I have no memory of looking at a tapestry or a picture of a tapestry and thinking ‘I could do that’. Maybe Sara Lamb’s book Woven Treasures planted a seed. In 2015 I remember asking A to cut the centre out of a small piece of plywood to make a tiny (insanely tiny, really) portable loom, which I warped with scrap tatting cotton to needleweave a tiny 1″ square using scrap lengths of handspun silk on a flight somewhere. I don’t have a picture of it, but I remember finding throwing away that fragment and host of other small memories when packing to return to the UK.

In Canada in 2019 I was fortunate enough to be invited to join a group of tapestry weavers and fibre artists who met every Wednesday. The further I am from that time and place, the more clearly I see how much I learned about the sheer hard work of creating and the value of collaborative learning. I listened and learned as Linda Wallace and others drew cartoons, took photos, wove, unwove, offered up, blended, exchanged ideas and yarn, laughed, stopped for thought and coffee, and drew me in.
Those Wednesdays were wonder-full.
I miss those friends, their curiosity and drive to create, more than I can say.

In 2020 I put my sashiko to one side, bought a small Mirrix loom, found an image in my head and began.
This is the only image that shows most of the cartoon (the drawing held behind the warp). It also show something of the scrap handspun yarn I used.

I look at these photos and remember the sheer frustration, every day. The cartoon was IN THE WAY when I manipulated the warp and every time the paper moves even a couple of millimetres I have to notice and move it back or the weaving will be the wrong shape. I tried drawing on the warps: the felt pen bled and blurred. I tried paired magnets to hold the cartoon (instead of tape, then stitching): if they were tight enough not to slip freely I couldn’t get them apart.
Working with crochet cotton and handspun I had no established guidelines for the number of weft yarns in the bundle for the sett and size of warp yarn. I was winging it with no experience, but I had the greatest good luck in the world: I could ask someone for advice. Sometimes it was as simple as ‘keep going’.

I learned that I had to trick the eye into seeing curves. I *hated* the steps created by the structure but found they were masked by the magic of the final image if it worked.
I learned that the weft I placed and beat into place will be further compressed by the beating of weft above it. If I wove exactly the shape I wanted it was squashed, stretched sideways by the additional compression by the time I’d woven another couple of centimetres. Slippery crochet cotton allows the weft to slide down even more than traditional seine twine. I lost track of the times I ripped back and rewove the head of the hare.
I ran out of colours but as I had no plan for colours that was easily dealt with.

This is the only photo I have of the finished piece. The compression is annoying. The nose is still too short. The tail is still too flat. But when I look at the photo I still feel the sense of disbelief that I, *I* could make something that good. I still love it and, while I miss it, I was honoured to swap it for Linda Wallace’s postcard garden.

In 2021 I began to acknowledge the reality, that Canada was no longer where I wanted to be. Images strike more strongly than words.

My head was full of Scotland.

Now my head is full of light on moving water, leaves drifting in peat-brown water.

The next one will have a post of its own sometime in the next week or so. I could show you the new empty warp on the big Mirrix but where’s the fun in that? Wait until I find the courage to start something.

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ETA: solved. One of Safari’s content blocker settings stopped the form working. WordPress won’t let me add categories or tags at the moment so I can’t create a new ‘Tapestry’ category or tag. I’ve restarted, even tried a different keyboard, but no. Technology hates me.