Opportunities and Challenges

Preparations for our move are well into motion. My studio for the most part is packed. I’ve given a lot of thought about the move and what it might offer my work. I’m embracing the limitations of space, materials and techniques that will be available to me as we transition. I’ve filled a large tote with a selection of hand dyed fabrics, handwovens, mini-iron and ironing mat. I’ll later add threads and other supplies so they will be ready for our move. Since we will be in temporary housing for an unknown amount of time, most of my materials are going to a storage unit. I’m trying to anticipate what I need and ultimately, if it isn’t accessible, then perhaps I don’t really need it after all. I had a colleague that would frequently say – “opportunities and challenges” when things got interesting at work. Perhaps those words will be the motto of this move.

 I cut off the last pieces from my loaned loom before it gets returned to my mentor. Working ahead, I did some weaving using fabrics to make rag rugs, a common element to Nordic homes. Fabric was dear and you reused it as much as you can. I never imagined that I would love weaving rag rugs so much. It is such a tactile process and so satisfying to beat the rags into place. Thump, thump, thump!

Rag rug made out of hand dyed fabric that was disappointing as a fabric, but transformed well into a rug.

  My thought is to use these pieces as a ground for my embroidery. The piece comes to my worktable already charged with a history connected to heritage, recycling, and the home. I experimented with different types of fabrics, mixing them into one piece, using them as elements to draw and to see what happens when a fabric is cut into strips and reassembled into a new form.

 With each new idea and project, there is research that goes along with it. I picked up a copy of the book Finnish American Rag Rugs: Art, Tradition & Ethnic Continuity by Yvonne Lockwood a few months ago. It is a hefty source for information on the makers and keepers of traditions. I also found a documentary Finnish American Rag Rug Weavers https://upnorthfilms.com/product/finnish-american-rag-rug-weavers/ was made on the subject by Up North Films and I’m eagerly awaiting my copy.

 Insert drawing rug here or book here.

Work in progress - hand dyed fabric and drawing a line

Now to write the hard part. Last Sunday we lost our greyhound, Sam.  

Sam (racing name Samurai Drive)

November 9, 2008 - February 13, 2022

Sam has been a character in life, in my social media posts and in stories that would tell friends since we adopted him in the fall of 2013. He was such a naughty wonderful dog. He retired from racing at almost five. He had to be taught how to be a dog, to go up and down stairs, about windows and glass doors.

He survived separation anxiety, seizures, and a stomach ulcer. We survived his destructiveness with separation anxiety with some loss – an out-of-print mathematics book, a Lebanese cookbook (also out of print) and a book about sheep (would you believe, out of print?). I still do not understand how he got ahold of these books. All of them were on bookshelves in various places in the house and those shelves were packed with books. How did he remove them?! There was also the two-week-old iPhone that he stripped down. The Apple store kids could not believe it and many photos were taken to be shared. I unfortunately did not take one for my records.

Sam required a lot of care in managing his various medical needs. He made himself the center of attention and given his 80 lbs. size he often was the center. He insisted on laying on my feet at night and often stealing my quilt to lay on. He adored blankets and usually we would just give him the one we were using and find another one.

Sam’s loss wasn’t a big surprise. He was thirteen after all and a large dog. He was just diagnosed and treated for a liver infection and for the first time in a long time was feeling so good. The radiologist could not get over that he was thirteen – he didn’t look his age inside or outside. Sam had been slowly developing weakness in his back legs. We were managing it with medication, and last week he began to show signs of a limp with neurological linkage. On Sunday afternoon, the limp reappeared and over the course of a few hours he could barely stand or walk without assistance. It happened fast and we knew it was time.

Sleeping in the way of the loom.

 It is always hard to lose a dog and I’ve taken Sam’s passing particularly hard. He spent much of his day with me in my studio. I learned to step over him in my comings and goings. The sound of his soft snores was the background noise in the house. I have moments when I forget for a minute that he isn’t here and start to look for him. Sam had so much life and love. The house just feels empty and still without him.

