It’s Friday and you know what that means: time for a weekend craft.
Now that fall has hit the Northern Hemisphere, it’s time to go for nature walks and collect leaves, nuts and berries and generally act like the hedgewitch we want to see in the world.
To that end, here’s a handy activity that will help you preserve colorful fall leaves for future crafts.
I’ve always felt an affinity for Medea. Which, I guess, explains a lot about how my life has turned out. For the cops, though, that wasn’t explanation enough for why I was in a cemetery, at midnight, splatted with goat’s blood and chalk dust.
Domestic witchery is a fascination of mine, I think because it seems like it would be the oldest and most common form of witchcraft. Or maybe it’s just the lazy part of me that appreciates being able to accomplish two tasks in one.
This spell is one I’ve been working with over the last year or so, no only as I write Sew Witchy, but also in my daily life. When you are facing a great task ahead—a job interview or a court case, say—the odds can feel overwhelming. Using the spell below and visualization you raise energy to overcome all the small obstacles that can come between you and your goal and also provides you with a magickal talisman attuned to your task.
*Circumstances should dictate the fabric you choose. Clothing that you will be wearing during your challenge is ideal. For example, a skirt you’ll be wearing to a court case or a shirt you’ll be wearing to an interview. You could also choose a fabric scrap; about 18″ by 18″ is ideal.
Cotton and linen are best for this spell as they tend to wrinkle naturally. Synthetics and non-wrinkle clothing is not recommended.
Clear space and cast a circle according to your tradition. Call on any spirit helpers or deities you wish to aid you in the spell.
Place the wrinkled cloth on the ironing board. Use a heat setting that is appropriate for the cloth you are using (consult the iron’s operators manual to find out what that is).
As you iron see the wrinkles as the obstacles you face. See the steam and iron as you press as smoothing out not only the physical wrinkles, but those obstacles. Visualize the obstacles clearly. Name them as you work: people’s preconceived notions are smoothed away, distance becomes a non-issue, doors that were closed will now open, even traffic will not be a problem.
Continue working, ironing out all the wrinkles. See the path you are treading becoming smooth: the road you travel is paved, the ocean you cross is calm, the sky you fly through is clear. Everything is crisp and pristine, just like the cloth is after you press it.
When you are finished, hang up the clothing, or cloth. Wear the piece of clothing to the event you are preparing for. If it is a piece of cloth, hang it near your altar until the event—and your need for it—has passed.
Make your spell more potent by using a linen spray. Before beginning, make a spray by mixing 1 ounce of witch hazel, 3 ounces of water and ten drops of essential oil together in a spray bottle. Choose an oil aligned to your goal. Spritz a light mist onto the part you are going to press then go over it with an iron. If using on an article of clothing, test on a small, inconspicuous part first, like an inside hem, to make sure it won’t stain the fabric.
Originally posted July, 2 2018.
Driving through Wyoming last week drove home how much I had missed the land I grew up in. At a rest stop I collected sprigs of sagebrush. The familiar scent of Russian olive trees hung heavy in the air. The wind sung to me through the aspens. I left Wyoming twenty-two years ago and it was calling me home.
My longing is tempered by years of learning about social justice topics; especially colonialism and this country’s horrifying treatment of indigenous people. The knowledge that I live on stolen land colors my dreams of the future.
As we drove, Charlotte pointed out places to build a castle. “That’s part of the Wind River Reservation,” I told her. “I don’t think the Shoshone or Arapaho would appreciate us building there.” The entire trip back I was aware of all the reservations we drove through, all the casinos we passed, all the roads and creeks and passes we crossed that had “Indian” in their names. I come from a place that has herded various tribes onto parcels of land and monetized their very identities.
If I am allowed to move back to Wyoming, how do I, as a witch, practice without adding to the harm already done. The question is especially tricky as I have no cultural heritage of my own to fall back on. My sister did the Ancestry.com test a year ago. Genetically, we’re a mix of Irish, Western European and British. That knowledge doesn’t give me any real answers, though. In the same way that I don’t feel part of football culture just because I am American, I don’t feel any more connected to those cultures just because of my DNA.
