The Weaver’s Bench

When I was a child I would answer the question “What do you want to be when you grow up?” by declaring that I dreamed of being an artist. I wasn’t planning on being a policeman or a fireman or doctor; I wanted to grow up to be an artist. I had heard none of my contemporaries say that, so it made me a little nervous to proclaim, but it also set me apart.

As I grew, I also kept that dream of creativity. However, the goal kept running into the twin obstacles of a lack of talent and unwillingness to practice. Music and drawing both were disappointments, as my fingers couldn’t manage what my mind intended. I thought of being a chef, an artist with food, but that would have been a disaster due to my weakness at organization -- the main dish would have been ready before the vegetables were even started.

Instead of art, I have found a craft. It is weaving. Twenty-eight years ago Nancy found a weaver willing to give me a crash course, so for Christmas of that year her present sent me into temporary apprenticeship to Marietta Crider of Mauzy for a few hours each week. I learned some of the techniques of matching warp and weft, of maintaining a good selvedge, of threading the loom and tying knots. At some point of imagined wealth in those early years of our marriage I purchased a large floor loom and ever since, when I’ve been able to steal an hour away from all the duties of adulthood, I’ve sat at the loom and created.

I enjoy working with textiles, various materials from around the world. The last creation I did included soy thread and bamboo in the warp and wool from the Shetland Islands and Tunisia in the weft. The two completed pieces were a table runner for my cousin Nora who has sheltered Nancy during the start of her work experience in Washington, D.C. and a scarf for Cami, a friend from Romania who began married life last week. It took nearly six months to finish these two pieces, working a stolen hour at a time, and that’s not counting the chore of warping the loom.

Occasionally, I will donate a piece to a charity auction, but I don’t sell my output anymore. The pleasure for me is in the creation and the challenge of matching pattern to finished product – turning what is in the mind’s eye into a piece that can be worn, or displayed. Like my attempts at drawing and painting, what is in the mind’s eye and the finished product are often very different, but in this craft, what turns out is usually quite serviceable. Those few that aren’t sit in the extra bedroom here at the house.