Native Tongue

I just completed a four month course on Natural Dyes from Maiwa School of Textiles.

I sing high praise for this amazing on-line class - with concise easy to follow directions and videos, easily accessible support, well written PDFs and community with other students.

I am grateful the Maine Arts Commission who supported my pursuit to learn a new palette with a Project Grant for Artists. As an experienced artist, it is daunting to take the risk to forge a whole new direction - and this foray into natural dyes is just that. Although as a young weaver/artist in the 1970s I did natural dyeing, it was a half hearted attempt with out the technical support and knowledge that is available now.

In a recent interview with Warp And Weft Magazine I explain my love for color, nature and woven threads.

https://www.warpandweftmag.com/field-notes/sarah-haskell

“Weaving answered questions that were elusive with painting, sculpture and printmaking. As a medium that is built with three dimensional lines (threads), weaving offered me a method to build texture, pattern and most importantly to manipulate color. Because weaving is constructed of many threads that intersect and over lay each other, I found that I could create a surface of pixelated colors that mimicked the multidimensional color I saw in nature. The natural world around me has been my inspiration, my teacher and my solace for as long as I can remember.  With the language of threads and the structure of weaving I felt like I was finally able to bring what I felt and saw in nature into my art.”

The entire palette of over 80 dye samples.

My dye journal with notes and samples.

This palette feels like a home coming to the colors of nature that inspired my first forays into weaving - a return to my native tongue.

So now it’s time to begin a narrative with this palette… time to make art.

Seeds

Last fall I received a Fellowship from the Maine Arts Commission . Over the past winter I used these funds to build a dye so that I could expand my dye skills and create new methods of using color in my work. Color inspired by the natural world is central to my work — and now I have the equipment and space to dye my handwoven cloth or threads with botanical dyes. And this summer I received a Professional Development grant from the Maine Arts Commission to learn more about natural dyes.

So here I am …. deep into the learning curve. Starting with planting dye plants this spring, to harvesting the flowers and dyeing - I’ve been experimenting and playing in the dye lab like a mad scientist. I’ve taken two on-line workshops learning a variety of techniques for indigo vats, shifting colors with iron and methods for mordanting to assure long lasting colors. And this month I’ll take another on-line workshop to learn about making paint from dried indigo leaves.

Drying the harvested marigolds.

Drying the harvested marigolds.

All this activity is building a foundation for new work. Like the seeds I planted last spring for dye plants, the seeds I’ve planted in the dye lab are just starting to blossom into projects and ideas.

My very first effort in the dye lab has been a baby blanket for my first grandchild due in mid-October. The warp was dyed in an exhaust bath of marigold and weld then quickly immersed in the big indigo vat. The color came out a gorgeous light sea green. The weft was dyed in the same exhaust bath (only more exhausted!). I used an 8H undulating twill for the structure.

Cotton baby blanket in 8 H twill.

Cotton baby blanket in 8 H twill.

And next up — some art! I’m so eager to see what I can make of this new palette and new methods for using color to tell the stories that tug at my heart.

One year since

For most of the past year I felt disoriented, lost, in a fog, in murky waters. Time was fluid - days, hours, weeks all seemed to have the same weight, density and duration. I took up cooking and gardening like I was responsible for feeding a small village. I cleaned and organized long overdue places at home like closets and the basement. I wove simple linen cloths for drying dishes and rag rugs from discarded clothing. I found solace in simplicity and in the ordinary. These actions and chores gave me a sense of purpose and I felt like I was contributing to a greater good.

And I went outside. I walked miles.  Going out into the woods or along the shore line, gazing up at the birds and watching the clouds move overhead gave me grounding. Watching a hawk raise her brood in a tree above my studio gave me hope.  There was no pandemic in the woods or in the ocean. There were no politics on the moon or heavens above. The wind and sun know nothing of racial or religious divide. Being close to Nature was not only an escape but medicine. 

And yet I want to stay informed and be engaged with the world. So I watched the news.  Politics, the election, covid statistics, the racial divide, climate change and civil unrest made me anxious. The immensity of these issues colliding together felt like the building pressure of an imminent volcanic eruption.  This unease created a compression in my body and my spirit…like a tourniquet was tightening around my chest.  

I felt stuck between wanting to stay informed and longing for relief from this physical constriction. I couldn’t gain perspective. I yearned to tether myself to the hawk’s feet, to fly above all this earthly chaos, to gain some insight. I ached to be free of this narrowing feeling.

Making art has always been my pathway to process these larger than life issues. I kept thinking – what can I make of this?  But this past year felt so much larger than anything I have ever experienced. I just couldn’t focus or create a meaningful community art project, something that might help me and others find a way out of these dark and constricting times. 

So I just kept making the art that appeared to me in dreams, on long walks or winter x-skiing.