New Year, New Plans and New Loom

 After taking a few weeks off, I’m back in the studio. I’m rearranging some furniture, downsizing others, sorting out various stashes, and making donations. This year I have some transition occurring. My family is planning a move from St. Louis to Minneapolis later this year. It has been a few decades since my last move, but I still remember the process well enough to start organizing and downsizing early in the planning process.

St. Anthony Falls, Mississippi River

 After visiting Minneapolis in the fall, we began to research and talk seriously about making the move. My husband describes Minneapolis as a park with a city tucked into it. It isn’t far from the truth. The ready access to walking paths and parks that wind their way through the city and out into the suburbs were a huge factor in our decision. I’ve had a hunger to be near water most of my life we will be near so many lakes and rivers. I feel a particular link to the Mississippi River and I’m really looking forward to getting to know it upstream. A trip to the headwaters is on the list once we get settled.

As an artist occupied by place and nature, I know that the move will impact my work. It has already begun to seep into my idea sketches. I also look forward to engaging with the many cultural and arts organizations. The Weavers Guild of Minnesota is a rich active guild with a wonderful vision for building toward the future. The guild is house inside the Textile Center, their building with a gallery, shop, library, and meetings spaces as a result of a unique merging of thirty organizations. I plan to spend some time researching in the library!

Textile Center, Minneapolis, Minnesota

Textile Center library

A little over a month ago, I received a Bexell Cranbrook Countermarch Loom. The loom has been in storage for perhaps twenty years, and it needed a little cleaning. I’ve been tackling the cleaning a little bit at time. The loom will be wrapped for moving and storage before I can assemble it later this year. I hadn’t planned on adding a loom to the mix, but it will pack up nicely and is very easy to move. Even the largest pieces I can carry myself.

Cranbrook Loom parts before cleaning

One of my favorite things about working in textiles is the many avenues for research for the history of tools, makers, and techniques.  The Cranbrook loom offered an opportunity for some reading and the story is quite interesting.

The loom was designed by Finnish artist, Loja Saarinen and Swedish craftsman, John Bexell.

Saarinen designed the textiles for her husband, architect Eliel Saarinen’s buildings. Loja was unhappy with the looms in her studio and after working with Bexell, the Cranbrook Loom was born. Today, Cranbrook looms are made by Schacht Spindle Company. They are still highly prized by weavers. The loom I have was made by the original Bexell company. It is much smaller than most with a weaving width of only 36.” Countermarch looms can be enormous. Some are large enough for multiple weavers to weave side by side. The looms are well suited for a variety of woven textiles—everything from delicate linens to heavy rugs.  

The loom has cleaned up beautifully and the craftsmanship is remarkable. The wood has aged to a rich honey tone. The same wood was used throughout even in places no one would ever see. Schacht has an article with more the history of the Cranbrook Loom that you can read here.

Loom parts after cleaning

Eliel Saarinen designed many of the buildings at Cranbrook. He taught architecture and later served as president. Cranbrook has a rich art history, particularly of textiles, and many educators have studied there. I would love to take a trip to Michigan to visit the campus someday. Cranbrook offers on-campus tours, virtual tours and talks on a variety of subjects. Much of the archives are online, including many fascinating photos. They also hold the records of the Saarinen family. Last year I attended a fantastic lecture on Loja Saarinen’s studio.

 To Learn More Visit: Cranbrook Center of Collections and Research

Marianne Strengell with Loja and Eero Saarinen (architect for the St. Louis Arch, 1958

Courtesy of Cranbrook Archives, Cranbrook Center for Collections and Research

Hidden in Plain Sight

 For many of us, there are topics that we keep returning to repeatedly; things we just think about over the course of our lives. They can show up in the literature and stories we are drawn to, the art we appreciate, or just pulse under the surface. As an artist, much of my work and research has centered on connections with nature, family, and heritage. These themes have been with me for a very long time. I thought about it when I worked with children of immigrants as a teacher. I wrote about finding home in an undergraduate literature class.

