Handspinning has completely taken over my spare time lately. I work full time and commute for a total of three hours every day, so I need to set goals for my crafting to actually get things done. If I don't, I will just collapse on the sofa when I come home in the evening and do nothing. Sad but true. So a while ago, I decided to try to spin for an absolute minimum of eight hours per week (with a spindle - wheel spinning doesn't count). It's not much, but it's something and it has made a little difference - I'm getting faster for one thing! And since spinning for me partly consists of collapsing perching primly on the sofa anyway - see video below! - it's not even particularly taxing to keep it up. These days, I almost always spin with a distaff if I have the choice, twirling the spindle with one hand and drafting with the other. It wasn't love at first sight when I started learning this traditional and time-honoured technique, though. I think 'complete and utter frustration' sums up my initial feelings quite accurately. All aspirations of thread control went out the window and it was like starting all over again with only thick-and-thin, useless yarn as the result (useless for my purposes, that is. I don't do art yarn. Not at the moment, anyway). It took a fair amount of practice, but once I got the hang of it, it quickly became my preferred way of spinning. I went from total frustration to 'No more suspended spindling for me, EVER!' in less than 3 months. The distaff is a fantastic tool - it works as a third hand. Judging from how spinners are depicted in contemporary art, it also seems to be virtually ubiquitous to medieval spindle spinning (there are a few exceptions, of course, like in this early 13th century manuscript, and perhaps this one from the 14th century). Even when more or less suspended spinning is shown - as in this rather rare depiction of a top whorl spindle, for example - the distaff is still there, and the one-hand drafting technique, too: British Library, 'The Rutland Psalter', Add MS 62925 fol. 86r, c. 1260. With a distaff to hold the fibres, my hands are free to draft and twirl the spindle and it gives me a much better workning position than suspended spindling without a distaff does. I also find that it's much easier to control the amount of twist that goes into the thread this way (which is kind of important when you spin yarn for historical purposes). In addition, it completely removes the problem of back-spin - that annoying phenomenon when your thread has eaten all the momentum of the turning spindle and it starts going the other way while you're still busy drafting. Many medieval spindle whorls are small with a low moment of inertia, which means they spin fast, but stop turning really quickly and you have to restart them a lot to avoid back-spin when you're spinning suspended. And guess what - the distaff/spindle in hand-technique more or less takes the 'drop' out of 'drop spindle' (a term I've never really understood anyway - it has no Swedish equivalent; here we just have 'sländor' (spindles), plain and simple). Now I don't mind using my precious clay whorls on our hardwood floors at home, because even if the thread breaks, I don't drop them anymore. Here's a video of me spinning warp thread for weaving, with a distaff made out of a broom stick. When I've spun a length of thread, I stop drafting and add extra twist to it. As I relax the thread to unhitch the half hitch that keeps it on the spindle, I simultaneously check the twist by feeling the resistance as the thread curls back on itself. More and more medieval reenactors use a distaff and hand-held spindle when spinning these days. It's becoming quite a trend among historical fibre geeks! Usually, I'm not a huge fan of reenactment fads. Far too often they are based on scant sources and result in odd over-representations when suddenly the whole reenactment community is doing the same thing. And people often end up copying other reenactors rather than looking at the sources themselves, which is not the way to go in my opinion. But when it comes to distaffs and spinning, it's a trend that simply can't go wrong! It's raising the authenticity in reenactment displays by showing tools and techniques that were actually common and widespread both geographically and over time. In art, medieval distaffs appear to be around a metre in length, held under the arm, tucked into the belt, held between the knees while sitting or sometimes mounted on a stand. The Roman or ancient Greek tradition of short, hand-held distaffs doesn't seem to be the way to go for medieval spinning. I've found one medieval image - or rather a sculpture - with what might be a hand-held distaff. It's St Gertrude of Nivelles, a 7th century saint often portrayed spinning and surrounded by rats. However, it might just be that the rest of the distaff has broken off, but I couldn't tell by looking at the statue whether that was the case or not. It's a nice rat, though... St. Gertrude of Nivelles, wooden sculpture,1390-1400. Originally from Pfarrkirche St. Michael in Spiringen, Switzerland. Swiss National Museum, Zürich. Pix by Vix. As far as I know, not a whole lot of finds have been identified by archaeologists as distaffs. I mean, a lot of the time they would just be plain sticks, so there's not much to identify really. There's a medieval one from Schloss Gottorf in northern Germany (see below), though, and several distaff heads have been found at medieval Novgorod in Russia. From Staraia Ladoga, also in Russia, there are reported finds of distaffs from as early as the 9th century. Both the ones from Novgorod and those from Staraia Ladoga seem to be 'bat distaffs' with a top section shaped like a paddle, a type that remained popular in Russia well into the 19th century (Sherman 2008). It's not a type that seems to be depicted in European medieval manuscripts, though, and although similar distaffs exist here in Sweden from post-medieval times, I've decided to stick with the straight stick version for now. Although Novgorod traded a lot with Europe through the