Re-Cycle

Spring Returns

Here's our first spring flowers! So the cycle starts over. I guess you could say this every day--every morning a fresh start; every evening a return to sleep. But sometimes it takes something remarkable to make you conscious of the passage of time and the recycling of events. The almost 80 degree temperature the last few days was certainly a jolt--but for me it was the jauntiness of these crocuses that really said, once again it is spring.

Weaving cycle: winding warp, tying knots

Weaving is all about cycles, repetition and movement. I am all over the house right now working on the next weaving. Winding the warp on the ground floor meant bringing skein winder, spool holder, bobbin winder, yarn, scissors, and tying thread downstairs so skeins of yarn could be converted to a new 4 yard warp. I am aware that my process is very inefficient--tying 880 ends, new to old, for just four yards is going to really get to me after a few warps--but I don't want to have the same ground on these weavings, and I don't want to paint my warps. I was talking to a friend about this, how a process that was once almost my signature has no draw for me now. I did consider it, it would enable me to wind a long warp and make each section different--but then I would be locked into the colors that I dyed now--and really, I want each piece to inform the next one. So I have opted for "slow" work--each warp short and distinct. The current one is stripes of white yarn--a silk and ramie mix, a silk and linen mix, and several variations of 100% silk. All 880 knots are now tied.

I took the knot tying as an opportunity to have a Bob Dylan festival--all Dylan all day for two days--one of my favorite events that has cycled through my life ever since I first became a fan. At one point I was sure I would meet him--it was inevitable. One of the first weavings I did was a guitar strap woven on a belt loom that an acquaintance of mine, who knew Dylan, supposedly gave him from me. That was back in 1969. I guess I hoped I would see it on his guitar at one of the concerts, or, even better, on one of his album covers. It was inevitable, right. Listening to him sing brings on such a weird combination of nostalgia and the present moment. How many classes did I cut when Blond on Blond was first released? I had never heard a sound like that album before--I just couldn't get enough of it. As soon as it reached the end, I would just get up to start it over, then lie down on the floor again, completely mesmerized. As often as I have listened to his music, I can still hear a new phrase, or get a jolt from a familiar one. So I will never get to say thank you in person, but these days I realize I don't need to meet him. I think the gratitude in my heart is enough.

Detail showing front and back of March weaving

One of the things I like about lampas is that the front and back of the cloth can be so different. Here is a detail of both sides from the March weaving that I posted last time. I used four wefts--and on the front you see distinct areas of color (plus you are seeing warp strips too) but on the back the wefts combine to give a completely different coloring. Sometimes I have combined both surfaces in one weaving, but not in this one; nor in the small weaving I squeezed out of the final bit of warp. I guess you could call this the cliff notes version of my March weaving, or Mini March. There are differences, the gold lattice is not outlined in black, the warp stripes run vertically here where they are horizontal in the large weaving. They are clearly related though: cycle and recycle.

Cliff notes version of March weaving

Both Mark and I have been busy in our studios these last few weeks. It's not like we aren't always doing something, we are, but some periods are just more productive than others. Again, a cycle. When we first met, as students at the University of Kansas, we would work late into the night, into the morning really. Around 2 or 3 a.m. one of us would go find the other (I was on the 5th floor, he was in the basement) and we would head home. Thirty years later we are still spending our finest hours alone in our studios--but this work, these hours, it is what makes our time together potent and interesting. Living with an artist means I have a partner who understands and honors the fact that making my work demands private time, lots of private time--just as I honor his work space and needs too. It is nice though, that I can tell him in person, periodically, how lucky I am to share my life with him. Personal cycles.

Drawing by Mark Goodwin

Gratitude, Health Insurance

Horse & Cart Thank You Weaving

detail of Horse & Cart Thank You weaving

While the debate rages about health care in this country, I thought I would weigh in with my own experiences and a statement about gratitude. At various times in my life, often to the horror of some people, I have lived without health insurance. In general I have good health, but I have had my share of exotic illnesses, including malaria. Without insurance, my doctor in Brooklyn could not admit me to her hospital--even though she was sure I was having an ectopic pregnancy. She sent me to Bellevue, a public hospital that would accept patients without insurance. It took almost 20 hours to be admitted, but once admitted, they immediately performed surgery and saved my life. For that I am grateful. More recently we have had insurance, usually through private plans, whose costs vary greatly from state to state. The same provider, offering the same services, charged one-quarter the amount in New Mexico than it charges in Vermont. I should have asked for the name of the person working for them who told me, when I inquired about the Vermont plan, "You don't want it. It is too expensive." So we didn't have insurance until we heard about Catamount Health, Vermont's plan to provide health insurance at reasonable cost. A wonderful woman at Guifford Hospital helped us with the paperwork, and once again, insured, we feel more secure, even though we hope we will rarely need to use it. For this I am grateful. I wove the weaving above as a statement of my gratitude--thank you in several languages.

I just can't understand why this country is so unwilling to help its own people, especially since this unwillingness generates higher costs than if everyone was covered. I do hope a national health care plan passes and everyone can see a physician when they need help. Or buy the medicines they need. If my malaria had showed up in China or India, I could have gone to the local pharmacy and gotten a few pills and been fine. But it didn't manifest until I was back in the USA. Not only did I have to suggest to the doctor that it might be malaria, but it cost over a $1000 for one night in the hospital so they could observe me taking those pills. I paid that bill off over years, each month remembering the doctor who told me malaria was his specialty but he had never seen it in life before. Without insurance I had to stop taking a monthly bone density pill, because buying it as an individual would have cost more than $100 a month. What will it take for the people who are fortunate to have compassion for the less fortunate?

I have never understood the inequity of pay in different professions. Most of my friends are artists--educated, serious, professional, and hard working. Obviously I believe in the importance of creative work, that the benefits of such a life out-weigh the fact that such activity is often not paid work. In New Mexico I was able to trade weaving for dental work. That was a rare, and wonderful experience. I know that what I do is valuable, yet that value just doesn't seem to translate to money. Should I stop doing it then? I know that many artists ask themselves this question--and many do stop. I am going to write more about this, but for now I just want to say that I am grateful to live in a state that helps its population have quality health care for all.