My weaving studio is usually a place of solitude where I can slip into deep concentration. I am counting warp ends; or I am paying close attention to synchronizing shuttle, treadles, and beater for greater efficiency and speed; or I am doing calculations to plan my next project. Or I am examining the cloth on the loom with a magnifying glass, counting picks per inch; or I am trying to wind a quill with just enough, but not too much, yarn. Without realizing it, I get absorbed in my thinking.
When I am in this state of being immersed in weaving, I am easily startled by any innocent interruption. My husband has solved the problem of seeing me jump and hearing me gasp when he walks into my concentration bubble. He has hung a little brass bell a few steps outside the doorway to my weaving room. “Ring-a-ling-a-ling…,” the bell quietly announces, “It’s just me…” Now, with fewer incidents jolting me from solitude, I may live longer, as well.
May you welcome those who come near.
Come on in,