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mackenzie kelly-frère
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Loom inside a loom, weaving plants and mobile herbariums

In September, the second iteration of Drawn opened at the Alberta Craft Council Gallery in Calgary (Mohkinstsis). This exhibition was especially meaningful for me as it was in my hometown. Friends, family, colleagues, mentors and students came to see the show. It was immensely gratifying to chat with as many of you as I could. Thanks to everyone who came to see the show and hear my artist talk.

 Talking with my weaving teacher Katharine DIckerson about “Folding vernacular” -  Image by Jeff Yee

Talking with my weaving teacher Katharine DIckerson about “Folding vernacular” - Image by Jeff Yee

 View of exhibition at the Alberta Craft Council -  Image by Jeff Yee

View of exhibition at the Alberta Craft Council - Image by Jeff Yee

 “Folding Vernacular” series -  Image by Jeff Yee

“Folding Vernacular” series - Image by Jeff Yee

 Visitors looking at “Scroll: hang”  - Image by Jeff Yee

Visitors looking at “Scroll: hang” - Image by Jeff Yee

 Talking with my weaving teacher Katharine DIckerson about “Folding vernacular” -  Image by Jeff Yee   View of exhibition at the Alberta Craft Council -  Image by Jeff Yee   “Folding Vernacular” series -  Image by Jeff Yee   Visitors looking at “Scroll: hang”  - Image by Jeff Yee

Some will have noticed I neglected to write a post for The Fell in November. All I can tell you is that I am easily distracted by weaving equipment. Throughout November I was busy assembling, disassembling, painting and re-assembling my drawloom attachment. In December and January, I painted and rigged steel counterweights and designed and built a custom extension for the back of my loom. In short, I’ve been thoroughly focused in the studio on a project I’ve looked forward to for years. I have a lot to share about how it has all come together.

I am so glad you are here.

Loom inside a loom

Two boxes of timber and hardware arrived from Glimakra in November. Before this there was much thinking, research and planning. Do I need just a single unit? Should I add a shaft drawloom attachment as well? Will I need an extension? Should I build my own? I’ve had my Glimakra Standard loom for more than twenty years so it was a bit daunting to consider drilling holes in its elegant fir timbers. Here I was lucky to have the advice of some truly generous drawloom specialists. Thank you Amy Blair and Justin Squizerro for answering many questions and offering your counsel over the past year and a half as I pondered my options for setting up a drawloom to weave my own figured damask cloth - analog style. (Amy’s drawloom videos on Youtube have also been incredibly helpful as I tackled assembling and warping my own drawloom. If you are at all curious about this sort of weaving her channel is a great place to start.) Once I had worried for what seemed an adequate amount, I ordered a single-unit drawloom with a countermarche conversion to allow for five-point structures. One can also weave with a drawloom using a counterbalance set-up which I plan to try sometime in the future.

Look at this lovely BLUE loom! The typical draw frame and full height loom extension are also shown in this image.

Inspired by a drawloom Ann Nygard’s book Damask Weaving, I resolved to paint my single-unit drawloom attachment blue. Now if you ever get it into your own noggin to paint all the bits and bobs on your own loom take heed - every stick has four sides and two ends - all of which will want at least two coats. The entire process was just arduous enough that I decided to leave the new countermarche atttachment in its natural shade. One day I promise to at least oil these pieces, but for now at least there is weaving to do.

Diagram from Ruth Arnold’s “Weaving on a Drawloom” 1956 illustrating the drawloom weaving shed. Ground shafts are at the left and pattern units are at the right.

A drawloom attachment along with all its cords, bolts and pegs is essentially a loom inside a loom. It creates a second system of thread control or ‘harness” to accompany a loom’s primary harness - the set of shafts that create the base cloth structure. The drawloom harness sits behind the structural or “ground” shafts holding groups of four to eight threads in units. These units are lifted by the weaver using drawcords to create imagery or repeating pattern. Once the units are raised, all of the ground shafts are treadled in sequence to create one horizontal row of the pattern. Each treadle will pull an individual thread downward within each raised block and lift an individual thread from those units not raised. This all sounds a bit more tedious than it actually is - especially for the weaver invested in complex structures. I’m only about three meters in to my first warp and I am not bored yet.

