Toy Fair 2009: Not so joyful

18 February 2009 by Ingrid | Share it on TinyURL: http://tinyurl.com/3k5me9d

I managed to score a pass to sneak a peak at this year’s New York Toy Fair today. (Thanks, Rikki!) If anything’s going to be joyful, you’d expect it to be toys. So why wasn’t the experience joyful?

First off, I met some sad, sad exhibitors today. It seems like smaller independent toy manufacturers are really hurting these days. Even after I fessed up that I was a designer and not a buyer, I still had plenty of people who wanted to talk. So that made me feel a little sad. Then of course the Toy Fair is at the Javitz Center. Trekking out there in the freezing rain is enough to make a grouch out of anyone. And thirdly I did not manage to score a free sample of the amazing edible play dough, which I clearly needed.

But mostly, the reason Toy Fair wasn’t joyful was that there’s just too much. I don’t know how kids think anymore with all the chaos of today’s toys. Don’t get me wrong—I did see some incredibly interesting and well-designed toys. A lot of the advances in robotics and the science kits just look so much cooler than they did when I was a kid, and a lot of manufacturers are trying to weave in green messages which I think is just great. A few companies are trying to strip out the clutter and make simple things with great sensory appeal and tactile value, like these plush balls I found so irresistible (though I can’t seem to remember the manufacturer’s name) but mostly it’s just a big, loud, overwhelming landscape.

I spoke for a little while with a guy at a booth displaying no-spill bubbles. I asked him why bubbles were joyful. He thought for a second and said, “I think because they’re just so simple.” There may be something to that, and may explain why I left Toy Fair intrigued and stimulated, but not joyful.

The joy of intangible color

13 February 2009 by Ingrid | Share it on TinyURL: http://tinyurl.com/3hk48u4

Intense colors seem so far to be strongly associated with joy. I’m thinking of rainbows, candy, and balloons, but also sea, sun, and sky. When asked which color they associate with joy, people have been mentioning a wide range of hues – reds, yellows, blues, violets, but they are all very pure and saturated – no grayishness, no tinting, no muddiness.

I have also been wondering if there is something about natural color that is joyful. The colors of nature are often intense but rarely flat. Of course, the rainbow is natural, and these colors are are pure as it gets. But there’s something in the quality of the color too.

Color theorists talk about different kinds of color to differentiate, say, the blue on your shirt from the blue of the sky. They might be exactly the same hue/saturation/value combo, but they’ll still be different. The blue of your shirt is called surface color, because it’s applied to a surface and can be understood in the context of space. The color in the sky has no spatial information to it; you can’t tell where it comes from or where it’s located, how close the source is or how far. That kind of color is called film color, which I always remember because it’s kind of filmy and intangible. There’s something fascinating about film color, because you can’t really put your finger on it, nor can you reproduce it. There’s also illumination color, like the color of sunlight, which is even less tangible and equally as intriguing, because its color affects all the other colors around it.

Sunlight also comes up frequently in discussions of joy, and I wonder if this intangible color idea has a connection to the idea of expectations disruption which is one of many ideas I have around what causes us to feel joy. There is something about pleasurable things that seem out of step with the laws of nature that govern our everyday existence, like rainbows, buoyancy, bubbles, snowflakes, and flying, that seems to trigger joy, especially in children. These laws of nature form a certain kind of expectation. Of course we know that these occurrences can be explained by physics, but our physical experience of them, particularly the very first time, is magical. I wonder if the same principle applies to the color in the sky or of sunlight, and if these colors are not more joyful because of their elusiveness.

Nature never clashes

13 February 2009 by Ingrid | Share it on TinyURL: http://tinyurl.com/3nk65vu

I’ve been thinking a lot about color lately, with respect to joy but also just in general. Yesterday in our thesis session we were talking about the spontaneous ways we visualize abstract concepts. Jennie (a designer-friend in my program) is synesthete so she smells colors, while Fred (Blumlein, my advisor), sees time in his brain like a pathway to the horizon, like the time machine function in a mac. This allows him to see all sorts of connections in historical ideas and events that come together more synthetically than chronologically. I couldn’t think of what my spontaneous visualizations were, but this morning it hit me – I see (and sometimes smell) days in terms of color.

It doesn’t happen every day, but sometimes I walk outside and it’s just an orange day. It’s not that the light is orange or anything, but that there’s just something about the day that feels orange. And then I get to the studio and I realize I’m wearing orange, without even realizing I put it on. There’s not even any good or bad to the colors of the days. It’s not like a pink day is happier than a blue day, or a yellow day is more intense than a gray one. It’s just an intangible set of feelings that makes one day feel a certain way. Is that weird? Probably, but fortunately design is pretty accepting of weirdness.

