Dyeing, cutting, winding, sewing, making more and more and more weft.
Why is this nuts, you ask? Well, because I already have more weft than I will weave if I live to be 100.
But it's the color and the texture and the endless possibilities that get me going.
It's like crack to a weaver, let me tell ya.
I am so not in control of this obsession. Don't tell, OK?
I have told you before that my father was a junk man. Tis true. He couldn't stop himself. He just kept bringing more and more of it home, until finally my mother moved into the back of the house, had a kitchen made, and stopped actually living with him. He lived in the front, and she in the back. That's what his obsession did.
So I suppose it is a good thing that I don't actually LIVE at the studio, as in sleep there and stay 24/7.
Or perhaps, my husband would be moving ME into the back of the house.
This way, my 5000 lbs of fabric, 13 looms, 7000 lbs of socks, and other various and sundry items, don't drive my husband to drastic measures.