At Evergreen Elementary we define fabric arts rather loosely. Anything that requires cloth can be found there, as can needles and pins and sharp scissors that won't balk when they cut through fabric. Fabric scraps find their way into the center, but so do bigger rectangles of felt that can be used to craft stuffed critters. Here, there is faux fur that can double as carpets in 3D sculptural rooms or monster hide. Even more scraps live in a large bin beneath the table, full of hundreds of small snippets from generous donors' sewing boxes. Strings? Got 'em. We have a big selection of different weights of yarn, cotton string suitable for beaded necklaces and thicker cotton string that works well for warping looms. We have cones of thread for sewing alongside brighter, shiny embroidery thread. Ribbons are displayed on a length of hanging dowel (thanks, spider plant!) as well as in clear, plastic bins.
A three-drawer cabinet holds beading and button supplies. One can get a scoop of either and string enough together to make a necklace or an augmentation for an ojo de dios. The beading string lives here, as well as the occasional shiny paper or faceted plastic ornament that doesn't seem to fit anywhere else.
The rainbow cabinet holds many essentials for fabric arts as well as other centers. Its drawers are a little tired and slip down when they're pulled out too fast, but we're all well practiced at putting things back together. Fabric arts (arte de fibra) is a good training station for understanding the difference between kid scissors and mom scissors and complexities like the three different weights of glue that are available for artists. In these drawers, too, are stored pre-glued craft sticks for winding ojos de dios. I spend a few minutes during my early morning prep gluing together four or five at a time, since about 20 are required each day that the studios are open.
Wire shelving (after four years, I have three full sets in my room) holds fabric, ribbons, and embroidery hoops. It's important to have anything that is available within sight of artists, since some ideas are born when looking at materials instead of being planned from zero. Wall space is scarce, but we have room for some Velcro-backed examples that can offer ideas. Examples that are stored highest tend to be for taller artists, but there are always exceptions. Cabinets above contain cardboard looms, but craft stick looms are tucked into a labeled drawer in the rainbow cabinet.
A large, flat, plastic tub with a lid that snaps closed houses most of the yarn collection. I used a woodburner to melt holes across the sides and feed the center piece of yarn through it for easy access. I've found that it helps to take the paper off the skein and wrap a tight (it'll loosen as the yarn is used) belt of wide plastic tape to contain the outside leading yarn. Skeins of yarn are designed to feed beautifully from inside, but the outside thread requires more movement than the box allows. In a never ending attempt to get children to pull the yarn out a bit before cutting (so it doesn't fall back inside the box... grrr) I have a cartoon snake at the edge of the counter. She's a little too much like a nagging mother, I fear, since nobody but me hears her voice. Demos always involve a dramatic pull to the edge of the counter before cutting so the yarn can remain tangle free. One other fun innovation was our discovery that odd snippets and leftovers of yarn, when collected, made great stuffing for our stuffed critters and dolls. It's soft, free, and - did I mention... free? It's also a good reminder to keep stitches close enough so colored pieces don't escape from a project.
So that's the what. The "how" of our fabric arts center is a little more complex. Like many women who were born in the 50's, I was taught to sew by my mother. While my grandmothers had more formal instruction in sewing, crochet, knitting, and embroidery, much of my familiarity with sewing came as I watched Mom sew dresses (and curtains and table cloths and Halloween costumes) for us. We also did lots of projects in my years of scouting that inform my approach to teaching children to sew. Just like all other facets of art, there's a "scribble stage" for fabric arts. Some children benefit from lacing and wooden bead sets when they're in pre-school and some have enlightened teachers/parents who provide heavy cardboard plates and laces or yarn to sew with. My own school community has large numbers of immigrants from Mexico and Guatemala, where weaving and sewing skills are highly valued. Many of my students enter school with familiarity with back-strap looms and the processes involved in weaving cotton friendship bracelets.
As I plan for my students' choices in fabric arts, what skills do they need? They need to be able to manipulate sharp scissors safely. Try to cut a length of cord with dull student scissors once and you'll agree. They need to have a sense of how much of the materials they need. (How long do I make a necklace so that it'll fit over my head after it's knotted? That long? Really?) More importantly, they need lots of practice tying knots. Just like the artists in our paint center gather and care for their own paints, water, aprons, paper, and brushes, students in fabric arts are expected to do their own preparation for sewing, weaving, and beading. Their art teacher will not be there at home when they want to sew a seam or attach a button so knotting skills are important. To that end, I do two mini-lessons (YouTube clip) of about five minutes each each year. Using 18" lengths of cotton rope, we learn a couple of basic knots - half hitch, square, granny, and a loop. If a child has always had someone else tie his or her shoes or only worn Velcro-clasp shoes, our lesson might be the first exposure to tying a knot. We have lots of fun with it, but it's immediately apparent who has never tied a younger sibling to a pole. Knots are extremely important, and absolutely required for second grade introduction of ojos de dios and looms. We practice, we laugh, and some of us forget, but it's not a problem. When the knot tying is hard to recall to memory, we put down our string or yarn, get the length of cotton rope, and do a quick refresher.
