A Change of Season

Several months ago, when I was experiencing a bout of dissatisfaction and restlessness related to the work in my studio, my friend Darcy recommended the book "Wintering" by Katherine May. It was a title my library carried, but there was a LONG waiting list. I added my name and a couple weeks ago was finally able to check it out. The book beautifully put into words how I felt and what I was experiencing during that uncertain time.

Going into my metaphorical winter, I knew my season for creating knitting tutorials had pretty much run its course. No matter how much energy and effort I put into my work, nothing was growing. Not my pattern sales, not my readership/viewership and certainly not my enjoyment of the process. I hated climbing the stairs to my studio because most of my time would be spent in front of a screen producing content that may or may not reach a welcoming audience. I felt stagnant and used up by the endless churn to appease "the algorithm", especially knowing that everything I wrote, photographed or filmed and publicly shared would likely be scraped and used to train AI models without my consent.

At that point, I had already begun rag rug weaving. With the additional incentive of a collaborative handwoven exhibit already on the calendar for late 2026, thanks to my friend Emily, it was easier to set my knitting aside and become better acquainted with my weaving materials and tools. As much as I love the idea of traditional rag rug weaving, I knew there was something more I could do or express in my weaving. I just didn't know what or how. I spent my nearly year-long "winter" studying the work of other weavers, learning about my heritage, and doing a lot of experimentation at the loom hoping to mesh it all together and emerge with a fresh voice and clear purpose.

Happily, I had already finished my wintering season in the studio before I picked up the book. Now I can hardly wait to go up the stairs every morning to start my weaving practice. My study and experimentation on the loom, which initially felt slow and unproductive, helped me understand how to choose and use upcycled fabric to "talk" about aspects of nature, reflections and the passage of time through geometry, symmetry and layers of color. This combination of materials, concepts and minimalist design elements deeply resonates within me.

Looking around my studio today, with only a few months before the exhibit...

There's a fresh piece in progress on Grandpa's loom.

Two large handwoven pieces are drying on the front porch after being washed and multiple smaller pieces are on the railing behind my desk ready for other finishing work.

To my relief, the season has changed and I'm excited to begin searching for galleries interested in selling my works as soon as my exhibit preparations are complete.