When I moved to Greenpoint, Brooklyn in 1999, it was pretty much the last place the city would plow- particularly Franklin Street, just one block from the river. Those of us, the recent immigrants from Poland and the Dominican Republic, and I would make our way to the grocery store and the G-train (in the hopes it was running) in the snow storm. The snow would be half melted before the city would come and plow for us, by that time, the snow was transformed into brown slush and would then be pushed re-covering the cars and make a new mountain at the cross walk we had to re-navigate. But yesterday, my first snowfall in Lefferts Garden, I felt like I had finally arrived. I woke at 4 am to the sound of snow plows cleaning up the pithy snow storm mother nature gave us. What!!!??? On my day off I have to awake at 4 am!!?- and yet, What?! I live somewhere the city cares to plow? I think the later is the more interesting question. The ironies of living farther out in Brooklyn than I ever could have imagined, yet on a busy street. I did fall asleep again, and woke later to photograph, and instragram this:
Yup, the view out of my window, Brooklyn, New York. How did I get so lucky?
There was no biking to weaving class today, so I pulled on my new boots and applied lots of layers of big clothes and I headed out on foot for Weaving Hand.
On the way I pondered snowflakes. Hexagons of nature...the above picture I found years ago on Wikipedia.
I stopped and looked at the snowflakes. I thought it ironic and beautiful that the hexagon pattern from the sidewalk peeked out from below the piles of snow; millions of tiny, individual and unique snowflakes in the shape of hexagons- that covered the sidewalk at the north end of Prospect Park, as I was on my way to uncover my 'Hopeful Hexagon' from last week.
Needless to say, I was a little late to class, everyone already enjoying tea and hardboiled eggs made by Cynthia.
It seemed everyone knew what to do, except me. I started simply by taking off my yellow tape binding and immediately started to look like an indigenous indigo dyer with blue fingertips and filty nails. I have to admit the process of unwrapping was a little anti-climatic. My ties were not that strong and a lot of dye wiggled its way underneath. I had to let this go, and, honestly is it so bad to have a bunch of died yarn in indigo? Absolutely not.
Mia was sans vintage glasses this week, but equally funky and such a fun element to our class. Here she is after her tape has come off and is about to start setting up the loom.
Mia clearly knew what she was doing and set up this beautiful warp. I can't wait to see what she weaves with next week.
I, on the other hand, started with this lump of yarns...in search of my hopeful hexagon that I tried so hard to bind off last week.
Rachel was there for me. I'm so thankful for the small class where I've had a lot of individual attention to make sense of all of this.
I was after a few tries able to make sense of this. The talk in the room was that this part in the process isn't fun for anyone. Even Susan talked about how she keeps thinking of ways to present this work to her grandson as a fun and exciting way to help Grandma.
I had not such a fun time with this warping the loom business. MANY times I threaded and re-threaded to make sure it was all straight, and did not have such focus that I had last week. It was truly a mind-warping experience. Bad weaving joke, I know.
Five hours later I had this; I have warped a loom! Above you can see my hopeful hexagon, or not really. In a way it is a bit the negative of the sidewalk I saw on my way to class, I am looking for one specific hexagon to come out of the dark indigo instead of the many that were present in the white of the snow. Regardless it is in its own way very beautiful, unique, and not like any of the other Ikat dyes in the world. My own snowflake. Next week all of this labor will start to take shape into a woven article.