We use lots of sequencing when we learn new skills. Before doing a six-pointed ojo, for instance, one must master the four pointed model. To do a satin stitch in embroidery, one must have mastered a running stitch, then a stem or chain first. When we do paper weaving, we do straight rows before attempting wavy op-art versions and simple Danish hearts before doing the trickier patterns. It's a matter of practice and within the process of adding new skills, we find a lot of pleasure and self confidence.
Most forms of artistic expression offer one level or another of satisfaction as one works through the creative process. Weaving and sewing, in particular, offer something special. I have students who are self-critical and perfectionistic about their work but thrive when they work on weaving. There is a Zen-like quality in their concentration on pattern and balance as they work with fibers. Part of the peacefulness, I believe, comes from the behavior of fibers. A watercolored line is infinitely variable, subject to the capricious forces of gravity or density of pigment or force of brush. In contrast, yarn behaves itself. It doesn't stretch or wander (though one does need to watch for tangling if too much is cut and not corralled correctly.) Unlike the contrast in a watercolor, likely to bleed and wander, the colors of woven fibers will stay put and remain their original colors.
There's a regular serenity to be found in weaving. Patterns are easily visible, to the point where my kindergartners crow "A B A B!" when I demonstrate how paper weaving works. In hounds-tooth, older students note, "AA BB AA BB" and I can look like a wise teacher when I remind them of the connections between math and art. A colleague on one of my professional Internet lists wrote recently about the benefit of weaving for healing - particularly from brain injuries - and that makes sense to me. Manipulating patterns is satisfying on deep levels, just like tracing a pathway in a labyrinth or singing a childhood lullaby for the hundredth time. There is research that suggests that the work with patterns may help to restore connections within injured brains. I look for activities that encourage children to slow down, concentrate, and enjoy the process of art-making. So much of their world is filled with races, fleeting sound bites, and speed. Weaving is a good tonic.
Children understand how scribble stages work. When we talk about weaving we discuss how "little kids" pull their weaving so tightly that the sides draw towards the center. We brainstorm words to describe the shape of the arch that we use on our big loom - "Rainbow! Bear back! VW Bug!" and notice - as a group - how lovely and loose the sides are when we weave without tension. We react with all appropriate horror when we talk about scissors too close to the warp threads and cement our tradition of "leaving tails" for safety (yes, I did learn this lesson from experience.)
It's also interesting to note who chooses fiber arts and what kind of things they create there. Even the most bouncy child (read: ADHD or assorted syndromes) finds peace in the steady winding of an ojo. They all know that the time commitment on weaving is substantial, so there are fewer loom projects than stuffed critters, but I bend sometimes and allow weaving projects to wander. The only rule is that one needs to avoid driving classroom teachers crazy (translation: no straw weaving during math lessons...) and it's OK to come get more yarn for your whatever, but asking permission is required.
Examples of child to child teaching abound, particularly with innovations in fabric arts. We've had spates of original new patterns in ojo weaving, some intriguing designs in yarn painting, and artists using beads to embellish other types of weaving of late. They're good examples for us. We can improve our offerings in fiber arts (and any other medium, for that matter) by reading, combing the web for new ideas, talking to colleagues, bothering professional weavers, and interviewing the gentle people who work in weaving and fabric stores. We can talk to our grandmothers if they're still around, hit up our local bookstores for suggestions on books (watch out for that felting world - it looks fascinating) and query local craftsmen and women about their favorite techniques. Ask your students if there are any weavers in their families and check to see if there are any artists' collaboratives close to your classroom. Hmmmm. I may even look up that distant cousin in Wyoming that raises Cheviot sheep for their wool. I wonder if she still spins and weaves?
Art is essential but kid art is nothing short of magical. The maintenance fairies came with their favorite (and newly repaired) electric cherrypicker and hung last year's first weaving piece high above the hallway in the sunny atrium. As installations go,(and speaking in an absolutely unbiased, professional tone here) I'm in love. I used the same heavy cotton string we warped the loom with to attach it (loosely, crochet-style) to a medium-sized alder trunk that I harvested from the woods down the hill from my house. There was something about the rough texture and irregular lines of the wood that made it the perfect match to our woven panels. All sorts of fibers make up the five panels. We wove with anything we could get our hands on, including strips of recycled denim, glossy satin ribbons, pieces of calico, fat yarn, skinny yarn, rough brown twine, heavy velvet ribbon (think holiday wreaths) and the occasional feather. At the time, we worried a little about how the youngest artists let long tendrils of surplus yarn dangle as they rushed to add another color to successive rows. I even made an attempt at French braiding the "tails" but the gathered multitudes didn't like that look, either. We let them trail.