Hanseatic League in the Middle Ages, I'm personally a little wary of using finds from such a relatively far-off place when my focus is southern Scandinavia/northern Germany (on the other hand, the huge amount of well-preserved wooden objects makes it very difficult not to glance eastwards to Novgorod every once in a while...). Medieval distaff (and also spindles and parts of niddy-noddies), Schloss Gottorf, Germany. Pix by Vix. There are many ways of dressing a distaff. The most commonly depicted versions in medieval manuscripts appear to fall into two (very!) broad categories: - the more or less fluffy fibre bundle, often tied in place by a narrow band - the cone-shaped fibre bundle, either tied with a band or with some sort of cloth (?) cover, or both. More images of medieval distaffs and spinning can be found over at my Pinterest board Medieval Fibre Preparation & Spinning, where I've also tried to add the original source for all the pins. 'The Holkham Bible', British Library, AddMss 47682, fol. 4v & 6r, 1320-30. A nun (St. Gertrude?) spinning in the company of a helpful cat. 'Maastricht Hours', British Library, Stowe MS 17, fol. 34r, 1st half of the 14th century. British Library, MS Royal 10 E IV, fol. 49v, early 14th century. Another one of those rarely depicted top whorl spindles! 'The Taymouth Hours', British Library, MS Yates Thompson 13, fol. 23v, 2nd quarter of the 14th century. Could this perhaps be an image showing the elusive practice of spinning dyed wool (see this previous post)? 'Ormesby Psalter', Bodleian Library, MS Douce 366, fol. 71v, c. 1310. Basically, it's perfectly possible to achieve all these different shapes using a simple straight stick as a distaff. The cone-shaped ones may have some sort of structure underneath, perhaps like a 'modern' (19th century) cage distaff or something similar, but it's difficult to tell from the contemporary images exactly what's hiding under the fibres. In some cases, it's obvious that the images show flax being spun rather than wool - if the spinner (or monkey, in the case of the illuminated manuscript below) is running the thread through their mouth, it's a pretty good indication of flax (or hemp) spinning, since it's commonly spun wet. A monkey spinning flax. British Library, Additional 18851 f459, 1480s. But sometimes people claim you can tell what fibre is being spun in an image just from the shape of the fibre bundle on the distaff. I'm not so sure. Medieval images just aren't detailed enough and most distaff shapes can actually be created with either wool or flax. It's just a matter of how you arrange the fibres. Wool can be gathered into long, thick tops that look very much like flax strick (hackled flax bundles) when tied to a distaff and flax, on the other hand, can be wrapped like candy floss around the distaff head. Which ends up looking rather round and fluffy and wool-like. Long fibres that hang straight down may of course be flax, but then again, this is what my distaff looks like when I'm spinning worsted wool: Combed wool from the double-coated Värmland sheep, a Swedish landrace breed. And this is how I go about dressing it: Top left image: hand-combed tops rolled into little 'bird's nests' for storage. Bottom left image: a wide band of woollen cloth (150x10 cm) with pieces of the tops arranged in layers. Right image: the band and wool rolled around the distaff and secured with a pin and a linen tie. A similar way of doing this can be found at Katrin Kania's blog A Stitchin Time: How I dress my distaff. Here's another way of getting the fibres onto the distaff; this works very well for industrially prepared tops or for hand-combed wool, but carded rolags can also be tied to the distaff in this way. Combed tops (or their modern counterpart) can also be wound around the distaff, as may be the case in this image: 'The Queen Mary Psalter', BL Royal 2 B VII, fol 158, between 1310 and 1320. Modern carded batts or hand-carded (or even just teased) wool collected into a big pile can be rolled into a nice little package like this... ...which looks a lot like the distaff arrangement in this image... 'Speculum humanae salvationis'. GKS 80 2o, fol. 6r, the first half of the 15th century. Det Konglige Bibliotek, Copenhagen, Denmark. ...and also like the Virgin Mary's fibre bundle in this image (but without the angel): Virgin Mary, pregnant and spinning. Anonymous, c. 1410. Hungarian National Museum, Budapest. The package can be attached to the distaff at a jaunty angle as in the image above, or simply stuck unceremoniously onto the top of the distaff as it is: There! Let's start spinning already! As long as the fibres aren't too sticky, I've found that almost anything goes when it comes to dressing a distaff. A great messy tangle is fine - as long as it's possible to pull the wool off it one-handed, it'll work - but it will affect the thread. Snags, neps and sticky fibres on the distaff naturally make a less even thread, while carefully prepared wool really helps in spinning a smooth thread. Like so many other things, the end result owes so much to the preparations. I often use the tie around the bundle to control the flow of fibres, adjusting it to give me just enough resistance to draft against when I want a non-fuzzy thread. I personally find it helps with a little bit of resistance when I want a smooth thread, but for fluffier yarn I just let twist do most of the drafting for me. At the moment (in between sessions of spinning for weaving), I trying to learn how to do a proper woollen long draw, which of course requires yet another slightly different one-handed drafting technique. I'm starting to get some usable thread out of it now, and it's good practice for the day when I finally get myself a great wheel... References: Textiles tools from medieval Novgorod: http://users.stlcc.edu/mfuller/NovgorodfabricP.html Medieval Clothing and Textiles, Volym 4: "From Flax to Linen in Medieval Rus Lands" - Heidi M. Sherman, 2008. Dressing distaffs: How I Dress My Distaff- A Stitch inTime So what IS just sogreat about adistaff? - 15th Century Spinning

