Wednesday, 25 February 2015
I think I've mentioned before that I've been weaving on and off for much of my adult life; admittedly more off than on while the children were small but in the last year or two it's become a more regular pursuit and one that I am now feeling confident enough to start selling baskets. I have a regular stall at a local farmers' market; there's only been one occasion when I haven't quite covered my costs with selling the stock from my stall, but the commissions are coming at a regular pace now and that's a lovely feeling.
I'm continually trying to learn new techniques, and ways of making my baskets a little bit individual so when the opportunity recently arose to design and submit a piece for the Basketmakers Association spring exhibition I decided to give it a go.
I was cutting it fine for time so chose to make my favourite basket shape - a gently curving round that reminds me of treasured garden pots; and then I added a feature that I learned last year, a plait. Plaited borders are reasonably straightforward but trying to work out how to get the pieces in place to plait on the sides gave me a few head scratching moments. With only a very little time to spare I put on a handle, took some photos and sent them off.
Well, the basket was judged by some of the best basketmakers in the country and sadly, it didn't come up to scratch for the exhibition - apparently they had a few traditional baskets and so those that were accepted had to be absolutely perfect. I'd be the first to admit mine has flaws.
But, after a couple of days of wanting to just pack it in and throw all the willow away I decided not to be daft, but to practice some more and try again. The original basket is on Etsy if you'd like to have a look.
I can't imagine not weaving now. It's become a huge part of who I am.
Tuesday, 18 November 2014
My house is frequently a mess. There are boxes and boxes of wool and fabric stashed away (and frequently not stashed away), endless books of maths and Latin and violin and piano music, willow and rush offcuts on the kitchen floor, clean laundry piled on the beds waiting to be put away, a dishwasher full of clean dishes needing to be emptied and dirty ones stacked ready to replace them ... you get the picture.
But sometimes, just sometimes, my inability to throw anything away proves very useful. Today, for example, I am having lunch with a work friend but have no time to shop this morning and anyway, my knee makes shopping trips a trial rather than a pleasure at the moment. But ... last year I made a lot of jewellery for craft fairs, and I have some earrings and necklaces left along with the organza bags and pillow boxes and cord I used to package them. And look! There's a birthday card bought on the offchance of needing it one day. Sorted.
Also, last week the children's craft group at the local church wanted to make lighthouses, but the battery operated tealights they had ordered didn't arrive in time. Guess who just happened to have 30 stashed away ready for a project next year?
And I'm finally getting round to making little penguins from a pattern I bought two Christmases ago. It calls for felt, stuffing, tiny black brads for eyes and empty mint tins. No problem.
I realise that having large bags of battery tealights is probably not normal behaviour. I'm hoping I can keep my tendencies in check sufficiently to avoid being featured on a Channel 4 special but it's touch and go ...
Please reassure me that I'm not alone - or am I?
Sunday, 16 November 2014
A couple of weeks ago I hurt my knee in a ridiculous racing up the stairs and swerving suddenly incident. I'm having physio and doing my exercises, but the predicted recovery time is ... depressingly long. Perfect for sitting and weaving and knitting, hopeless for walking and stomping through leaves.
Anyway, this weekend it's been pretty sore and the weather hasn't helped my mood - it has been particularly grey and November-ish and yesterday I found myself craving biscuits. Not just any old biscuits - comforting, spicy, warm, knee healing biscuits. Magical biscuits.
|The K beater from my beloved ancient Kenwood mixer. It belonged to my mother in law, and |
is the same model my mum had when I was little.
And as it turned out, non-existent biscuits - the cupboard was empty, and no one had the energy to go out and buy any. I thought of making some, but couldn't find any I liked the look of. It was that sort of day.
But today - well, today it's all come together in the form of a recipe from Country Homes and Interiors of all places. These biscuits are very sweet - possibly too sweet, if I'm honest. They're also a bit ramshackle - I don't think I chilled the dough for long enough and they spread with joyous abandon and all met up in a great big friendly biscuit cuddle. But paired with a cup of tea, they are *exactly* what I need this afternoon.