As is the way for these kinds of long term projects, inter erst waxed and waned with the children. Weaving offers a couple of things that no other medium does - that Zen-like feeling of putting order to patterns and the feel of the fibers as you work them is important. So, too, is the feeling of community that comes from adding your artistic ideas to something that 500 other artists are working on. Some children became weaving "experts" and concentrated on a panel that they considered their own. Others spent time straightening out perceived imperfections before they wove, or organized several peers to try a certain technique they'd invented. Because of the individual attention, each artist can point out which of the strands he or she is responsible for. I enjoyed conference time when children would bring parents by to weave a strand or two and to point out their favorite contributions. All the weavers could remember exactly who worked beside them when they wove, too. Friends intensify memory.
I mentally adjusted my super teacher pedestal down a few notches, though, when I realized that, instead of remembering the exact location of their stitches, several kids claimed the sunset near the center of the largest of the panels on the right side of the piece. I'd added it one morning to show some fifth grade girls that we could weave ta pastry-style with a pattern in mind rather than limiting ourselves to simple lines. I heard no fewer than three of our younger artists proudly claim the sunset as their own and realized that absolute precision, once again, had been trumped by pride in a group effort.
This year's weaving is well underway but won't be complete by the time our April art show comes. The plan is to take it along with all of our art for display and to offer it as a community activity. I envision lots of cool photographic possibilities when families add a little bit of this or that to the work in progress. I'll be certain to leave lots of colorful yarns, strips of material, and ribbons close to the loom and I think I'll hide the scissors, just to be safe.
Looms! We need looms!
It's not enough to just buy a loom. True to my personality type, I need to research, design (with lots of help from the Net) and make my own. Here are some pictures of the process. It's installed in our Fiber Arts (Artes de fibra) center, happily interacting with kids of all ages.
Big classroom floor/table loom
16 feet of 1x4 pine (or 2 pieces 1x4x8')
10.16 feet of 2x2 pine (or 2 pieces 2x2x8' with leftovers)
6.41 feet of 2x6 pine (or 1 piece of 2x6x10' with leftovers)
4 machine screws, size ¼ – 20x2
4 wing nuts (aka butterflies), size ¼ – 20
8 washers to fit above
1 ¾ finishing nails - I bought a pack of 430 and have some left over
20 8x2 ½ trim screws - I prefer the ones with hex bits for ease of driving but there
are many possibilities
Tools and incidentals
bits for drilling as well as attaching screws
¼” bit for drilling adjustable holes (for machine screws and butterflies)
electric sander and various weights of sandpaper for finishing – or lots of
acrylic paint and brushes
friend to help hold and brace or several C-clamps for anchor duties
*Note: each time you see the word, “measure” that means to measure it at least three times, checking with the nearest left-brained person you trust and measuring once more, just to be sure. Then - and only then - do you cut.
- Lay out 1x4s, measure and mark with T-square and measuring tape. You need four equal lengths of 48 inches – two for loom sides and two for side legs.
- Measure and cut two 61 inch lengths of 2x2 lumber. These are the top and bottom of your loom.
- Measure and cut two 12 inch lengths of 2x6 lumber. Measure and cut two 26 ½ lengths. These will anchor your side legs.
- Attach loom sides to top and bottom by centering, marking, and drilling guide holes. These undergo a lot of stress when warped, so use a diagonal line and good glue when you attach the screws.
- Measure width and depth of side legs and notch (I used saw cuts and chisels) to fit like figure #1. Attach leg supports by drilling guide holes and using a good clue before you attach screws.
- Mark drill targets for your side bolts using T-square and ruler (I used six inch centers) See figure #3.
- I assembled the loom here, sanded all rough edges, and painted, so I wouldn't have to worry about glopping up the warp nails. A good quality acrylic paint will probably cover in one coat, but I did two so it'd stand up to kid use.
- Measure where you'll hammer your warp nails with a ruler (mine are one centimeter apart, but staggered like Figure #2 to avoid splitting the wood) and add nails.
I used scrap lumber and pine for this loom, following the “build one to throw it away” method to give myself permission to make mistakes. I'll probably make the next one out of maple or another hard wood, and will stain it rather than using paint, but we'll see. I do notice that the pull of the weaving is warping the top and bottom slightly.
If I were making another of soft wood, I might use a 2x4 for top and bottom or add additional bracing to control for the stress.
I made my loom to these measurements so that it would fit on top of a typical 72 inch classroom table in my art room. Feel free to adjust to fit your needs. Since the sides are adjustable you'll find the design to be fairly flexible.
And one final disclaimer – as a carpenter, I'm a pretty fair French horn player. If you would like to do a consult with a serious carpenter friend as you plan your loom, it won't hurt my feelings at all. On the other hand, my students are really pleased that I made a loom for them and, in true TAB form, got the benefit of my working through challenges as I designed and put it together.