Anyway, back to the subject of this post… In all my thinking about color, I was reminded of something Mark Goetz (my furniture professor) had said last semester. He pointed out that colors in nature never clashed, which I thought was both incredibly obvious and incredibly insightful at the same time. Colors in nature don’t clash, even when, as in the photo of a New Zealand sulfur pool above, they are absurdly odd and intense.

Defining joy: some early thoughts

11 February 2009 by Ingrid | Share it on TinyURL: http://tinyurl.com/3gamnmm

The very first task for this project on the aesthetics of joy is to understand what joy is: how it works in the body and the brain. If our objective is to create joy, then we must first know what joy is. (It’s also essential to know what joy is not, though I’ll come to this later.)

I’ve been weeding through a number of emotional models, trying to understand how emotions actually work – what are the mechanisms, neural pathways, and chemicals that trigger various emotions? A number of the theories I came across suggest a causal relationship between the physical behaviors and reactions of an emotion and the cognitive perception of that emotion, but not in the order we might think. We like to think our brains control our bodies, but actually some psychologists believe that it is the pre-conscious reactions of our bodies that make us feel a certain way. The James-Lange hypothesis, for example, suggests that felt emotions are the perception of autonomic physical responses to external stimuli. So, in other words, the presence of a snake triggers visceral changes that prime us to react to the threat, such as a quickening heart rate, and it’s the brain’s perception of the change in bodily state that makes us feel the emotion “fear”.

The research on facial feedback is another example, where the same idea has been proposed regarding facial expressions. We think that we smile because we are happy, but actually, some research shows that at least to some extent, the smile comes before the emotional feeling of happiness, and that inducing a smile by contracting a specific set of muscles can make a person feel happier.

In his book, Looking for Spinoza: Joy, Sorrow, and the Feeling Brain, Antonio Damasio continues down this line of reasoning, suggesting that emotion, consisting of the set of bodily responses to a stimulus, and the corresponding feeling in the mind are causally related in the same way. In other words, the body reacts to the stimulus by producing an emotional response – in the case of joy, this might be a smile or laughter, a relaxing of major muscles, the production or suppression of neurotransmitters such as dopamine and serotonin, and so on. The mind then perceives this physical response and appraises the situation, producing a feeling that is entirely internal. Interestingly, a stimulus in Damasio’s world can be either a real event in the environment or it can be a memory.

Damasio’s is the most cohesive account of the this theory I’ve yet read, and though there are quibbles with it, right now I’m finding it a useful framework to start to understand how joy works. Joyful stimuli lead to joyful physical reactions which lead to the feeling of joy. In this framework there are three major areas to explore: triggers, expressions, and feelings.

Which leads to questions… What are the physical expressions of joy? Are the expressions of joy different than the reactions of happiness? In other words, is there anything substantively different between joy and happiness at the level of expression, or is the different in the cognitive appraisal, dictated by context and experience, of the emotional sensations experienced. And then, does that mean that the triggers of joy and of happiness are the same, but are contextually different? Or are they fundamentally different?

One hypothesis could be that joy is an intense form of happiness that arises from the same stimuli but under different conditions… For example, seeing a good friend for a planned dinner might elicit happiness, but seeing a friend who has come in from out of town unexpectedly would elicit joy. Again, expectations play a role. Another hypothesis might be that joy is qualitatively different from happiness and that the triggers are just fundamentally different in nature. For example, a rainbow makes you feel joyful but it is unlikely to create a real sense of happiness. Joy is intense and comes in moments, whereas happiness is more even-keeled, but lasting. This would seem to suggest that they cannot be merely single-axis variants of the same thing…

Image from flickr member Orazio.

Joy and expectation

11 February 2009 by Ingrid | Share it on TinyURL: http://tinyurl.com/3hr6mvc

My first way in to trying to understand what joy is has been to take examples of joyful objects and experiences and try to observe commonalities and patterns. In discussions with friends and family, one theme has emerged again and again: the contradiction of our expectations in a happy or pleasurable way.

Essentially, what I’ve just said in too many words is “good surprise.” A rainbow is a good surprise, as is a snowfall, or a visit from the ice cream man (maybe), and all these things are joyful. (Again, there are exceptions – a snowfall isn’t joyful if you have to get to work in treacherous conditions – but for many people, the sensory experience is an enormously positive trigger.)