Painted steel counterweights rigged for fiveground shafts. At the bottom left you can also see the warp being sleyed in the reed. Throughout the set-up I alternated between mechanical problem solving wiht the weights and loom extension and the more familiar task of mounting the warp on the loom.

To return the ground shafts to neutral on a vertical countermarche loom, counterweights or a set of elastics are required. My drawloom mentor (Thanks again Amy) highly recommended counterweights in one of her instructive videos and I was inspired to make my own weights. After a few false starts with washers hung on cords - a nifty idea that was doomed from the start by the sheer volume of washers required - I decided to try steel bar (3/8 x 1 1/2 inches) cut to 20 inch lengths, weighing a little over 3 pounds or 1.5 kilograms each. I then painted them hospital green and rigged them up with old loom cords on rollers adjacent to the vertical jacks of my countermarche set-up. As it turns out, the weights are working perfectly on my first narrow test warp. I don’t think that a wider warp will effect the system all that much as the weight only needs to be adequate to bring everything back to neutral.

As you can see in the shed diagram from Ruth Arnold’s book, the drawloom weaver is asking a great deal from the threads as they traverse from the back of the loom through one harness and then another. Warp threads may change direction two or three times along their way to the front of the loom. Without an adequate distance the additional strain is likely to cause tension issues or even broken threads. The solution? Extend the back of the loom to give the threads more length to absorb the additional strain of multiple direction changes. I could have ordered an extension from Glimakra, but thought it might be fun to try and build this simpler bit of the loom myself. Add to this a genetic inheritance of almost pathological thrift (Thank you Grandma Tessa) and I soon found myself referring back to Nygard’s book for examples of do-it-yourself loom extensions.

Loom extension in progress. The trickiest part of the build was drilling long holes across the two uprights to hold the warp beam supports in place.

I designed a simple and sturdy extension that required custom milling of the wood to suit the proportions of the thick timbers of my Glimakra Standard. I am a reluctant woodworker, but managed to cobble together the extension with patient guidance from our University’s woodshop technician - thank you Dara Humniski for all your help.

My quite possibly overbuilt loom extension adds 80 cm to the length of my loom - a distance recommended for weaving inelastic linen. For the one or two future drawloom weavers reading this, the height of the back beam is set to roughly eight centimetres higher than the front beam per advice from Joanne Hall’s book “Drawloom Weaving”. So far this height is working pretty well.

Behold! A loom extension that - like my countermarche conversion - could also use some oil…but weaving cannot wait!

The overall mechanics of the drawloom are fascinating and I will probably write more about this along with the process of warping the loom in future posts. I am already nearing the end of my first warp and am excited start preparing the next one. Warping the loom (twice as it happens on a drawloom) is nearly as enjoyable as the weaving itself. So what am I weaving?

Weaving plants

Solidago altissima (Canadian goldenrod) image drawn from photograph of a plant in my garden.

I am weaving plants. For centuries damask cloth has featured plants, animals and sometimes people. When I began to think about the sort of motifs I wanted to weave it was clear I wanted to start with figuration that made sense to damask and its history. One of the other reasons I am starting with plants is because these curving leaf and stem shapes give me a chance to work out things like scale, composition and complexity. Over the years I’ve done a lot with Jacquard weaving where image generation is mediated through software. Something about incorporating analog drawing from life directly on graph paper really appeals to me. Of course plants also offer a great deal of conceptual richness to my work as both material (flax, milkweed, hemp fibre etc) and as a more-than-human collaborator. This new weaving focuses on situated materialities and disppearing ecologies and the ways in which we live with and against the natural world.

View from the front of the loom showing the first few inches of weaving with different wefts to achieve a true rendering of the cartoon (top right) derived from a stem of Goldenrod in my garden in December.