Aleks7

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Obra de referencia de carácter interdisciplinario dedicada a los vestidos y otras piezas textiles medievales británicas. Una obra única que reúne 582 artículos

Using evidence from cases recorded in the registers of the consistories of southern France, the author investigates the way in which Languedocian women policed each other's behaviour, enforcing a collective morality through gossip, sexual insult and physical confrontation.

Silk was one of the major luxuries during the medieval era, defining one of the major trade routes between the east and west.

Textiles Handwerk mit einer Nadel seit der Bronzezeit

The motif of the Virgin at the loom occurred with frequency in Western art only after the Feast of the Presentation of the Virgin (celebrated by the Byzantine Church on November 21 from the seventh or eighth century onward) was introduced into the West in 1372.

The Bayeux Tapestry The Bayeux Tapestry, in spite of its name, is not really a tapestry. The scenes on the tapestry were embroidered with coloured thread to create the scenes. A tapestry is woven on a loom. Regardless of the name, the Bayeux Tapestry is an important historical item that gives information about events around

Detail of the Buxtehude "knitting madonna". Part of an altarpiece painted by Master Bertram of Minden, probably in the late 1300s.

Fragments of Iron Age textiles from the Celtic saltmines at Hallstatt, Austria

Buried for more than a thousand years, Scotland's “Galloway hoard” may include rare artifacts looted from medieval monasteries.

