I studied art at Hunter College in New York City at a time
when the likes of Roy Lichtenstein, Robert Motherwell, and Helen Frankenthaler
were teaching there. I was going on to a Masters degree in anthropology at
Teacher's College, Columbia University, where one of my heroes, Margaret Mead,
was teaching, when my husband took a job in the Boston area and we left New
York City for good.
Looking
around for something to do with my art degree, I took a course in Peruvian
textiles at Radcliffe Institute, and fell instantly in love with fiber. I
learned to spin at the Cambridge Center for Adult Education and subsequently
studied spinning and weaving, first with Scottish weaver Norman Kennedy, and
then with the late Edna Blackburn at her farm north of Toronto. While at the
Blackburn's I also got a taste for sheep farming, and when I returned to
Massachusetts, my husband and I started our own sheep farm. For twenty years we
raised Border Leicester-cross sheep for handspinners' fleeces. During that
time, a fellow spinner in the Boston Area Spinners and Dyers gave a workshop in
feltmaking at my farm, and I was hooked.
At the same
time, I became involved with Border Collies and began to write about them. At
the time, there were no Border Collie magazines in the USA that did not cover
mostly trial reports and biographies of sheepdog handlers. I was more
interested in the history and culture of the breed, and I decided to fill the
gap. I began publishing my own Border Collie magazine that I called The Shepherd's Dogge, à la Johannes Caius' description in
1576, which ran for fifteen years. I fell in love with writing and honed my
writing and editing skills in that small publication. I'm still writing about
shepherds' dogs today, but I'm also still passionate fiber and feltmaking.
Much has
been written about the history of sheep and wool, textiles and weaving, but
less is said about the history of felt. Why is that? Perhaps, as Shirley
Toulson writes in her book about drovers, "no one bothers to record the
ordinary". No one, for example, has written a history of the iron pot
(that I know of, except briefly on Wikipedia), though it undoubtedly played a
seminal role in the history of cooking (and dyeing). Felt was an ordinary or
commonplace fabric. Unlike silk, it was useful but not glamorous, used by
shepherds, transhumants, and nomads. To them, however, it was a very valuable
commodity, and one that pervaded their lives and played a role in their
history. They lived in it, sat on it, ate on it, wore it, stored their
possessions in it, and rolled up in it at night to go to sleep, and many of
them still do. But pastoralists do not ordinarily write books, and those that
do write only mention felt history in passing. For every book written on
pastoralism, finding information about felt is literally like looking for a
needle in a haystack. So, I have been writing for many years, in my head, a
book about the history of felt, and hope to turn it into reality someday.
To that
end, about two years ago, I began to do research, and collected fiber samples
from a large variety of sources. Most of them are fleece samples from as many
breeds of sheep I could find (I have nearly 30 right now); but I also collected
samples of other wool-bearing animals, like llama, yak, and dog; and non-animal
fiber such as cotton, silk, and hemp. These I have been slowly turning into
felt in an effort to study their properties for felting, for every fiber felts
differently.
I do mostly
wet felting, but, unlike most other wet felters, I do mine in my washer and
drier. It's a lot easier on the shoulders, but that's only part of it. Most
feltmakers want control over their felt, but I prefer the mystery and surprise
that comes from giving up control to the process (though admittedly, it can
sometimes also be a disappointment). I lay out my batting, roving, and fleece
locks in a general design on a pillowcase, cover with another pillowcase, roll
it over a piece of foam tubing (I use water pipe insulation), pull a leg from
panyhose over it, knot both ends, and toss it in the washer and drier. What
comes out is often just short of amazing to me, and that is when I begin to
exercise control. I don't try to tame the earthy-looking felt that emerges from
the washer and drier, but I work with it. I look at it as a collaboration among
me, the washer and drier, and the fiber. Texture is very important to me. The
material drives my work and inspires me. I like to see the original structure
of the fiber in the finished product, and that is important as well for
exhibiting the characteristics of a fiber for felting.
Carole L. Presberg —
Email Carole
Find Carole on Facebook
See more examples of
my writing at The Border Collie Museum and on
I also have an online
bookstore that sells books relevant to sheepdog enthusiasts:
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