One of the first puzzles to solve when I began weaving was a weft choice. Too thin and the resulting image would be too short, too thick and the image would be too tall. My first warp is a 2/8 cotolin set at 30 threads to the inch in a five-point satin structure. After a few tests with finer line linen threads, I finally settled on a thicker tow linen single that did the trick - square squares! I think that scale is going to be the steepest learning curve on the drawloom as I attempt to render my subject in linen and silk. Below you can see the an enlarged image of the specimen stamp from the University of Calgary (U of C) Herbarium. Here a single pixel in my diagram is rendered at roughly 4 mm. The simplification and ultimate abstraction of the photographic image is really interesting to me and may factor in as I puzzle over this new way of working with the woven image. For these sketches, I have planned for three using analog-derived images (goldenrod, cushion spurge and peony from my garden) and three digital images derived from botanical specimens (American vetch and two types of rough fescue).

Vicia Americanis (American Vetch) image derived from a digital image of the botanical specimen kept at the Herbarium at the University of Calgary.

All of this sampling is part of a larger research project weaving some very specific plants. “Damask Herbarium: Banff” is the working title for this project where I plan to work with a set of botanical specimens collected by botanist John Macoun before the opening of Banff National Park in 1885. Later this summer I will be at the Banff Centre for Arts & Creativity where I hope to track down and draw the ancestors of the plants collected by Macoun. (For six weeks I am excited to be co-leading faculty for the six week Banff International Artist in Residence program with my colleague Germaine Koh. )

European damask is a luxury textile with centuries of history as a signifier of wealth and privilege. This project interrogates the nature of the imagery depicted in these textiles and its relationship to colonial histories and signifiers. Many if not all plants and animals depicted in this cloth offered an Orientalist vision of far-off places – often the same colonized places generating the wealth that enabled the production of luxury goods like Damask cloth.

Silk Damask designed by John Henry Dearle (1859 - 1932) for Morris and Co ca 19142-1914. Note the lotus flower in the centre of the cloth.

The choice of the Macoun Banff National Park samples is intentional as the botanist’s legacy is linked to the westward expansion of Canada in the nineteenth century and the subsequent devastation of native prairie grasslands. His collection pre-dates the opening of the park and was displayed for its opening. Histories of plant collection and its relationship to conquest and the displacement of indigenous peoples are a key focus of this research.

Working on my drawloom, I intend to produce a damask cloth enmeshed with images of 140 year-old botanical specimens and their ancestors. “Damask Herbarium: Banff” examines how the visual language of damask design may be re-deployed to weave a (re)collection of plant specimens or woven herbarium, that speaks to the histories of Treaty Seven territory where the stewardship of irreplaceable ecologies is urgent.

Mobile Milkweed Herbarium

Mobile Milkweed Herbariun, paper covered, stackable trays with plant stalks, fibre, threads and woven samples, 2026

This month I am showing this work at Slow Fashion Lab, in the AHVA Gallery at the University of British Columbia. The exhibition has been curated by Gemaine Koh and Helene Day Fraser. The opportunity to participate in the exhibition and related symposium March 14 arose from my involvement with the Slow Fashion, Sustainable Fibre Research Cluster at the University of British Columbia. I look forward to sharing more about my work with the research cluster in a future post.

“The Mobile Milkweed Herbarium” contains plant stalks, fibre, thread and cloth drawn from three species of milkweed common to western Canada: Swamp milkweed (Asclepias incarnata), Showy milkweed (Asclepias speciosa) and Common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca). All plants were collected in Mohkinstsis (Calgary), Alberta. This sample collection of part of a larger research project aimed at producing thread suitable for weaving milkweed damask cloth. It is likely that this cloth will also feature imagery related to the milkweed plant…but for now I am still spinning.

Thank you for reading! Questions and comments are most welcome.

Saturday 02.28.26
Posted by Mackenzie Kelly-Frere
 

Spinning, folding, felting and an exhibition

My beloved double-treadle Lendrum wheel is nearly thirty years old so I don’t take any chances when transporting it.

