I made my first little animal out of felt today. I came into the studio, which is a little house, where for days I have been just threading warp boards (winding threads with colors like "autumn blonde" and "lilac snow" back and forth between wooden knobs, yards and yards, 8 yards, 204 threads etc.) but today all the warp boards were occupied, so I took a broom and I swept up miscellaneous fuzz. And when I was done, and everyone was quiet, I pulled some of the cheap wool out of the bag. Laid it on top of the foam. Shaped it into a blue bird and stabbed it repeatedly with a sharp needle, flipped it, stabbed it again, until it was worthy to be called felt. It has an eye and a beak and two legs, one wing. All day, I have been coming up with other animals to make. Black bears and pigs and owls, oh my! I am telling everyone!
Eventually I will move on to something less adorable and more essential. Next month, rag rugs, then scarves and then napkins or something. Maybe one day clothes, but let's not get ahead of myself. I would like to do something essential. Yesterday I felt sick and when I couldn't warp anymore and still had five minutes left on my shift, I sat down and read one of the books we have lying around. It was called "Women's Work," and talked about how many of women's contributions to civilizations around the woooorld have disappeared because fiber does not last underground or through fire and floods like other things do. It showed ancient Hungarian, Egyptian, and Greek art depicting women weaving. Women picking saffron to use as dye. Stuff like that. I'm kind of really into it. And it's such a time consuming process, it's funny to think how much everyone everywhere used to depend on people taking the time to go through the process, and now we have these factories. The craft is only preserved, not depended on. Maybe if I get really good, well, I don't know. I don't have to be a part of that old chain tonight. I am happy to think about felting some piggies. Very happy.
Last musings of the night:
Autumn blonde sounds like someone whose summertime, sun-bleached highlights are faded but discernible.
Lilac snow sounds like the name of a dessert fancy ladies eat at brunch, low in calories and high in price.
I sound like the thoughts of one of the frivolous, wandering city people in a Virginia Woolf book (right now) but not as finely wrought. Goodnight!
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