One fact from my research helps to calm me down: Moshin
mentioned that jeans as workwear in the past were not very well done... I
reckon I can manage "not very well done" too! More seriously, I am
spinning for the weft, the yarn that goes on the shuttle. This yarn is
sometimes also called filler, as it only needs to look pretty but not withstand
the abrasion of the beater when woven or the tension that warp yarn has to hold
up to when on the loom.
Bobbin with overspun 'pointy bit' indicates fear my factor: HIGH!
So here is my internal monologue during spinning:
Scared inner voice: "Oh no... too thin... blast... too thick, oh gawd..."
Calming inner voice: "It's only for the weft—it's only for the weft," and so on.
I aim to spin two hours every evening—two hours of an
emotional journey: the excitement of putting my new skills to the test, the
worry about my yarn being far from perfect, the pride when I am in the zone and
the yarn looks great. I feel amazing as under my hands, the smooth flax fibre
transforms into golden yarn with an elegant sheen—spinning straw to
gold—amazing.
Finishing my first bobbin fills me with pure joy; it feels
like a great achievement. Then I weigh it... 75 grams, only seven more bobbins
to go.
As the weeks go on, my two hours in the evening change from
an emotional rollercoaster to a nice rhythm. For now, spinning re-hackled fibre
is my favourite. I can easily hold it in my hand and control it, yet go for
long drafts. Yarn spun from this length creates a smoother, less hairy yarn,
and I even get a proper sheen on the bobbin. The longer fibre is still a bit of
a struggle. I spin from the towel, and no matter what I try, I always spin down
one side instead of across the bunch. While I really try to practice, I need to
keep an eye on the amount I am producing, so I settle for smaller bundles for
now.
My biggest breakthrough is probably controlling the twist
with three fingers instead of just my index finger and thumb. I had to press so
hard to keep the twist outside the drafting area that it made my hand hurt.
Now, using three fingers, I spin a lot more relaxed and enjoy my newfound
control.
I try different kinds of sizing when damp spinning. I like
linseed oil best when I spin damp: water drips and makes water stains on my
wheel, while potato starch makes my fingers too sticky.
After a couple of weeks, I am relaxed enough to spin in
front of the TV. My wheel is very quiet, so my husband does not mind. I only
need a tiny amount of light—actually, a little LED light just on my drafting
fingers suffices. I keep thinking if medieval spinners would have spun with a
small candle in their times... possibly more romantic, but I like the proper
little daylight LED spotlight.
After bobbin four or five, spinning in the evening has
become something I do, like brushing my teeth. The body memory kicks in—I sit
in front of the wheel and settle into my rhythm. Not that my yarn is perfect
yet—I am far from my 10,000 hours—but remember, it's only for the weft... it's
only the weft. But it holds well, gets less hairy reliably, and the bobbins
fill up nicely.
Of course, I can't spin on my wheel all the time. When I
travel for talks or we spend a day away, I have my travel kit with me—either
the drop spindle or my little e-spinner, a dinky little thing made from plywood
and 3D-printed parts. (Here are the plans if you'd like to make your own.)
Also, as a bit of relief, I spin short tow with the drop
spindle. It’s relaxing—I have more control over the spin, take more time to see
how the twist develops, and finally give the spindle a good whack before I wind
on, as short fibres can do with a lot more twist than long fibres.
As I only own three bobbins, I need to wind them off into
skeins. I can be a bit slapdash sometimes, but on this occasion, I am super
organized: Every skein is labelled in order of creation, I note the weight, and
carefully store them in a linen bag.