(I tried to find this recipe online but it doesn't seem to be up yet - this is my adaptation of their recipe as I didn't have all the ingredients they suggested)
180g caster sugar
3 tsp mixed spice
220g plain flour
1 tsp baking powder
Cream butter and sugar. Beat in egg & golden syrup. Add spice, flour & baking powder. Roll into a cling filmed cylinder and chill for at least an hour - I think even longer would be better.
Slice dough and bake at 180C for 10-12 minutes. These get very crunchy as they cool - yum!
Saturday, 31 May 2014
The first basket I ever made was purple and yellow and traditionally used for collecting eggs. It's long since disappeared but had one (and only one) lovely feature - the handle was attached using a pattern called a God's eye. These days I used them not only for handles but also for tying together plant supports and trays, with split green willow. I adore them.
A couple of weeks back I was invited to take part in a fundraising day for a local community orchard, and to run an activity for some of the children who would be coming. It was tremendously hot and the willow I had carefully prepared was drying out too rapidly to be of any practical use.
I had guessed this might be a problem so at the last minute I grabbed my basket of wool and proceeded to spend the next four hours showing small people how to make woollen God's eyes with willow twigs. Brilliant fun - ranging from very pretty pastel creations to some in the colours of World Cup teams!
There's something terrifically appealing about the way the stripes of colour harmonise and change depending on how they're ordered. I made them as a child and have always liked them; and when I read of their traditional use by the Huichol people of Mexico I fell in love with them just a little bit more - when a baby is born the father weaves the centre of the eye and a stripe is added each year until the child is five, in the hope of ensuring the good health of the baby.
So here we are in half term and while I crocheted and tweeted and hovered at the end of the table, the girls had their very own little weaving session. These are gradually taking over our house so we should be well protected with woolly amulets!
Apparently this one is in the colours of the Pride of Portree quidditch team ...
Here is a link to instructions if you'd like to make your own, including a variation on raised and recessed rows that I feel rather tempted to have a go at myself.
Wednesday, 12 March 2014
If you've been reading for a little while, you'll have seen me mention weaving with Debs at Salix Arts. Whenever I go I know there will be a warm welcome, and wonderful food, and that I'll come away having made something fabulous.
But one of the best parts is the glorious willow Debs prepares for use in her workshops. I've bought a fair amount of willow now and hers is easily the most consistently lovely. This year she's asked me to lend a hand harvesting the current crop and I thought I'd share what's involved. (I can't share my back ache with you but it's nothing a hot bath won't sort out!)
Willow grown for harvest is coppiced and sprouts up from little stumps called stools. Each rod must be removed each year, by hand. This is straightforward but can be hard on the back and requires concentration if you're to avoid being poked repeatedly in the eye.
The willow beds are wet and muddy, and not a good place to drop secateurs (can you tell I've done this?!) Speaking of which, it's become very clear to me that oiling and sharpening tools becomes a daily job if you want to avoid hurting your wrists.
Once cut, the willow needs to be sorted by length and thickness - the high tech solution we use is to dump all the rods into a metal bin and then pull out the longest rods a few at a time and slowly, slowly group them into different piles. It's a toss up between sorting as you cut each armful, or cutting masses and sorting all at once. At the moment, the warm weather means the sap is starting to rise and the buds are threatening to break so we are cutting as fast as we can and bundling later.
After sorting, the rods are laid across a brilliant contraption that holds them together while we tie them with baler twine. Then they're ready to be taken back to Salix Arts.
At this point, what we have is called "green willow" - nothing to do with the colour. It's full of water and thus not great for basket making as it will shrink enormously as it dries. But it is gloriously coloured and amazingly flexible, and perfect for sculpture or making living willow structures. In a couple of months it will have dried out at which point it can be resoaked and made into all sorts of baskets and plant supports and decorations. But right now, I am using it to sharpen my skills in willow sculpture and little baskets that may shrink before summer is out but are perfect for spring flowers.