Spinning

In July, I packed up my spinning gear and four (maybe five?) fleeces to begin an artist residency at the Central branch of the Calgary Public Library. Since then, I’ve been at the library twice a week engaging with visitors and working on some yarns for weaving. It is hard to believe I am now more than half way through and will be finished mid-September.

Spinning some fine worsted with Border Leicester/Dorsett with an very long 18-21 cm staple.

The residency has involved many demonstrations of spinning on the wheel along with the creation of steadily-improving, fine worsted samples for weaving. I had planned a little more work for the residency, but have realized that I may as well embrace the many opportunities for conversation and engagement with fibre-curious folk - and there are many.

Something about the wheel and the gorgeous natural-coloured fleeces draws people in. More often than not, they will share a story about their aunt, grandmother or daughter-in-law who also works (or did work) with fibre in some way. I’ve heard stories about spinning monks in Ethiopia; a grandmother in Serbia who used to weave for her family; and a young woman who recently moved to the city looking to connect with a local fibre artist community. In short, it is feeling really special to meet all of these curious people and connect with them through textiles.

Table in my residency studio with fleece, handspun yarns and spindles - notice the little purple one painted by my daughter as a Father’s Day gift.

Tonight I am teaching my first spindle spinning workshop at the Crowfoot branch and will be teaching two more - one at the Central Library (Thursday August 21 from 6-730 pm) and another at the Shawnessy Library (Saturday August 23 from 2-330 pm). I believe there a re a few spots left in the workshop at Shawnessy. Register HERE with your library card.

Can you tell I am focusing intensely on my posture while trying to ignore the fact that spinning with shoes on is very distracting?

September 6, I will also be making an interactive presentation “Where Does Your Wool Come From?” with Tara Klager of Providence Lane Homestead at the Central Library. I am looking forward to sharing my passion for local wool along with my favorite co-conspirator. If you havent already subscribed to Tara’s newsletter you should definitely check it out. This weekend I am also collaborating with Tara on a grass cordage workshop at her farm for Open Farm Days 2025. Follow this link to learn more.

Mandy Vocke wrote a feature about my residency at the library that you can read HERE. It has been a true gift to spend time spinning in the beautiful downtown public library. I am grateful for the conversations and connections made so far. I highly recommend this residency to any artist who enjoys teaching and demonstrating while they work.

Folding

Detail of “Folding vernacular (towel)” woven in silk and linen, coloured with madder dye, sumi, acrylic spray paint and soon to be mounted on handmade wool felt

In June I finished weaving a series of small cloth pieces experimenting with acrylic spray paint on a very fine silk organzine warp set at 60 ends per inch. The structure allows for two wefts to appear distinctly on either side in a two-faced cloth. If a weft is omitted the warp painting is revealed. If the single weft is very fine, transparency is possible.

Sketch for a floral pattern used in “Folding vernacular (bedsheet)”

While weaving these pieces I was thinking around textile pattern vernacular and how it may be redeployed as a kind of affective abstraction. As I worked, I intentionally avoided looking up specific patterns and instead relied on memories of specific scraps of cloth from my grandma’s sewing cupboard, sheer curtains in a nearly forgotten apartment and kitchen towels. Painted onto the warp with spray paint, a very soft image appears in the cloth, fading and emerging at once.

Two pieces on the loom showing transparency.

From the start I decided on some kind of folded presentation for these experiments. Initially this was because of the unique character of the two sided cloth and not wanting to hide the reverse. Choosing a “good” side was next to impossible. As I worked to finish each panel, the notion of folding became something more - linked to the experience of cloth as a mutable, textual object. Cloth may be folded, crumpled or draped. Each state change is enacted through touch at once mundane and intimate. What if there is a quiet language of folding cloth that could inform my composition in these works? For example, in folding a towel my hand lays the first fold flat before making another. The automatic nature of gestures that fold then unfold - or even the way we reorient our body during dressing point to the sort of thing I am thinking about here. See also Sharon Blakely and Liz Mitchell’s essay “Unfolding: A multisensorial dialogue in ‘material time’” For now I am going to leave this all a little unresolved until I’ve had more time with the work.

