back to colour

Recent experiments in the dye studio!

folded fabrics in shades of brick orange and greenish brown

This is a cutch dyebath I recently made with Lisa of asil (link: asil.ca). We split the dye into two vats and added iron to one of them hoping for a good range of browns. The result from the straight cutch was predictable, a range of reddish brick tones (seen on cotton and linen in the above photo). The iron vat didn’t give the same warm chocolatey brown shade I achieved last year, when I dyed a piece of linen to make my partner some brown pants. Instead we got this almost charcoal gray brown drab, the result of going too heavy on the iron. I’m pretty much a master at this point of going too heavy on the iron, if this kind of clumsiness were the sort of thing over which one could claim mastery. You can see the too-iron-rich brown on both cotton and linen above.

fabric floating in deep yellow dye in a steel pot

I’ve been having lots of success with this brew lately, and have finally hit upon an easy and abundant source of the swampy olive tones I so crave. This is a 50/50 vat of ground pomegranate skins and turmeric. I read about adding pomegranate to turmeric to improve its lightfastness in the guide to natural dyes published by Maiwa, a great resource and the place where Lisa and I buy a lot of our dyes (link: MAIWA). They didn’t mention proportions so half and half is what I’m trying. This vat just keeps on giving, exhaust after exhaust, and the colour is just WOW.

After the first load of glorious gold fabric came out, I reheated the exhaust dye and threw in this collection of cotton yarns, which all started out either white or very pale gray and had been gunked up with a myrobalan tannin in the mordanting process and a dip in iron water to produce dirty gray tones.

skeins of undyed cotton yarn in shades of yellow and gray

As I had hoped, the iron present in the yarns permeated the dye vat and shifted the whole thing to a murky olive green.

fabric floating in olive green dye in a steel pot

The resulting yarns, due to the variations in their iron content, came out a lovely range of the swampiest greens I’ve yet achieved. Here you can see them drying along with a set of the same yarns, pre-dirtied in the same manner and then dyed with indigo. This will probably be the bulk of my summer knitting as there’s enough yarn here for three warm weather sweaters.

skeins of olive green and indigo yarns hanging on a drying rack

After the yarn came out of the dyebath it looked like there was still a fair amount of colour, so I heated it up again (exhaust #2 now) and dyed another load of fabric. Here are the resulting fabrics together in the rack:

gold and brown fabrics hanging in a drying rack

And the fabrics after drying, but before their final wash (which I try to put off for a couple of weeks if I’m not in too huge a rush to sew something). From the top, with iron on cotton, on handkerchief weight linen that had previously been dyed very lightly with madder root (red), two pieces of secondhand linen duvet cover that started out oatmeal colour, and the unadulterated turmeric-pomegranate gold on the same duvet linen, and on cotton bedsheet.

pomturm

I’ve since done a second round of this same dye bath and managed to get loads and loads of weird acid greens and paler sludgy olives. Pictures soon!

white noise in a white room

a carved linoleum block sitting next to a graphite rubbing of the block on paper, with carving tools scattered around

Here’s something fun I’ve been working on recently. It’s a lino block of one repeat of a brocade pattern for printing on fabric.

I needed some white on white, or nearly white, brocade fabric for a quilt series I’m working on (for an exhibition in September, more on that later). It’s not the exact pattern but it meant to represent the white brocade wallpaper in my maternal grandmother’s living room. This particular pattern is taken from a certain style of gold brocade drapes from the 1970s that must have been everywhere, based on the sheer volume of them my partner and I used to find in thrift stores in the 90s. Those were our Society of Creative Anachronism years, and I still have my glorious Russian shuba (full length overcoat with “fur” trim) made from this, as well as a beautiful but unfinished court sarafan hanging in my closet. My ulterior motive for using this pattern for my quilt project is that I will be able to print other fabrics with the block later on, in particular a set of old fashioned pinch-pleated drapes for our bedroom.

For now, though, I’m printing it in white on a variety of not-white fabrics, mostly thrifted cotton bedsheets, that I’ve made not-white by boiling in coffee (the absolute easiest and best smelling way to make white just a little less white) and a more grayish not-white by adding tea and a bit of ferrous sulfate to the coffee.

a brocade pattern printed in white ink on off-white fabric

This was my first attempt, with janky registration and a hole in the fabric that I printed right over, and yes, this piece will probably end up in a quilt, hole and all. I’m not at all worried about the registration for this project, although I’m quickly getting the hang of getting the block lined up. There are things I could have done in the planning stages to make registration easier, but oh well. I’m kind of a messy printer at the best of times.

I didn’t do anything to clear out the chatter on the block, and I’m pretty happy with how it fills up the space between motifs in the fabric. Accidental marks are so often the best kind of marks, in printmaking.

Here it is printed on the pale gray where the contrast is actually enough to be able to make it out on screen. The paler fabric is visible on the right, a level down in the drying rack.

pale gray and white brocade fabric lying on a steel drying rack