Lately I have been working on a couple of different projects, some are big som are small... And while I am working on the more complicated stuff, I will post a little something for all you needleworkers who are reading this blog :-) I have made some thread reels based on a finding from London. They aren't exact replicat, they are meerly inspired by the look of the original. The original can be seen in the book: "The medieval household" The thread reels I made have been turned on an electrical lathe and are all made from elderberry wood (Sambucus nigra). Elderberry wood is very hard, despite the fact that elderberry is a quite fast growing tree. The grain is also very uniform and therfore, well suited for turning on a lathe. The threadreel on the far right is a leg bone from a lamb. I have been using this for a long time and I think it has a very practical feel to it :-) There are findings of this type of threadreels too, but unfortunately I don't have any pictures of it.

Look, I can spin! My friend Wil from work, who is really quite amazing when it comes to anything fibre or cake related, recently taught me how to spin with a spindle. He lent me one of his spindles (it's an Ashford top-whorl drop spindle) and very kindly gave me some roving to spin on it. On the left is the roving, which is a fibre (in this case wool) which has been washed and carded. Carding is like combing the wool, so all the fibres lie in the same direction, ready to be spun. On the right is the yarn I've spun so far. After a while the spindle gets too full and it has to be wound off onto something (an empty toilet roll tube in this case). As a long-time knitter and general crafter I picked up the basics pretty quickly, but it's still very laborious and slow. Before spinning wheels were invented (in around the 11th century) all thread was spun on drop spindles, like the one being used by the woman on this ancient Greek vase, dating from around 490 BC. It's amazing to think that for thousands of years this was the only way to spin all the thread that was needed to make fabric for clothing and things like sails for ships! Attic white ground oinoche , c 490-470 BC, British museum Medieval woman spinning with drop spindles. The roving is tied onto distaffs, which they hold under their arms. From their outfits they look like upper-class women, but I imagine that spinning was something done by all classes of women as such a large volume of thread needed to be produced. Women spinning, from Augustine, La Cité de Dieu, c.1475, Koninklijke Bibliotheek manuscript collection Although men did spin (Ghandi was one notable practitioner) it was usually a womens' job, hence the word "spinster" coming to mean an unmarried woman. The subject of a woman with spindle and distaff was a fairly popular subject for artists, although I must say these women look a lot more graceful spinning than I do! Young Woman Spinning Wool, Abraham Solomon, 1862 Venetian Women Spinning Wool, Marius Michel, 19th century The Spinner, William-Adolphe Bouguereau, 1873 The Spinner, Goatherd of Auvergne, Jean-Francois Millet, 1869 The Child Mary Spinning, 18th century, Peru And let's not forget Sleeping Beauty, who pricked her finger on a spindle, although most illustrations show her pricking it on the distaff attached to a spinning wheel. Here are a few illustrations where the old woman is actually spinning with a spindle. Walter Crane, from The Bluebeard Picture Book, 1875 Andre Richard If you've ever wanted to have a go at spinning, do give it a try, it's quite a soothing, meditative thing to do. One day I might even have a go at spinning silk!