I wove long horizontal blues to mimic the ocean horizon. I wove a sunrise inspired by a Rumi poem about unconditional love. I wove trees with moonscapes and trees with bodies buried deep below, tangled among the roots. I wove a body floating in a sea of blue and one in a field of dark orange. I embroidered many flocks of birds and a galaxy of stars. 

And now…one year since we stepped into this drama-filled time ….. I am untangling the past year of living and art making. I am beginning to understand what has been calling to be me.

In seeking relief from this this narrow, constricted perspective, I long for a wider perception and expansive view. Not just a wider vision in the physical realm  – but a viewpoint that illustrates a different way of looking at our world. A bigger picture or a wider view that might lift us from the minutia and constrictions of politics, the pandemic and socio/economic divisions. 

Nature reigns in this expansive place. The ever-present song birds, the trees that reach to the firmament, the sprawling sky, the deep earth, the endless ocean, the many galaxies of stars and the wisdom of the human body reside in this spacious realm.  

I show up in this place of unlimited dreams and unconditional love.

I look, listen and make art. 

 

Work in process May 2021. Hand woven, indigo dyed, linen and rayon.

Work in process May 2021. Hand woven, indigo dyed, linen and rayon.

Field Notes

FIELD NOTES

observations and reflections on the explorations and experiments of the past two months

The basement dye lab.

The basement dye lab.

Crushing eggs shell to raise the PH in a dye bath.

Crushing eggs shell to raise the PH in a dye bath.

In the Gardens: seedlings sprouting in the greenhouse and studio flats.

IMG_9995.jpg

Warm and bright in here for the lettuce sprouts.

Shuttles at rest.

Shuttles at rest.

In the Dye Lab:

Years ago I used natural dyes - I even taught classes at UNH on these processes. But I let my skills fade and for decades focused on fiber active dyes for their consistency and light fasteness. Now I am eager to rekindle my skills of these living, organic dyes. The science and information around natural dyes has exploded - and even the nomenclature has changed — they are now called eco-dyes!!

This winter I built a dye lab in my basement - I am so fortunate now to have a dedicated space for these processes. I’ve outfitted this space with second hand pots, pans and other equipment for dyeing yarns and fabric.

And so it is one experiment after another ~ kitchen waste (tea, avocado pits, onion skins), including my attempts at an organic indigo vat - with the dehydrated indigo from Bali

Dehydrated indigo from Bali.

Dehydrated indigo from Bali.

Linens dyed with onion skins and first attempts using natural indigo.

Linens dyed with onion skins and first attempts using natural indigo.

Woven brocade piece fresh off the loom. Next steps include rusting, and over dye with indigo.

Woven brocade piece fresh off the loom. Next steps include rusting, and over dye with indigo.

In the Studio:

Playing with engineered woven design that will later be over-dyed (once I master the organic indigo bath!)

Mixed media collage in process.

Mixed media collage in process.

And on the collage table, always a work in process.

Milestones and horizons

Our transition from Pollywogs to Shellbacks - at the Equator.

Our transition from Pollywogs to Shellbacks - at the Equator.

Dye Lab in process of getting set up. Indigo vat ready to grow, awesome double sink, inversion burner on wheels, shelves, rust table and big work table covered with yoga mats.

Dye Lab in process of getting set up. Indigo vat ready to grow, awesome double sink, inversion burner on wheels, shelves, rust table and big work table covered with yoga mats.

The wide “Blue Horizon” detail. Indigo warp. Monofilament weft.

The wide “Blue Horizon” detail. Indigo warp. Monofilament weft.

“The Blue Horizon”

“The Blue Horizon”

This month I honor a couple milestones and I’m expanding my horizons.

Ten years ago this month I sailed across the Atlantic from Cape Town South Africa to Barbados in a 43’ boat with three other people. On March 1st, we crossed the Equator. In maritime lore, there are traditions and rituals that mark the first time a sailor crosses this watery line. Usually Neptune appears, along with some rum and a few lashes. The ceremony observes a mariner's transformation from slimy Pollywog, a seaman who hasn't crossed the equator, to trusty Shellback, also called a Son or Daughter of Neptune. This ocean passage was pivotal in my self confidence as a sailor, my art work, and a few life lessons. Some day you can ask me about that.

Another milestone - I have completed setting up a new dye lab in my basement! This is the first time since art school days that I have a dedicated, safe, year-round space to dye, rust and paint my handwoven cloth. I’ve got a massive sink, an inversion burner, shelves, buckets, table space and amazing lights. I’m just getting into projects there — so stay tuned for more stories and images.

As a sailor and a swimmer, I often have my eyes on the horizon. This elusive thin line that separates earth from infinity is a source of serenity for many. With a longing to hold this line in my sight as often as possible, I recently wove a 15” tall, 9 feet long strip of indigo blues.

Gazing at this wide blue horizon frees my mind from the particulars of modern life. I hope you find some of the same.

Wishing you wide horizons and good health, Sarah