So where does that leave me? I can make sure that I don’t appropriate any Native American spiritual practices, something I strive to do anyway. But I don’t know if that is enough. Do no harm doesn’t delineate levels of injury. I feel a responsibility to go beyond, to do more than just the bare minimum.
I’m not quite sure what that will involve, or how it will look. As I figure it out, I’ll write about it here.
Originally posted June 21, 2018.
In my book, Sew Witchy, I write about the magickal correspondences of fabric. My focus there is on natural fibers (cotton, linen, wool and silk). Not all crafters and sewists limit themselves to natural materials, though. In fact I’d hazard to guess that very few do. One could, I suppose, use only silk or cotton thread, eschew plastic buttons for only metal, wood, bone or horn, leave out zippers or plastic snaps, as well as iron on interfacing, etc.
There is an emphasis on only using natural materials in ritual and magick crafts. While I can understand the reasoning behind it, I find the insistence to border on classism and elitism. Not everyone can afford or has access only natural materials. And, when we get down to it, everything comes from the earth in one form or another. Everything is ultimately natural when it’s roots are traced back to its beginnings. Even plastic.
Our witch ancestors didn’t use colored candles, or have access to the array of crystals and herbs available online. And some might have turned their noses up at colored ribbons, grocery store herbs and store bought besoms as not “traditional” tools. I think it behooves modern witches to see how the practice of witchcraft and magick have changed over the centuries, adapting as new technologies and products have come available, and be open to using materials that might strike us at first as non-magickal.
I’d go even farther to argue that plastic is decidedly magical. It is alchemy at its most refined. Taking the remains of dinosaurs and creating a material which is named after its defining characteristic: its shapeshifting ability.
Yes, plastic does have its drawbacks, its production and longevity make it a serious hazard for the environment. This doesn’t exclude it from being considered a natural material, though. The elements have their destructive aspects. Sheep rearing, silk making, cotton farming and linen production all have their affects on the environment as well.
So, how do we approach plastic as a magical tool? One way is through making and using plarn: yarn made from plastic bags. Many crafters have found clever and practical uses for plarn, from making lightweight and rugged bedrolls for the homeless to arts and crafts to sell to support their families. Plarn has the added benefit of removing plastic bags—one of the hardest items to recycle–from the system.
Let’s start with a few correspondences. These are associations I have made on my own through study and meditation. They are not meant to be set in stone, and if they don’t ring true to you, feel free to form your own correspondences.
Making plarn is a straightforward process that lends itself to a meditative practice. Use it just as you would yarn to crochet or finger weave a variety of items, or spin it into thread. You can make tote bags, mats, jewelry, and baskets.
A version of this article was first posted on Idiorhythmic Designs on September 25, 2017.
I have spent the last year on research for Sew Witchy. I’ve made liberal use of the interlibrary loan department of my local library to get a hold of various books on two main topics: sewing and magic. As much as I love research, though, there comes a time when you need to put butt in chair and write (or sew).
Below is an incomplete list of the books I’ve read over the last year. I left off the books on gardening, fashion and pattern-making that weren’t being used for research. They’re presented in no particular order, and mostly just as a demonstration of what is involved in writing a book.
A version of this post first appeared on September 28, 2017.
It started with a pair of scissors.
While browsing Pinterest late at night (as one does) I stumbled upon a pair of scissors in the shape of a witch. They checked all the boxes of my relevant interests: a sewing tool that incorporated magick. The fact that the scissors were made to commemorate the Salem Witch trials just underscored the appeal.
I have a lot of scissors: Several pairs for fabric, pairs for paper, one pair solely for duct tape, not to mention the rotary cutters, pinking shears and embroidery snips. They are all practical, mass produced pieces that have served me for years. The fanciest (i.e. most expensive) pairs I have are the Ginghers with their colorful handles. They’re pretty, but they’re no stork handled clippers.