Hello all, I received an inquiry concerning the history of women's crocheted caps in Lithuania. In response, i will give a part of what i have found in my research. Crochet does not seem to go back earlier than the middle of the 19th century in Lithuania, at least as far as caps. The tradition of crocheting or looping footwear from twine may well go back earlier, but i cannot verify that. Women's caps were originally made from netting, This technique is old and widespread, it was also used in western Ukraine, as well as Scandinavia where it is called Sprang, and undoubtedly in other places. I will insert here the words of A & A Tamosaitis/Tamosaitiene on the subject, as they give a good description of the technique. Here is a photograph of a pair of caps in progress, two caps were made at a time, because every time you twist two threads, it crosses twice, and the two twists are separated, and the design is built up from both the bottom and the top. This image is from a Ukrainian Museum, but the technique was essentially the same in Lithuania, and undoubtedly over a wider area as well. Here is a drawing showing close up how the threads interact in the netting. A large section of untwined warp was left in the middle when the twined material was finished. The tension was released, and as the shed rod was removed, the warp threads were separated into bundles, formed into loops and the loops pulled through one another to keep the work from unraveling untill the 2 middle edges could be secured. [Incipient crochet!]. Here is an example from a Lithuanian museum of a piece of netting at this stage. The short edges will become the sides, and the long edges will be gathered to form the front and back. This technique resulted in a very elastic, breathable material. The finished product was taken off the frame, cut into two caps, the front and back were gathered, and often the sides were bound with cloth. The open work on top was able to expand to contain all the hair, which was usually braided and pinned on top of the head, had a pleasant design, and enabled the head to breathe. Thus the social requirement of married women to keep their hair covered was satisfied in a way that was reasonably comfortable. When going out in public, a nuometa or kerchief was worn over the cap, kykai or chepets. Here is a closeup of one example. Here is an example of a piece of netting apparently destined for another use, as the edge has been knotted to secure it. And here is a photograph of a nuometa from northeastern Lithuania with a decorative netted edge, as well as a woven in design. Here is a photograph which was posed and taken in the 1970's. She is wearing the cap incorrectly, the hair should not be visible. She was most likely unaware of this. Here are a few more examples, showing some of the diversity in the design of the netting and also of the decorative edging. In the 19th century, with urban influences from outside, caps came to be made in other ways, with open work cloth, brocade, damask, knitting, etc. One technique which reached Lithuania is crochet. The origins of crochet are obscure, I have done a little research on the subject, and there are several theories, some of which are highly unconvincing, but no hard evidence. Some claim that it is derived from the very old tradition of knitting, single needle knitting, finger looping, or needle looping, all of which have an ancient heritage, which has survived particularly well in Scandinavia. The 'ice man', a bronze age man who was frozen in a glacier in Switzerland, and whose body was recovered several years ago, had a pouch which had been made by finger looping. These techniques are essentially similar.They all involve making loops in thread or yarn and then pulling the loops through other loops. All it would require is for someone to have the idea to use a little hook to execute the technique. Here is a photo of a long length of warp which is ready for the loom and is being temporarily stored by looping it back into itself in a long chain, showing that the basic concept had been around for a long time. Another theory is that it derived from the practice some people had of using a small hook to do embroidery on netting, reticello. Perhaps, although in reticello one does not create a tissue, one makes patterns on a net which already exists. Others claim that it derived from tambour work, which was very popular in Central Asia, and certainly many examples of which survive from northwest Russia, Southeast Finland and other places in Europe. The problem with that is that tambour work is a shortcut to executing chain stitch embroidery. Again, the point is to make a design on the surface of an existing fabric. Another point which argues against this is that tambour hooks had a little gate, or baffle; this was open when the hook was pushed through the cloth so as to catch the thread underneath, but then closed on the return journey so as not to snag the cloth. This is essential to the technique of tambour, but also makes it impossible to use such a hook to do crochet. I find this unconvincing. It seems to me that those who propose this theory are focusing too greatly on the hook itself, rather than on the process. A similar theory is put forth to derive crochet from hooks used to make rugs. For more discussion of this topic, you can consult this article. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crochet I would find it credible that someone may have seen tambour work done who was familiar with one needle knitting or finger looping, and thought that it would be easier to do with a hook, just as tambour work proceeds more quickly and easily than doing chain stitch with a needle. In any case, what actually happened is not recorded. People who write history do not usually take notice of such daily activities, especially when done by women. As far as we can tell, crochet appeared around 1800 in Europe, became very popular, and reached Lithuania about the mid 19th century. There started about that time the practice of making these caps using crochet instead of netting. It was easier, you didn't need to carry around a frame, industrial thread and yarn of great uniformity of thickness was readily available, it had the same qualities of being elastic and breathable, and it was fashionable. At first such caps were bound around the edges in the same manner as the netted caps. here is one example with a cross stitch design in red and black on the edge. Here are a couple more examples of crocheted caps made in the form of the old netted caps. Most were all white or ecru, but this one has a design in red worked in, and is almost more in the shape of a bonnet. They continued to be worn under the kerchief outside the home. As you can see from these last two images, it was not long before the caps were being made entirely in crochet, taking advantage of crochet's ability to make decorative edges. Here are a few more examples of crocheted caps from the late 19th century. Eventually, with the change in social mores, the caps came to be worn by themselves, even in public, like this example from Lithuania Minor. In fact, all of these older examples are from southern Lithuania, especially Dzukija, although a few are known from Suvalkija as well. A very few caps have long flaps worked in, perhaps in imitation of the tulle caps popular in Mazovia at this time, or the ribbons sometimes attached to the backs of them in other countries. With the disappearance of the taboo of married women showing their hair in public, the caps became smaller, showing the hair around the edges. Such caps remain popular today, and are now worn by girls as well as married women. I am informed that one can easily find them being sold at souvenir shops in Lithuania to this day. Here is a photograph of girls from the dance group Seltinis posing with their crocheted caps. Thank you for reading, I hope that those of you who crochet may find inspiration in the concepts and/or patterns set forth here. Perhaps someone will be inspired to try netting. It seems like a craft which it would be very good to revive. Thanks also to Karina, who provided the impetus and inspiration for this posting, and who will shortly be writing an article herself on this subject for the online magazine Crochet Insider, focusing on the more recent history of the crocheted version of these caps. A couple of people have asked me more about the actual process of how to do netting, pletinya or Sprang. I have looked online, and i have found a couple of informative websites that give instructions. http://www.stringpage.com/sprang/sprang1.html http://housebarra.com/EP/ep07/11sprang.html http://www.denblauwenswaen.nl/public/sites/english/techniques/sprang/the_technique.htm Feel free to contact me with requests for research. I hope to eventually cover all of Europe and the Former Russian Empire/Soviet Union. I also gratefully accept tips on source materials which i may not have. I also accept commissions to research/design, sew, and/or embroider costumes or other items for groups or individuals Roman K. Rkozakand@aol Source Material: AntanaTamošaitis and Anastazija Tamošaitienė, 'Lithuanian National Costume', Toronto, 1979 Mikalina Glemžaitė, 'Lietuvių Tautiniai Drabužiai', [Lithuanian National Clothing] Vilnius, 1955 Stasė Bernotienė, 'Lietuvių Liaudies Moterų Drabužiai XVIII a XX pr.' [Lithuanian Women's Folk Clothing from the XVIII to the XX cent], Vilnius, 1974 S. Sydorovych, 'Khudozhnia Tkanyna Zakhidnykh Oblastej URSR', [Artistic Weaving of the Western Provinces of the Ukrainain SSR], Kyjiw, [Kiev] 1979 J. Grigienė et al, 'Lietuvių Liaudies Menas - Drabužiai' [Lithuanian Folk Art - Clothing], Vilnius, 1974 Kati Reeder Meek, 'Reflections from a Flaxen Past, For Love of LIthuanian Weaving', Alpena, Michigan, 2000

The June challenge for the Historical Sew Monthly 2015 is Out of Your Comfort Zone: Create a garment from a time period you haven’t done before, or that uses a new skill or technique that you’ve never tried before. Of all the challenges this year, it’s probably the one I’m most excited about, both as a sewer, and as an organiser. (I know, I say I’m most excited about all of them, and I AM always super excited when they start coming up, but I’m definitely most excited about this one overall!) The first impetus of the HSF/M was to give the motivation to sew, but it’s also always been intended to really push our sewing boundaries, and to encourage interactions. What better way to push our boundaries than with a challenge that is all about that? And what better way to encourage collaborations and interactions than to make us try a new skill or time-period, which is inevitably going to involve asking the other members for advice, and looking at the research and creations …

Monumental tapestries are cleaned and conserved.