As The Whorl Turns...
By Laura Silverman
For the most part, I've given up chocolate. I haven't made a crank phone call in ages. I don't fight with my mother, I stopped biting my nails, and I exercise on a regular basis. Hand spindles are my guilty pleasure. It's amazing how my attitude towards those little whirling tops has warmed over the past few years.
I learned to spin in 1994 on an old Ashford Traditional. Although I received a spindle along with the wheel, I was very suspicious of the whole concept and quickly ‘lost' it in my fiber stash. I thought spindles slow, clunky, and directly from the middle ages. Wheels were clearly ‘superior,' spindles not an efficient enough tool to produce the mass quantities of yarn that I intended to make. Who would willingly use one of those ‘things'?
I first reconsidered my position, though, at a drop spindle program during a Ventura County Handweavers and Spinners Guild meeting. Although I still had no serious interest, curiosity got the better of me. I hadn't realized - yet - that spindles functioned upon the same principals as the spinning wheel and I couldn't imagine why they didn't drop to the floor with each and every twist. Luck was with me… a vendor was at there and selling them at a nominal cost. Unable to resist trying one out during the lecture, I was shocked when my first attempt revealed me being fully capable of using it. My interest was cemented when the lecturer demonstrated Andean Plying. It was a nifty skill; a gimmick that hooked me. I bought a spindle with a flock of sheep carved onto the top.
Still, I didn't see the true benefit of hand spindling. It was an oddity to me… a trick and something a little different to show off at demonstrations. I couldn't conceive of it being functional in and of its own right. Over time, though, I became aware that my spectators were as intrigued with the drop-spindle process as by my wheel. And, because the cost of a spindle was not prohibitive, were willing to buy - or make - one and come to meetings of the Greater Los Angeles Spinning Guild (GLASG). Encouraging the public to try our handicraft, of course, was the goal of demonstrating spinning in the first place. My hand spindle became standard equipment when I plied my craft in public.
A quantum leap in my thought process happened at the New York Sheep & Wool Festival . Held annually the third weekend of October, I attended with two friends, one devoted to her drop spindles to the point that her Majacraft Rose wheel only gathered dust. She made beautiful yarns… and enough to knit exquisite socks. My interest accelerated, and I was surprised to find spindles of many types for sale. It was there that I discovered Golding Spindles with their intricate, carved whorls and brass rings. They were flashy and unique, so I bought one. I spent hours, including the whole plane ride home, playing with my new toy.
In possession of a gorgeous spindle, I started carrying it to doctor's and other appointments. The full benefit of hand spindling was starting to become obvious. While it was still too slow a process for me to consider making finished products, it was a portable craft that few people from the Los Angeles area had ever seen. I would sit down in a waiting room, pull my spindle from my purse, and conversation was sure to start. Add exotic fibers to the mix, sensuous and soft, from animals that most people never thought about outside of the occasional Smithsonian or National Geographic article, and time would fly. I started to use the small amounts of yarn that I produced as accent points in my hand-knit socks.
Of course, now that I saw spindles as something desirable and beautiful in their own right, not just a toy, I started gravitating towards them at various fiber shows and conferences. Many people collect spinning wheels but I don't have that kind of room in my condominium. I discovered that my spindle habit had taken on a life of its own.
I have some twenty spindles in varying sizes, materials, and dimensions in my collection. Because I feel like I have enough fiber to last a lifetime, when I attend trade shows, my intent is to bring a new spindle home as a souvenir. I've moved away from the flashy ones and towards exotic woods. I know about the different types of hooks, the benefit of a side notch, and I know that size does matter.
These days, I can't resist a spindle that ‘spins like butter.' Additionally, I've started to buy small quantities of fibers with specific finished projects from my hand-spindles in mind. I know that none of them will be finished anytime soon, but I have confidence that I will complete them. And even while I do recognize that hand spindling is a guilty pleasure, how can I feel any deep remorse about using a beautiful tool to produce a product of comfort and joy?
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