Joy is so much more than just surprise, though. Things can be joyful without sneaking up on us. Another way our expectations can be subverted is by the sheer implausibility of them, the mystery of how they work. In this category are things that seem to controvert our expectations of how the world works, based on cultural mores, beliefs inculcated through life experience, and our obeisance to the laws of physics. Balloons and bubbles to me are joyful in this way. We know through our education how these things work, but we still feel a visceral wonder at their ability to exist. Rainbows and snow are also in this category, as are the Wii and the multitouch mechanism of the iPhone. These are expectations disrupted by magic, and interestingly we do not need to be surprised by them to be delighted by them. The Wii is still delightful on the 257th use, just as you can still be delighted by bubbles even if you are blowing them yourself and know when and where they will appear.

I also think there are expectations that are so subtle they can be disrupted in correspondingly subtle ways. The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade strikes me as an unbelievably joyful spectacle (though I’ve had pushback on this from balloon- and crowd-haters – as with anything, there is always dissent). The sight of those giant balloons transforms the city into a toy city, and all the people on the streets into toy people. The insertion of a new element (cartoon balloons) creates a massive scale shift, causing us to see the city in a new way and disrupting our expectations of how it should look. These are expectations so basic we don’t even think about them, and when they are disrupted, we don’t even realize that they have been.

Not every joyful experience fits in here, though. I think there are also joyful sensory triggers – aromas, shapes, curves, and colors – that work in a different way on our psyche, and I’m still trying to reconcile these with this set of ideas around expectations.

Plutchik’s emotional taxonomy

10 February 2009 by Ingrid | Share it on TinyURL: http://tinyurl.com/3f8ajgf

In researching joy and the basis of emotions, I found this model, developed by psychologist Robert Plutchik. As a designer I couldn’t resist the way he maps the emotions like a color wheel, and it’s also interesting how he’s developed the model in three dimensions.

But, I’m not sure I agree with where he’s placed joy. In preliminary discussions, it’s notable how often surprise emerges as a precursor to joy. My hypothesis is that that relationship will prove significant and this model does not reflect this.

Thesis: Aesthetics of Joy

10 February 2009 by Ingrid | Share it on TinyURL: http://tinyurl.com/3er5odw

The major project I’ll be devoting this year to is my master’s thesis, exploring the subject Aesthetics of Joy.

Aesthetics of Joy lies at the foundation of an idea I want to advance called emotional sustainability, which is about cultivating more sustainable relationships between people and their objects through greater attention to the emotional quality of the design. Much has been said about designing for sustainability in recent years, but nearly all of it is functional. Yes, we need to design with less toxic materials, make lighter and less material-intensive products, and design for disassembly and recycling. But if we are to create a more sustainable world, we will need to address the issue of chronic overconsumption, and to do this, we as a culture will need to completely transform our emotional relationship with our stuff.

The current paradigm runs on high passions and an addictive, ecstatic rush at point of sale. This vein of emotions is not sustainable in human relationships and it’s not sustainable in human-object relationships either. Much of design feeds into this emotional roller coaster by playing within an aesthetics of consumerism which offers an intense but superficial pleasure and little in the way of a long-term relationship. So, we need to rethink the messages we are encoding in the way we design products and experiences.

Many emotions will play a role in restoring the emotional sustainability of objects. But I feel that joy is special in a way that is still somewhat ineffable to me. Perhaps there is a biological basis that I will discover in my research, but for now the one essential observation is that joy is a renewable emotion that lends itself to durability. Joy’s essential property is that the same object or experience can trigger joy over and over again. Swinging on a swingset, blowing bubbles, or putting one’s hand into a bowl of jellybeans can be a virtually inexhaustible reservoir of joy; like a sun for the psyche, it will never run out. This puts it in direct opposition to the thrilling nature of today’s consumption, which is based on novelty and intensity, and ultimately fizzles out.

Joy is a very particular thing. It is not happiness, which is too vague and encompassing a positive feeling. Nor is it contentment, with its snug, muted warmth. It is not euphoria, animating the spine with shimmering electricity, nor is it the zen-like feeling we call bliss. Joy inhabits that ineluctable space between wonder and pleasure, neighboring delight, but somehow more profound. Joy is momentary, but not temporary. Surprising, but not necessarily in a spectacular way. It is personal but at the same time universal, an essential emotion that renews and uplifts the human psyche.