The witch scissors kicked off a Pinterest spiral. I spent more time than I care to admit looking at scissors in a variety of shapes. I kept thinking about the ways they could be used to imbue sewing with magick. There is a running joke / rule among crafters that there are “special” scissors non-crafters are banned from using. It doesn’t take a great leap to come to the conclusion that the witchy sewist could use a pair just for magick.
And as is usual with Pinterest sprees, I got caught up in topic drift, finding other unusual sewing tools. There were pin cushions and thimbles, sewing caddies and tape measures. Several of these items aren’t really used any more. Button hole cutting knives are specialized tools that look really handy, but with the decline of hand sewing, they’ve become a specialty tool. I had never heard of them before now, and when I went searching to see if they were still sold today, what I found was something that is a chisel set. It’s utilitarian, to be sure, but it just doesn’t have the same romance as the original cutters.
On the more whimsical side of things sit the thimble holders. Cats stand at attention offering a thimble for when you need it. Acorns hang from chatelaines. Birds perch next to eggs that open to reveal not a hatchling but a thimble. At a time when everyone sewed by hand, it makes sense that every sewist would want to keep their thimbles safe and at hand.
These tools weren’t all about providing some charm to what could otherwise be a monotonous task. The sewing bird was a useful tool that acted like a “third hand” for sewing. It is a tool that has gone “extinct” thanks to the advent of sewing machines. I have to wonder what other sewing implements were necessities in years gone by that would be mysterious curios to today’s sewists.
All these little items, useful and necessary and common, were made with not only their function in mind, but with an eye towards making work a little less dreary. It’s a hard concept to wrap one’s head around when sewing now is a hobby to most people. I think, though, that there’s a place for just this kind of fantasy even today. I look at the thimble holders and I want one, even though I don’t have a thimble. I’ve already forged a working relationship with my Fiskars and I have no need for a sewing bird, and yet I like the idea of having one perched on my sewing table. I long for a tape measure shaped like a turtle.
Should you also have a desire to indulge your inner Clotho, Lachesis or Atropos, head on over to my Pinterest Board to check out the plethora of items I’ve pinned there.
Header image by Thomas Hendele from Pixabay
“I like your computer,” she said. “It looks like it was made by Indians or something.”
Chia looked down at her sandbenders. Turned off the red switch. “Coral,” she said. “These are turquoise. The ones that look like ivory are the inside of a kind of nut. Renewable.”
“The rest is silver?”
“Aluminum,” Chia said. “They melt old cans they dig up on the beach cast it in sand molds. These panels are micarta. That’s linen with this resin in it.”
One of the things I loved most about the novel Idoru by William Gibson was the idea of handmade computers. Going beyond the limited customization offered by tower cases and laptop decals, he presented a vision of one of a kind units. In a world of cheap T-shirts, fast food and Walmart, the idea of something so unique, so intentional, has instant appeal.
One of my greatest disappointments of the future is that we haven’t embraced a hand-crafted model like the one described in Idoru. There are hints of handmade technology—phone cases here, apps, widgets and live wallpapers there—most notably in the Steampunk genre where a DIY aesthetic is applied to everything from fashion to machinery to vehicles. The glimpses, though, serve more to highlight the predominance of mass produced items.
I think about that a lot, about how we have reached a point where we shouldn’t be relying so much on mass produced clothes and furniture and houses. I wonder what it would look like, to live in a world where there were more crafters, making more beautiful things for people.
It’d require a higher standard of living than we have right now, that’s for sure. Obamacare has been helpful in easing one of the main reasons people don’t strike out on their own. But when you can’t be certain if you’ll make enough to survive, all the health care in the world isn’t going to convince you to leave your day job.
A guaranteed income would probably be necessary. Or at least creating a living wage. If we could ensure that people wouldn’t starve, that they would have a place to sleep, that they could have their basic needs met, what would they accomplish? If someone could be certain that working forty hours at a fast food place paid enough to meet their needs, what could they do with all the extra time they didn’t have to spend at a second or third job? How many cottage industries would crop up, providing beauty to replace the beige and plastic molded bits and bobs of our lives?
