I’m still buried, so you won’t get much from me for another 3 weeks, but I wanted to post one thought and one Wooohoooo!

I’ve been searching for spinners in the local area, and finally stumbled over a couple or three in varying degrees of expertise and activity, as well as a few folks who are interested in seeing what all the fuss is about.  (Can you say “enable”? :-) )

See, the problem is that while Norway has a strong tradition of knitting, it doesn’t have one for spinning.  Spinning fell out of public sight rather a long time ago—so much so that much of the language used to talk about spinning here is English vocabulary.  There ARE a few spinners here and there, and interest in the craft is growing, but there are no guilds, no spinning groups, and there was no handspun at the biggest and most prestigious craft show in the country this fall.

I’m afraid I rather offended someone not long ago when I was exploring this idea and trying to figure out, for instance, why there are more spinners in Sweden and Denmark and Germany than in Norway, and why Canada, the US, Australia, New Zealand, and the UK seem to dominate the field at the moment.  In those countries, there is such a thing as a spinning community, however diverse it may be.

I suspect she felt compelled to defend Norway, but there truly was no need.  Norwegian spinners concur that the tradition does not exist here, and that vocabulary needs to be recreated/renewed to cover the field.  She noted that there were “usynlige spinnere,” or “invisible spinners,” and she’s absolutely correct.  But therein lies a hint of the problem.  If spinning is done in secret as a subversive act in the same way that writing and artwork may be produced from in hiding, that’s one thing.  If spinning is done “invisibly” because there is not a cultural interest in the craft as an art form, that’s something entirely different.   It’s not a good sign if the existing vocabulary for the craft and tools is last found in a book which was published in 1939—and which was an overview of the history of the textile industry in general.  Nor is it a necessarily relevant observation that some of the vocabulary exists in other Scandinavian languages; while there are connections, each language develops differently, and is based on its own developing population.  It’s even less promising if one must consider trying to track down the old spinnners in order to find what vocabulary they use or used—and that one must do so in a hurry before they’ve all died off.

That discussion made me think about how we define tradition in an artistic sense, and I think therein lies the crux of the problem.  When we talk about a population or culture having a tradition for or of something in the arts, my gut feeling is that we tend to imply that not only does the participant see it as a tradition (and I draw a strong distinction between a tradition and an incidental hobby, a personal craft, or a habit) , but that others see it that way, too.  I can establish a personal tradition of spinning or associated with spinning, but if that tradition doesn’t expand beyond me, then it also dies with me.  If my craft never makes it to the public eye, then while it may be a tradition for me, it certainly won’t be for anyone else.  If we talk about a cultural tradition, then of necessity we must be talking about more than one person–and certainly not an invisible practitioner.  Likewise, if the craft is one done of necessity (i.e., it is work essential to daily life and basic necessities), then my feeling is that it far too easily falls by the wayside when advances in technology and production make it unnecessary (although not obsolete).  That, too, suggests something else to me, which is that if the craft is never perceived in any other sense—specifically, if it is never perceived as an art form—then it has difficulty making the transition from daily work (which is dropped when it is no longer necessary) to tradition.

I think of Shetland lace, Norwegian rosemaling, Japanese silk painting, and Navajo weaving off the top of my head.  In all those cases, while the craft may have had a functional purpose, it also had an artistic one and was recognized—and known about—by the surrounding and wider community.  One need not post an announcement in a local newspaper or advertise to find artisans or practitioners of the craft; that craft community was and is recognized and visible.

That is not the situation here with spinning.

That does not mean, however, that it will always be this way.  Interest is growing.

And yes, there is a woohoo to all this rambling:  I met my first Norwegian spinner this weekend!  :-)  Knittacia  and I had our own spinning group meeting on Saturday—the first of what I hope will be many.  As I suspect is true of other “invisible spinners,” she had thought she was the only one in the area.  Unfortunately, being invisible brings a certain amount of isolation with it.  :-(

I simply cannot say how good it was to be able to talk about fiber and spinning and wheels and spindles and . . .   :-)  with someone whose eyes didn’t start to glaze over when you began talking about microns and colors and blends.  :-)  I’m rather afraid I was so excited that I chattered nonstop like a little train or a kid on her first visit to the zoo, but I think she survived.  While we met, we talked about having a very informal intro to spinning meeting for other members of a local craft group.  I need to clear my current workload first, and I need to find supplies to make a few cheap spindles as testers.  She has a small stash of quality mid-weight spindles and some Ashland Bay rovings she’d be willing to set up as starter packs for those who are interested, and I’m going to pick up a Babe Production wheel as a second wheel for training purposes so I can avoid putting folks on my Rose.

And then, ladies and gents—and this is my evil plan—we can doggoned well “grow” our own spinning group.  There may not be a tradition of it in Norway, and at the moment there may be no visible spinning community, but that certainly doesn’t mean we cannot create one!