Felting

Laying out Combed Border Leicester fleece for mounting the “Folding vernacular” pieces.

After some sampling, I devised a plan for a backing material that I will use to mount the “Folding vernacular” series. Handmade wool felt is perhaps not the most time efficient choice. But, the particular felt I can achieve with this beautiful Border Leicester fleece is unlike anything else I might find elsewhere. The plan is to mount each folded work on its own panel fo felt which itself will be presented on a birch panel.

Felt in process after wetting out the fibre.

Nearly-finished felt will be rolled a bit more then steam pressed.

An Exhibition

“Drawn” is coming to Mohkinstsis (Calgary)! My solo exhibition originally shown at the Discovery Gallery at the Alberta Craft Council in Edmonton will soon be installed at the craft council’s space at CSpace. I am thrilled to be able to share this work along with the new “Folding vernacular” series in my hometown.

The exhibition runs from September 6 to November 1, 2025 with an opening reception September 13 from 2-4 pm and artist talk September 27 from 2-330 pm. If you are planning a visit, let me know and I’ll try to meet you there! CLICK HERE for more information including gallery location and open hours.

Monday 08.11.25
Posted by Mackenzie Kelly-Frere
Comments: 4
 

Prehistoric textiles, leftover wool and a new loom

Fibre, gesture, twist and structure are all enmeshed in handmade cloth. I have always been fascinated by the fundamental principles of cloth construction. This has drawn me towards ancient cloth and the people who made it. Since January I’ve been working away on an online course exploring prehistoric textile techniques taught by experimental archaeologist Sally Pointer. It has been really exciting to think around textiles at this early stage in human and non-human history. I’ve even managed some rudimentary antler needles thanks to the provision of some flint flakes by friend, archaeologist and flint-knapper extraordinaire Jason Roe.

My research of all things ancient textiles had me travelling to Iceland last May to weave Shelter/In plain sight at the Icelandic Textile Centre in Blönduós. (Read more about the project HERE.) Perhaps the most exciting thing about this adventure was the opportunity to experience a wholly different approach to cloth construction. I combed locks of Icelandic wool for hours. My arms ached as I worked on a fourth, then a fifth fleece. “It will be worth it”, I told myself as each wavy tog lock was drawn from the fuzzy soft pthel.

The soft fibres were spun into weft yarns and the long tog locks sorted by colour. These were then knotted into the warp in a pattern prescribed by an image of Icelandic turf - a scheme I questioned often as the weaving progressed. Sorting several shades of tog locks and arranging them according to a digital diagram took far longer than I anticipated. Would a landscape, or at least the feeling of one be manifested in the finished textile? I sure hoped so.

Original image of Icelandic turf used in Shelter/In plain sight in the centre. At the right is a reduced/digitized version using shades of Icelandic tog. At the right is the same image separated into thirteen columns - each row of knotted tog required thirteen double-ended tufts. You will note within each column there is often two shades which required combining black/grey, grey/brown and blends of each for lighter or darker shades.

Weaving the Vararfeldur or “Shaggy Cloak” tested both my physical and mental endurance with every five centimetres of weaving taking at least an hour - not counting the time combing, sorting spinning and knotting. I truly love to weave, and yet it would seem that one can have too much of a good thing. The work was finished just in time when my husband and daughter - themselves on an epic Icelandic road trip - came to collect this weary weaver.

Johanna Palmadottir regards my weaving as the residents met for a farewell coffee at the culmination of the May 2024 Os Residency. (Thank you Anie Toole for the photo!)

Shortly before my family arrived, the May 2024 Os Residency artists met for farewell coffee. I was excited to show Johana Palmadottir the finished weaving. She is the shepherd and project manager at the Icelandic Textile Centre who provided wool for the ground weft and pile. I remember how she looked at the cloth I had just cut from the loom - it was like she recognized each of the sheep woven into the piece. I’m not sure many people will ever see this piece the way she does. I think that sometimes we think about the audience for our work in a really abstract way. This brief interaction reminded me that someone who encounters your work may also be seen as a collaborator or even co-conspirator - someone to make the work with. I consider Johanna’s profound knowledge of her animals and their keeping to be a part of Shelter/In plain sight, both literally in that the quality of the wool is a direct result of her work, but also in a conceptual sense when we think about the reciprocity in crafting objects using agricultural materials.