I have back ache, hand cramp, blisters and at the end of the day am tired to the point of exhaustion, but when the sun is out and the birds are singing, it's hard to think of a better place to be. If you'd like to keep up to date with the harvest you can follow me on twitter where I'm posting updates using the hashtag "willowharvest"
Tuesday, 18 February 2014
|Tiny tight plaits - a bit different from plaiting my daughters' hair!|
I work in a local sewing workshop part time; it fits in very well with school, and the women there have become valued and trusted friends. We regularly put the world to rights over our sewing machines, and if ever I'm feeling low, a day or two in the workshop helps to sort out my mood and get me laughing again.
A while ago one of the women approached me with a rather unusual jewellery request; about a year previously her daughter's pony had had to be put to sleep, and she was devastated. They had saved some of the tail hair with the thought of having it made into a keepsake but all the firms they had found online were prohibitively expensive. Would I be interested in making a bracelet with the hair for her daughter's 18th birthday which was coming up?
I will confess, I was taken aback. I had no idea such bracelets existed but a quick google showed that yes, they do, and yes, they can be very pricey. I agreed to go ahead, with some trepidation - but as I began to sort and plait the strands and create a unique piece, I found myself becoming rather emotional, thinking about the girl I knew, about how sad she had been and wondering how she would react. I found myself plaiting good wishes into that short braid. Mr DC said that he though it was all a bit odd - but I was pleased to hear she had been thrilled with it.
|I select the longest hairs and place them one by one into a small bundle|
I mentioned this to the teacher at the stables where my girls ride, and she said that she knew about these bracelets and they were popular amongst both people who have lost their ponies and also those who are looking for quirky gifts for horse owners. Within a couple of weeks one of the horses at the stables was sadly put down and I was asked to make another bracelet, which I gladly did. This time Mr DC was with me as I gave the bracelet to the riding school owner, and when he saw how moved she was to receive it, said that now he understood why I had been willing to make it.
Since then I've made a few bracelets, mostly for people whose ponies are very much still alive; but this month there was sad news about the pony my girls had their first lessons on. She had died, at the grand old age of 35. Their teacher wept as she handed me the hair they'd carefully saved, and I wept as I made the jet black bracelets. I don't know how many of the bracelets are ever actually worn; I suspect most are keepsakes that are looked at occasionally. They do remind me a little of Victorian mourning brooches, and I try not to think too hard about that. I feel very honoured to be trusted to make them.
Thursday, 13 February 2014
Well, I promised last time some sourdough action; I can't pretend it's been smooth sailing but now, finally, I feel I'm getting the hang of it.
I started off using the River Cottage recipe, which produced a loaf that looked OK, and was definitely tangy, but a bit flat and without the holes it should have.
So I tried a variation, which had far more water and resembled a dough monster until cooked, when it ripped itself apart.
Undeterred, I carried on, and came across James Morton's advice to bake it in a cast iron casserole dish and finally, a lovely well risen loaf! But Oh. My. Viciously sour to the point of being inedible.
I will admit, I was tempted to give up at this point and if I hadn't been so determined (some might say stubborn) I would have stopped there and then. But then I read somewhere that underfeeding the starter can cause sourness. And that the method I was using was actually bound to maximise that. Aha!
I fed my starter twice a day. I started to follow James Morton's white sourdough recipe. I started proving in bowls instead of just on the counter. I baked everything in a scorching hot pot. Bingo! Delicious bread, risen properly.
But still, the texture wasn't quite right. I ordered Brilliant Bread and started to go through it, learning new recipes and novel techniques for kneading and I think I've now discovered my very favourite recipe - it's Pain de Campagne, which is a loaf risen with normal yeast and flavoured with sourdough starter.
One morning I accidentally added too much water and the dough turned into some kind of monster, but this time I knew how to knead it and prove it without adding more flour. It overflowed the proving bowl and flolloped into the cooking pot. And when I cut it the next morning and saw the open, holey, chewy texture I'd been craving, I swear I heard angels singing.
It's all gone now. I'd better make some more!