed to wrap the carded wool round a thinner core yarn by spinning slowly on the 5:1 ratio on my  Ashford Traveller Wheel.  It was a considerable struggle to pedal BG's Indian Spinner to Navajo three ply the core spun single.  Despite its huge orifice, loose bits of wool kept getting stuck on the flyer hooks and this wheel is really heavy to restart.  My companion pottered into the sitting room, drawn by my grunts of dismay and shrieks of frustration.

"Sounds more like ladies' tennis than spinning in here, Beaut."
"I'm getting the knack, actually, Elinor, but I just realised all the Black Welsh Mountain has made this wool too dark for my picture, since I screwed on that light driftwood."

"Gotta suffer for your art yarn. Get that grey fleece back out and go and mix another batt."

I spun art yarn of a sort, glad I only needed a short length.  Now, the unveiling of my finished object.

"Not being funny, Beaut, but that Norn looks much like another one of your fairies to me. Knitting is she? Always thought Norns and Fates were more into weaving."
"This Norn is a small business Norn, not one of the brand leaders. Like Fafnir the dragon said, 
'Of many births the Norns must be, Nor one in race they were; Some to gods, others to elves are kin'."

"Well, your art yarn spun up sturdy, I'll give it that. What's all this gubbins doing on the Norn's knitting?"
"Don't climb on my art, you Philistine. That 'gubbins' represents small but vital things that get lost.  Coins and keys and rings."
"They're very grubby.  This thimble is all broken."
"Mmmm.  Good, isn't it?  I bought them off a metal detectorist."
"You want your head read, Beaut. So, were these lost things found or stolen by your elf-type Norn?  Will their owners ever get them back?"
"Hard to tell if she's benevolent or malevolent.    Go on, I dare you to ask her."

Turns out even a seasoned ewe of the demi-monde can still look shocked. Afterwards, Elinor tried to explain.
"Doesn't sound so awful when you hear it from me, just the way she said it, totally cool, not dropping a stitch.  'Frankly my dear, I couldn't give a damn.'"

Feeling bad about the dare, I poured a good slug of sloe gin into Elinor's teacup.  Really, I suppose I should have pointed out the sign showing the knitting Norn was another kind of Belle Dame sans Merci. 

I think I shall call this work 'Gone'.

Dyeing Wool with Dried Double Maroon Hollyhocks

The colours that come out of a sequence of afterbaths when dyeing with fresh double maroon hollyhock flowers remind me of the sea.  Previously, trying to preserve spare flowers by freezing them seemed to kill off the blues, leaving only greens and greys.  After dyeing the skeins in this photo with fresh flowers, while my plants carried on blossoming last summer, I laid the spent petals on a tea towel to let them

dessicate before being put in a paper bag.  In January, with a design in mind to weave a wave, I put my last couple of hundred grams of scoured Speckled Face Beulah fleece in the bath to mordant with alum for 24 hours, while my stock of 50 shrivelled hollyhocks soaked in plain water. Next day, the fluid had turned deep maroon, much like the original colour of the flowers.

The flowers had half an hour at a very gentle simmer, as boiling destroys the blue pigments, just like freezing.  For such fragile molecules, once you have them fixed onto wool, I have found the colours surprisingly light and wash fast. Sieving petals out and slopping them into a net bag to stay in the dye bath, I added about 50g of wet, alum mordanted fleece for an hour's simmer and an overnight soak.  The wool turned a familiar blue, though not as deep a colour as fresh flowers have offered.

Repeating the process with four more portions of 50g fleece showed that drying the double maroon hollyhocks had preserved a muted version of their original colourway, better than frozen ones did.  Combing condensed the shades - this is flash photography, not quite true to the real appearance, but you can see how the blue tones change, rather than just getting paler.  

Spun worsted and Navajo plied, hopefully, you can just about see colour changes in each strand of yarn on the niddy noddy.  Making mixtures of fleece shades on the hand carders and spinning rolags into chunky two ply gave the adjacent, irregular, puffier yarn a more uniform colour .  I have been building another driftwood triloom.  Since reading a comment made about the last one, ideas have been washing around my mind about harps and harpies, wondering, did those lethal sirens sing intending to lure ships onto the rocks or was their song an end in itself? Winding my yarns around the pegs, the colour changes were too subtle to give the sea weave any unwanted tartan effect and the heavier, loftier yarn seemed a better base to needlefelt into.  So, the final yarn 

construction went three rolags of each shade in turn, spun longdraw and Navajo plied.  

To add emphasis where the sea weave wrapped round the nails on the plank symbolising shipwreck, I dissolved soda ash to make an alkaline solution and painted it onto the wool.  Bit of a potch to get the dry fibres to soak it up from the brush, still, the resulting green colour shift exploited this dye's pH sensitivity.

My harpist or harpy was constructed same way as the small fairies, except using a whole batt of drumcarded fleece for a long full skirt.  A florists's wire running down from the head meant it could be held in a Fibonacci curve; carded, Down-type Beulah fleece did needlefelt onto the woven yarn with all the volume and texture that merino tops lack, yet my efforts dyeing blues from maroon hollyhocks lacked the weight of the sea I had imagined.  Standing back to see the final effect, I had to acknowledge these soft colours from dried flowers do lack the definition I had from dyeing with fresh material.

"Perhaps the pale green you chose to decorate this sitting room has sapped their strength. Didn't like to say at the time, but this green never was a cheery choice."
Sod it.  I got out the roller and painted the back wall white.  It took three coats.  
Once I had hung the loom up again, my companion, Elinor Gotland, eyed it critically.

"Fair play, the room is less gloomy, bit of a shame your harpist still looks like a triangle of mist."
I scraped flakes of white emulsion off my nails.
"Mist might be dangerous enough at sea, but nebulous risk is not my idea of what harpies are about.  How can I give her the inexorable power of a big breaker?"

Asking a Gotland sheep for advice got me a predictable answer. Grey Gotland locks dyed with woad did add lustre, body and depth of blue.  Hooray for a considerable stash of past experimentally dyed fleece and even more hooray that I have got organised enough to find stuff.  
"Loving the fish, Beaut."  
I knew my companion would appreciate a little drama.

"Now she's a 'Belle Dame sans Merci', isn't she, Elinor?"
"Aye, doing her own thing without consideration for others.  Don't you go getting ideas, Beaut, that's no way for a middle aged woman to live."
"Ha, you're just worried you might have to start making your own cups of tea.  This could be the end of your days as Belle de Laine Sans Souci."