Thursday, June 18, 2015


Procrastination is my bane. It is why there's a month between blog posts (even though I've had things to say and things going on.) It's why there's not as much done at home as there should be. Its why the last minute exists in my world. Sometimes, there's a whole lot of scared behind it.

I've a couple big projects on my horizon, and both of them are intimidating as all hell. There's a lot of learning curve, a lot of potential failure.. a lot of expected fail as part of the process, honestly. Which is why I dont want to start. If I haven't started, I haven't arsed it up yet. I haven't wasted materials and time, because that's all my brain clings to, rather than the wealth of experience and learning I do get.

So rather than pattern drafting and teaching myself needle lace, I've been weaving. No, I don't know why I'm content to work on /that/ new skill and not others, but plain inkle weave is basically the weaving equivalent of an endless stream of garter stitch dishcloths. My loom was cheap from an estate sale, and has an obnoxiously short warp (60 inches if I weave long past easily woven), but makes for a quick, mindless, relaxing way to use up cotton scraps.

My first warp was all about the Miami vice colours: 

My second one was chosen to match my felted bag with the awful strap: 

And then instead of dishes last night, I warped up the loom with a collection of blues out of the scrap bag: 

Inkle weaving needs to come with a warning label: May be addictively relaxing in its simplicity.

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