The finished basket sat on the kitchen table. Its newly stained reeds sparkled as a beam of light shone across the room in a wide triangle. I examined the precision of the handiwork and found it difficult to believe I had woven it myself.
The first step had been choosing which basket I was going to make. I poured through a pile of basketry books my friend had left. I found many that were extraordinarily beautiful but they seemed too complicated for me to make in the two days left of my vacation. I found one that was pleasing as well as manageable. Yes, this was the one. I carefully cut 19 pieces of reed 32 inches long and then 27 pieces 36 inches long. I soaked them in the sink for a while.
I couldn't help but feel the connection to the deeper weaving of things in my life. It was as though each reed represented some experience or person I'd had in my life through the years. As I carefully laid out the runners I couldn't help but name each one with my life musings. They lay flat on the table, equally spaced and orderly. I wished those experiences they represented could have been so easy to see, to put down, so flat and equally space to the next one, so cleanly aligned.
Then I took the weavers out from being soaked and, reading the pattern offered in the instructions I began the task of weaving--starting with the bottom. It was so much like life to get the correct numbers of ups and overs. I thought of the mistakes I had made in my life as I took out a row here and there I did incorrectly. The foundation, just like in life, had to be done and re-done until it was correct because it made the entire basket strong. A solid foundation was the important beginning of my life, too.
It was exciting to see the pattern emerge as the bottom came together. Surely there was a pattern in my life experiences that I would find fascinating if I could view it in the same way as the basket.
Bringing up the strikers to form the sides of the basket was perhaps one of the most difficult parts. Just like in life, I wanted to quit when i got to this part. But I was happy that I got through the resistance and fear of the the unknown so that I could continue on with the weaving.
I chose a different pattern from the one the book suggested to continue my weaving up. How like me to strike out on my own and find my own way. The basket was recognizable as a basket now as I wove one over one under. I felt the ease of certain times in my life when things were going well, regular, known and easy. I didn't even mind using the awl to push the weave tightly together.
Then I hit another difficult snag. I had gotten to the top and again didn't know how in the world I was going to finish off the edge. I went back and after reading and re-reading the instructions I asked my friend for help. Asking for help felt new in my life. Asking for help and letting someone know I didn't have all the answers or even a clue felt good. With my friend's help we attached the inside and outside hoops that I carefully wove into place with waxed cord around the top. I stepped back and looked. It looked like a completed basket!
I held it carefully as I would anything new and fragile in my life. It was surprising to feel the strength of the basket. I wondered how often I had perceived something as fragile that was really strong? The weaving was helping me experience my life in an entirely new way.
All that was left was the staining. For that I chose to mix red oak with grey maple. This made the reeds have a warm but olden glow. I liked it.
The entire process of making the basket had given me an entirely new view of life. Taking each piece and weaving into the basket had helped me appreciate the parts of my life I had singled out as mistakes. It helped me see the patterns in my life. It also had shown me how I deal with life, new things and the unknown with creativity and care.
I am waiting now for the stain to dry so I can pack the basket in my suitcase and take it home.
The first step had been choosing which basket I was going to make. I poured through a pile of basketry books my friend had left. I found many that were extraordinarily beautiful but they seemed too complicated for me to make in the two days left of my vacation. I found one that was pleasing as well as manageable. Yes, this was the one. I carefully cut 19 pieces of reed 32 inches long and then 27 pieces 36 inches long. I soaked them in the sink for a while.
I couldn't help but feel the connection to the deeper weaving of things in my life. It was as though each reed represented some experience or person I'd had in my life through the years. As I carefully laid out the runners I couldn't help but name each one with my life musings. They lay flat on the table, equally spaced and orderly. I wished those experiences they represented could have been so easy to see, to put down, so flat and equally space to the next one, so cleanly aligned.
Then I took the weavers out from being soaked and, reading the pattern offered in the instructions I began the task of weaving--starting with the bottom. It was so much like life to get the correct numbers of ups and overs. I thought of the mistakes I had made in my life as I took out a row here and there I did incorrectly. The foundation, just like in life, had to be done and re-done until it was correct because it made the entire basket strong. A solid foundation was the important beginning of my life, too.
It was exciting to see the pattern emerge as the bottom came together. Surely there was a pattern in my life experiences that I would find fascinating if I could view it in the same way as the basket.
Bringing up the strikers to form the sides of the basket was perhaps one of the most difficult parts. Just like in life, I wanted to quit when i got to this part. But I was happy that I got through the resistance and fear of the the unknown so that I could continue on with the weaving.
I chose a different pattern from the one the book suggested to continue my weaving up. How like me to strike out on my own and find my own way. The basket was recognizable as a basket now as I wove one over one under. I felt the ease of certain times in my life when things were going well, regular, known and easy. I didn't even mind using the awl to push the weave tightly together.
Then I hit another difficult snag. I had gotten to the top and again didn't know how in the world I was going to finish off the edge. I went back and after reading and re-reading the instructions I asked my friend for help. Asking for help felt new in my life. Asking for help and letting someone know I didn't have all the answers or even a clue felt good. With my friend's help we attached the inside and outside hoops that I carefully wove into place with waxed cord around the top. I stepped back and looked. It looked like a completed basket!
I held it carefully as I would anything new and fragile in my life. It was surprising to feel the strength of the basket. I wondered how often I had perceived something as fragile that was really strong? The weaving was helping me experience my life in an entirely new way.
All that was left was the staining. For that I chose to mix red oak with grey maple. This made the reeds have a warm but olden glow. I liked it.
The entire process of making the basket had given me an entirely new view of life. Taking each piece and weaving into the basket had helped me appreciate the parts of my life I had singled out as mistakes. It helped me see the patterns in my life. It also had shown me how I deal with life, new things and the unknown with creativity and care.
I am waiting now for the stain to dry so I can pack the basket in my suitcase and take it home.
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