Words and photos by Wendy Emo 

I’ve spent the past two years taking risks with my spinning. While some of my new yarns are lovely, many did not turn out as I’d hoped. I processed and spun new-to-me Teeswater and Wensleydale fleeces (culminating in one amazing tunic and several duds), tried new spinning techniques (bouclé, cloud, and lockspinning, which all worked), attempted dyeing (I definitely did not get what I expected), persevered during a challenge project from my guild (this made me bananas for at least a month during all the spinning and knitting “fails” before the project ultimately turned out well), knit alternating strips of sari silk fabric with handspun (yuck for the first go, that’s for sure), and subbed last-minute as a three-day spinning workshop teacher (the flurry and fiber explosion in my studio were impressive, and I certainly had fun). 

I’ve discovered that I need to celebrate my attempts at the new and different. I sell items at a gallery, and a few types of items sell fairly well. When I explore and challenge myself, I’m taking time away from production of the “known,” so that’s a bit of a risk (even though the income isn’t high, the gallery needs stock). On the other hand, sticking with the known risks boredom. Spinning what is easy and known is relaxing, but then I don’t learn a new skill. 

Challenging myself sometimes results in discouragement to such an extent that I don’t even want to look at my wheels or fiber stockpile. I’m not confident with combining color. When the guild passed out random bundles to spin for a gift exchange, I couldn’t imagine how to put together dark purple, pale pink, and baby blue in any way that would make something I’d want to give to anyone, let alone another artist. I avoided my wheels for five full days after that. When I realize that I’m intentionally not spinning due to discouragement, I need to take care of myself rather than avoid my fiber stash in favor of the chocolate stash. In this case, my emotional self needed some encouragement, but the project turned out well in the end. 

Other artists also notice this connection of emotional reactions to one’s creations. I overheard a painter suggest to another artist that she focus on what she does like in a problematic piece rather than making a broad blanket statement about not liking it. I figure that this is great advice for taking care of myself as a spinner. If I identify the positive attributes of my art, I then have changed my outlook. Perhaps I can think of the challenging colors differently, such as reminding myself that maroon and light blue sometimes show up in the morning and evening skies. This then might inspire me to add an additional color to tie them together. 

Naming the positive attributes of my ineffective experiments resembles changing a mindset. I tend to think of Merino/silk top as meant exclusively for fine-spun worsted yarns. When I followed my maxim and made a 2-ply yarn intended for a lace scarf, the gorgeous top of pecan-toffee-caramel* became a “ho-hum” light brown without the lovely subtle shades. The remaining singles sat abandoned and ignored in my studio, and I went off to a workshop with Judith MacKenzie. 

Judith had us spin both eri and muga silk (singles). These were so exquisite to spin that I left these bobbins alone even after Judith encouraged us to use them. When I finally needed these bobbins, I remembered her suggestion to try the singles in plying. The silk singles were close to the same weight and in complementary tones to the toffee singles. I decided to ply the silk and toffee together. The addition of the extra silky shimmer and two tones brought out the best in the singles. The finished yarn shows the different response the two singles fibers had to the rinse, but I was after a good color effect rather than a completely smooth yarn. Those pecan-toffee-caramel tones glow in the yarn. Not only did I have to recognize the positive attributes of the singles (even, fine, great color, nice hand), but I had to do something different. I don’t think I would have experimented with silk singles without the encouragement of another spinner. It wouldn’t have occurred to me. 

Other spinners contribute to my self care, not only in suggesting new approaches but also just in sharing our creations. Celebrating the triumphs and sharing the funny mistakes is such an encouragement. One day recently I made a 3-ply skein of dark BFL, the first part of a fleece I hoped to have all spun before the next festival. I was pretty pleased with it until I finished it and discovered I had overplied it. Judith MacKenzie says that yarn judges can tell from looking at a yarn if a spinner was stressed while spinning. I had been watching Pirates of the Caribbean while plying. It showed in the yarn that I must have been anxious for Orlando Bloom’s life during all that swashing and buckling, even though last time I watched the movie, he was safe. 

My favorite mistake yarn, however, is “Going the Wrong Way” – a very elastic energized yarn I unintentionally plyed the wrong way a few years ago. The skein stretches from about 10 inches to 28 inches, nearly three times its relaxed length! 

When I share these yarns with others, both “Pirates” and “Wrong Way” always give us a good laugh, which helps me enjoy my mistakes. I was happy to read Jillian Moreno’s comment (Yarnitecture, 2016) that an overplied yarn like “Pirates” probably wouldn’t affect the project I had planned for it – a watch cap for my husband. I may keep “Wrong Way” for posterity. 

Celebrating my mistakes and triumphs makes me realize how much I’ve learned about spinning since I started taking more risks. I can understand the technical descriptions in spinning publications, explain them to someone else, and apply them to my own spinning. I now give myself permission to give away fibers and fleeces I thought I’d enjoy but which are not yet “my thing.” I’ve learned that I can make complex-looking yarns, even though I see the flaws which identify them as a learner’s handspun. 

I know my emotional self is connected to my physical well-being. When my attitude toward spinning is not positive, maybe I need to get out for a walk. Perhaps I need to change my position at the wheel, check the angle of my legs, notice where my hands and shoulders are, or put a pillow under my seat. It might be that my hands are too close or too far apart. Am I tense? With new fleeces, new ways of spinning, or when I’m trying to spin perfectly, I might be on edge. The first place I notice tension while playing piano is in my right ankle. When I intentionally relax that tension, I usually play better. In spinning, that tension is usually in my hands, and that tension affects my spinning. 

My physical self, my emotional self, my intellectual self, and my social self – all of these affect my spinning. Thank goodness for my fiber friends and husband. I share my fails and successes with these people. They sometimes suggest changes and always grin along with me when I share what actually worked. Mostly, when I ask the question “Do you think this will work?” they say, “Just give it a try!” 

According to some motivation researchers, we all are likely to stick for a long time with tasks we choose, over which we have some control, which engage our imagination, and whose challenge level is appropriate although the outcome is not guaranteed. If there are social elements to the task, that’s often motivating, but to a lesser degree and not for everyone (the same with achievement recognition and competition). The next time you approach that interesting project, note that you’re taking care of your creative self and motivating yourself just by what you’re choosing to do and how you do it. Celebrate your explorations and share them with others and let us celebrate with you. 

*This fiber is known as “Lynx,” a 70 percent Merino, 30 percent Tussah silk blend. 

Wendy Emo, PhD, takes risks playing keyboard in open mics, music jams, and a surf band when she’s not finding ways to use up (or add to) her fiber stash.