I don’t know. I’d love to find out, though.
This article was originally posted on January 14, 2016.
I’ve been quieter than usual on this blog because I’ve been participating in NaNoWriMo this month. Of course because I am me and I can’t do anything the way it is supposed to be done, I’m working on a non-fiction book rather than a novel. It’s a sewing book, which means I’ve been working on designs and prototypes, as well as writing. I have no expectations of actually finishing the book in November. The plan is to have a rough draft by the end of December.
Writing, sewing, remaking a design two, three, four times, has been strangely reassuring. Each iteration gets me closer to the finished version in my mind. Working with my hands keeps me anchored to the world. And the work gives me a sense of forward momentum. I need that most days. The medication I’m taking has helped tremendously with the depression, but I’m still struggling with it, especially with the seasonal change.
So here is my little Venus, round and soft and cute, standing next to the text of one of my all time favorite buttons. I wanted to keep the design focused on the message, thus the simple border. The pink was just the first color I grabbed, and can be substituted for any other color one desires. The design was stitched on white 14 ct. Aida cloth, with one strand of floss for the back stitch and two strands for the cross stitch. Click here to get a copy of the design for yourself.
Which brings me back to Willendorf. Part of my focus this month and next is on myself. Making things for me, to wear and to decorate my space. When I made the Venus of Willendorf design I tried a variety of sizes and designs. One was a little back stitched goddess with french knot hair. I love how tiny and cute she is, but I didn’t have a project for her. She’s sat in the pile of my doodles, waiting patiently for me to come back to her. Now, with these two months of relative downtime, I was ready to do something with her.
If you decide to make one for yourself, please share a picture in the comments. I’d love to see it
This article was first posted on November 29, 2015.
On the bullentin board behind me is a pin I bought years ago at a Worldcon. It reads: “I have the body of a goddess—the Venus of Willendorf.” A guy friend who was with me at the time said, “roach, you aren’t fat.” While I appreciated his attempts to soothe what he saw as my mocking my body, he missed the point of why I wanted that pin. I wanted it because I thought the wording was clever and I love the Venus of Willendorf.
I have several reproductions in stone and clay throughout the house. I like how they feel in my hand when I hold them. Of all the goddess images I’ve encountered, hers is the most pleasingly tactile to me. When I started playing around with creating my own cross stitch designs, I knew I wanted to eventually make my own Venus to hang on the wall.
I will admit to being a little intimidated when I started out. I don’t view myself as an artistic person. I tell myself that I can’t draw, that my color sense is limited to a base functionality. The rune designs I’ve done so far were easy-peasy in that they were just straight lines. Here I was faced with curves and perspective and shading. It felt like jumping from stick figures to Rembrandt.
The technical details weren’t the hardest part to overcome, though. As I was creating the first design, I found myself constantly fighting the automatic inclination to slim her down. I kept shaving down her curves, dechubbinating her thighs, giving her breast reduction surgery, one stitch at a time. I found myself trying to figure out how to make her breasts even, how to round her face more. A lifetime of living in a society that reduces women to cardboard cutouts was fighting to whittle this goddess image into a Bratz doll.
The process was difficult and halting. Every time I caught myself making her less than she is, I had to go back and see if I had missed other instances. She and I had talks about her rejecting the tyranny of symmetrical breasts. I took to calling her “Boobs McGee” and referring to her “bodacious tatas” while I worked. It was as much about ripping out all the ugly stitches of body shaming, as it was about creating a piece of embroidery to hang on my wall.
Venus hangs on the wall near the front door, now. She is a constant reminder that bodies are meant to take up space, big and small. She tells me to lead with my tits when I walk out of my house. She informs me that I am an artist, just working on a different canvas. And she passes on a message from Sheela na Gig, “Time to finish up my design.”
If you like the Venus of Willendorf design, you can buy a copy directly from me for $4.00 by clicking this link. If you make it, please share pictures in the comments.
This article was originally posted May 19, 2015.
