Give me an inch and I’ll take a mile! I’ve always been a person who has had an insatiable curiosity. I’m not necessarily mechanically inclined, although I can change a tire, troubleshoot a loom issue, or notice when one of my dogs, cats, or ponies is not feeling well. But when it comes to a historic or cultural technique like making linen thread from a flax plant or setting up a traditional warp-weighted loom – well, bring it, as they say!
Fiber artist and experienced hand spinner Kathy Sparks shares her lifelong flax to fabric journey with the readers of the PLY Magazine Blog.
As is the case with many others before me, the more I knit the more I wanted to know about wool. For years I was attracted by the rainbow of colors available. I’d done a lot of dyeing, but a real game-changer for me was seeing a heathered yarn for the first time. After studying it, I realized it was not something I could dye; rather, it was something that had to be spun. I had to learn how.
As featured in PLY’s September 2023 newsletter, the Ask Jacey column answers a question about 3D printed bobbins!
Anyone who truly knows me will tell you that I love the fiber arts because I always have something in my hands, whether it is knitting needles, a crochet hook, or fabric with my sewing machine.
This year Maryland Sheep and Wool festival celebrates its fiftieth anniversary. This important milestone has me reflecting on how much the festival has impacted me as a spinner (and person) across the years.
When I dig through my stash, I am transported to vacations, friends’ homes, or even life events. I still have some of the (clean) fleece I scored on my honeymoon twenty-five years ago at The Big Sheep Farm and Theme Park in Devon, England. I have Portland yarn from the first rare breed fleece my husband bought me when we were dating. Fibery souvenirs help us relive special times long after the trips are over.
A clap of thunder brought me back to the moment. Sitting in front of my wheel, I looked hard at the wool in my hands. It had been cold, gray, and rainy for the past week. A few hours earlier, I’d pulled out my drum carder and decided to make a few batts from some of the beautiful Jacob fleece I had washed and separated into piles of grays, whites, blacks, and even a pile with tan overtones.
It was September 2022. Here in the Pacific Northwest we were just beginning to come back together. The small groups with masks had begun to yield to larger groups outdoors without masks. It was still precarious, but my husband, Greg and I, had decided to hold our first Guanaco Spinning Retreat.
