Threads: Unraveling to Begin Again

vmramshur
Aug 8
4 min read

(from the Threaded Paths studio desk)

I’ve always been enamored with thread. As a metaphor. As an object. As a gesture of connection. Twisting single fibers together to form a continuous strand strong enough for sewing, weaving, or embroidery. A single filament, twisted together with others, becomes stronger, more useful. Pull a strand apart, and you’ll find layers within layers, each one contributing to the whole.

Pedestal bowls by ceramic artist Zac Ramshur display vibrant yarn remnants, capturing the essence of a day's creative journey.

This week, I've been manually taking apart fabric swatches, an activity I started to calm my mind and keep my hands occupied. For years, I've gathered these swatches, sourcing them from fabric stores, costume houses, designer donations, and leftovers from our educational programs.

Usually measuring under half a yard, fabric swatches are essential in costume and fashion design. They symbolize the decision-making process, acting as the transitional stage before a garment is created. Often, they end up in bins, destined either for disposal or potential donations. Design students use them for class projects. They are extremely valuable.

A typical assortment of fabric swatches is arranged by color, with each one labeled with essential sourcing information, showcasing the careful process involved in design projects.

I have always aimed to create something from them. Quilters and craftspeople understand this journey well. Swatches give us the opportunity to access extraordinary fabrics that might otherwise be beyond our reach—unique textiles from around the world, including silks and wools that end up in New York's Garment District. The journey these fabrics undertake to arrive here is the foundation of the Tabards of Place and Vestments of the Invisible projects. (see previous blog posts)

*A collection of vibrant, deconstructed threads from this week’s studio session draws curious attention from Wendy the Cat, who finds the colorful assortment particularly intriguing.*

But this week, instead of building something new, I started to take them apart.

What amazed me was how the process of unweaving became a form of research in itself. In particular, with tweeds and plaids—textiles I have always adored—I discovered surprising and unique color combinations that have me rethinking how we pair colors together. Deep greens with soft ochres, russet woven alongside lavender, and tiny flecks of copper hidden among cool greys.

It reminded me of a conversation I once had with Charles LaPointe, the brilliant theatrical hair and wig designer. He explained how hair, often simply labeled as brown or grey, is actually a complex layering of warm and cool tones, highlights, and lowlights. Silver in blond, gold in grey, red and auburn beneath brown. I extend that idea to thread. When unraveled, the complexities are revealed. What always creates depth in color mixing, textile work, or any medium is the color in relation to what is next to it, layered on top of it, or beneath it.

This isn't something new; artists have been reworking thread and reweaving textiles for centuries. My perspective on thread changed when I discovered these coats in Truchas, New Mexico, at the extraordinary shop Eight Million Gods. Made from layered silk organza that encases bits of thread and fabric scraps, each coat is quilted, cut, and sewn into a soft cocoon shape. They are created by North Carolina fiber artist Megan Lagueruela, who is recognized for her art-wear pieces that are produced in small batches with an ethical approach.

Trying to not fall in love with this "scrap" coat at the Eight Million Gods Store in Truchas, NM, amidst an array of eclectic and colorful textiles. From North Carolina fiber artist Megan Lagueruela,

A model from the website of North Carolina designer Megan Lagueruela, showcases the vibrant Butterfly Scrap Coat. Link below is sources.

This love of unraveled threads is new to me and that alone creates a feeling of progress. A few new projects are arising from this unfolding. I'm still gazing at the heaps of threads on my desk, observing how they change in the light. There's something intriguing about their subtle complexity. I almost hesitate to disturb them. Yet, something greater is beckoning, and I plan to follow that call in the months ahead.

As the seasons begin to shift, this tactile meditation on layered color feels right. Autumn always seems to ask us to look a little closer, to notice nuance, variation, the complexity within simplicity. Working with these tangled fragments reminds me that our lives are layered, too. Complicated. Full of unexpected combinations that somehow hold together.

This is also at the core of The Threaded Paths Project —taking our individual stories and stitching them into something collective. Stronger. More connected. As submissions come in from around the world, I’m struck by how singular these contributions are, and how powerfully they speak to one another when brought into shared space.

Together, they form a stronger woven fabric.

And thread, when woven with intention, can hold a great deal.

-Val

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