Apron cloth at the Icelandic Textile Museum. The yarn for the apron cloth was spun by Ingibjörg fiór›ardóttir of Hof in Svarfa›ardalur, and woven by Sigur›ur Jónsson of Brekkuger›i in Fljótsdalur. around 1900.

Shelter/In plain sight was part of my exhibition Drawn at the Discovery Gallery at the Alberta Craft Council in Edmonton, Canada along with other recent weaving. In September 2025 an iteration of Drawn will open at the Alberta Craft Council Gallery at CSpace in Calgary. Because this gallery is larger, I have the opportunity to add some new work to the exhibition. Inspired by an exquisite roll of wool apron cloth at the Icelandic Textile Museum in Blönduós, I am weaving several small (approx 40 x 70 cm) panels with Icelandic wool on a fine silk warp. Using the frequency of the natural coloured wool stripes in the checked apron cloth as a jumping off point, I plan to compose and weave horizontal bands of Icelandic wool in different natural shades.

Handspun Icelandic pthell in shades of black and brown or “mórautt”

The structure for this weaving will afford a double-sided cloth with a different sequence on each face. I found the structure drafted in Ragnaheidur Bjork Thorsdottir’s excellent book Listin að vefa (note the book is in Icelandic but contains beautiful, clear illustrations and diagrams for anyone keen on contemporary Icelandic weaving). Typically used for firm, hardwearing wool textiles, this structure affords an insulating weft-faced cloth. In contrast, I will use the same structure for something much lighter and weave translucent cloth that hides and reveals patterns on the reverse face depending on the density of my beat and the relative thickness of the weft threads used. I am not entirely certain how this one will turn out but am hoping for something that has the feeling of the apron cloth laid over a moody Icelandic/Canadian prairie landscape. I plan to stain the silk warp before weaving in a manner similar to my Tissue/lake series. For some reason I am thinking to title the new series “Slough” but then titles usually arrive later when the work is complete.

Once my current weaving project is complete, I will be converting my Glimakra Standard loom to a countermarche setup with a Myrehed Single-Unit Drawloom. I have some weaving planned with this new equipment and look forward to sharing more very soon.

THANK YOU for subscribing to my studio newsletter “The Fell” - it is a real privilege to share my love for textiles with you and I hope that you will be encouraged to join in conversation with me. If you have questions or comments you may leave them here, (CLICK HERE to access comments for this post and scroll to the bottom of the page) but you may also reach me by email HERE.

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Friday 05.09.25
Posted by Mackenzie Kelly-Frere
 

The Fell... coming May 2025

I am starting a studio newsletter this spring to engage with fellow makers and lovers of craft, textile histories and material culture. Initially I will focus on my own textile-based research projects, but also hope to share the work of others. Submissions are welcome.

Like a lot of other artists and makers, I have found myself exhausted by social media in its various forms and yet very reticent to abandon it wholesale. I have friends across Canada and around the world with whom I’ve formed real connections. Your art, activism and community care inspires me. I am hopeful that in the coming year we will all sort out new ways to connect and share with each other away from corporate social media. To continue with a status quo of crass monetization, harassment of vulnerable minorities and the extraction of culture for the sake of rampant greed is no longer tenable. We can do better.

The Fell will be issued in February, May, August and November. If this sounds like something you would like to see in your inbox, consider subscribing on my CONTACT page.

*The “fell” is the leading edge of a woven cloth as it is constructed on the loom - pictured here in a marvellous illustration that accompanied a mid century pamphlet for weaving equipment made by Nilus Leclerc in Quebec, Canada.

Wednesday 02.19.25
Posted by Mackenzie Kelly-Frere
 

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