 I have a long history of searching for my family story. Somehow, I’ve always known I needed to know more about my mother’s people even though it was difficult to get information. People that knew were often reluctant to talk about it and I spent many long years not understanding why this was the case. My mother’s people were deeply silent – by nature and because of unhealed trauma and secrets. Despite the silences, and the deaths of people who had the information, I’ve been able to piece a lot of the information together thanks to the internet. My childhood sleuthing has begun to provide answers. Through understanding my immigrant great grandparents, I even discovered why I was so drawn to express my love and connection to nature in my artwork. It was all there waiting for me.

I used to say that I didn’t receive any family recipes that were linked to family. This has turned out to not be quite true. My mother was a very good cook and she recorded many of her greatest hits for me before she died after years of me asking and trying to write down how she made my favorite dishes. Like many cooks, she didn’t record ingredients and how much she used. Finally, one year for my birthday she sat down, and I still use her set of handwritten cards. I’ve started to scan them for safe keeping.

 There was one favorite dish that she would make, cauldummer, and the family would accuse her of making up the name. Cauldummer is a delicious blend of hamburger, rice, breadcrumbs, spices, and eggs made into oval shapes and wrapped in cabbage leaves and baked. I looked for the word in recipe books and menus and never spotted it. My mom would swear it was a real word, but I could never verify it until a few years ago. One evening after eating a dinner of cauldummer, I wondered if the internet could help me.  After a quick search I found it, Kåldolmar, Swedish cabbage rolls. I had a family recipe, from my mother’s mother’s Swedish side! It was there all along, spelled phonetically, and hiding in plain sight. I’ve had this phenomenon happen many times over the years that I have been diligently searching. Seemingly separate clues with unknown connections.

 The most recent example was found during a recent trip to Minneapolis. My husband and I were shopping in a Nordic store when I found a mug that tripped a memory. The Swedish flower design stopped me in my tracks. I remembered my mother had a set growing up. Here was another trace of heritage that was unexplained and unremarkable. I bought the mug, and it is now a favorite. After I posted about it on social media, a friend who was downsizing homes reached out to offer me a creamer that matched. I am delighted.

 I recently finished a project connected to my Swedish ancestors. Many years ago, while visiting with my mother’s sister, I was shown a counted cross stitch sampler that my great grandmother, Maria, made while in Sweden as a twelve-year-old girl. I took a picture of it – unfortunately under glass with lamp glare, but I’m glad to have it now. I’ve thought about the piece a lot over the years. I don’t know what became of it after my aunt’s death. I thought that I would just have to be consoled by at least having a record of its existence. If I’m honest though, it makes my heart hurt a bit.

 Last year, as part of the Swedish weaving group with my local guild, we had a challenge to use linen yarn to make something for the year. We did a group order for 16/2 linen yarn from Sweden, and I knew what I wanted to make. I wove the ground fabric to recreate my great grandmother’s sampler. I painstakingly mapped out Maria’s design, fudging here and there when I couldn’t exactly see or count her design. I finished stitching the piece two months ago and now it is framed and on my wall. It was a piece that I felt compelled to make, even when I had to rip out hours of work due to a miscount several times. Having the piece completed has soothed the ache that I feel with the original work not in my ownership. It is a work of devotion and honoring those that came before.

A photo print out of the original with notes (left) and my recreation of the sampler.

I love how Maria has included her family on this piece. Maria’s father’s and mother’s initials are in the middle on each side. Maria’s initials are on bottom center. I even left her original backwards S. On each side of Maria’s are her sibling’s initials. Maria was one of four children, but the youngest was not yet born when Maria stitched her piece. This textile represented her identity and where she came from. Knowing where you came from and your connections to the past are often taken for granted. When you don’t have this piece of your identity, it leaves an open place in our understanding. There are many ways to fill emptiness.