It is these universals that I’m after in this project. I want to distill down the essence of joy, the basic aesthetic and intellectual principles that are capable of being experienced by everyone. Over the next 11 months, I’ll be doing fieldwork, concept tests, and interviews with experts that will hopefully clarify what these universals are, and I’ll post thoughts and ideas as I go.

(Lack of) innovation at NASA

10 February 2009 by Ingrid | Share it on TinyURL: http://tinyurl.com/4yhust9

Excellent video made by NASA engineers describing some of the barriers to innovation at NASA. As someone who has worked as an innovation consultant, this strikes me as a brilliant analysis of the most pervasive obstacles to innovation faced by many established companies: low tolerance for risk, siloing, hierarchical corporate cultures, overly complicated procedural requirements, and adverse incentives for management.

What is interesting is that many of these factors that inhibit innovation actually serve the organization well when it comes to performing its primary function – maintaining an existing product line or brand. With an established brand, you don’t want to take risks, so you reward management decisions that provide incremental growth and you implement complex procedures that help to weed out risky moves that might damage brand value. Hierarchical cultures place high value on experience over ideas, which ensures that tried and true methods will win out over more risky ones. This is what makes it so hard for established companies to innovate and why can they become vulnerable to smaller startups. The organizations most known for innovation have found ways to cultivate a counterculture within their midst, often by either hiving off separate divisions that have their own oversight and that function like startups (Apple, for example), or by giving employees paid time to work on their own ideas and projects (3M, Google).

Thanks, Dad, for sending this my way.

Library of Dust

9 February 2009 by Ingrid | Share it on TinyURL: http://tinyurl.com/3bnk2cf

This extraordinary image is from photographer David Maisel’s latest project, Library of Dust, in which he photographed canisters containing the unclaimed ashes of patients who died at an Oregon mental institution over the course of nearly a century. This project is interesting to me in the way that the photos abstract the subject matter away from death and the accompanying emotions. On first look, the corrosion of the canisters is simply beautiful, and could be anything from a coral formation to a mineral deposit. Then the revelation of what they represent transforms the viewer’s experience of them into a deeply emotional one that is by turns empathic but also horrifying.

While with my thesis project, Aesthetics of Joy, I am looking at aesthetics as a support for the emotional experience, here the emotional experience is belied by the visceral one.

I LEGO N.Y.

4 February 2009 by Ingrid | Share it on TinyURL: http://tinyurl.com/4xj3f76

I have been thinking a lot lately about how much i love this city. So of course I loved Christoph Niemann’s LEGO homage to the big apple.

Ooi cups process

4 February 2009 by Ingrid | Share it on TinyURL: http://tinyurl.com/3lbu72c

Last week I said I was determined to show more process, so here is a first attempt: a pictorial tour of the process of slipcasting the Ooi cups. Slipcasting is a wonderful way of mass-producing ceramics that works by using a liquified clay (called slip) and pouring it into a plaster mold. The plaster sucks the moisture from the clay, hardening the part. It’s so simple it feels like magic, and it becomes highly addicting!

The process starts with a positive, which is the blue thing in the photo above. I made the positive by turning a piece of balsa foam on a lathe and finishing it with joint compound finely sanded and paint. Because of shrinkage in the drying and firing process of the clay, you generally make positives about 10% bigger than your final design.

Next you need to find the high point, which is going to be where the mold’s parting line will be. This is a simple two-part mold but if you have very organic, complex design, this process can be very tricky because you may have 3 or 4 or more parts to your mold. In the example above, if you split the mold on either side of the true accent of the cup’s profile curve, you won’t be able to get the finished piece out of the plaster mold. For a simple piece like this, the best way to find it is to set the piece on a flat surface, lip side down, and bring a vertical surface up next to it. The vertical will be tangent to the high point.

Next you prep the piece for making the mold, which means making a setup where half the piece is covered. I did this with pink foam, and filled the gaps neatly with clay (clay not shown).

Then you set up the mold boards and pour the plaster.

Once you have half the mold poured, you cut keys, which are indents in the surface of the mold. Those indents will be matched with “outdents” on the other side, which will ensure the mold is always lined up perfectly. Once the keys are cut and the first half is dry (this can take a few days to a week, if humid), you soap up the surface of the mold, applying with a brush and washing off with a damp sponge.

This is essential, as it’s the small amount of soap that absorbs into the mold surface that keeps the two halves of the mold from sticking together. This is my favorite part of the moldmaking process. The soap smells like the stuff you used to wash your hands after painting in elementary school art class, and it reminds me how natural this process is in comparison with other types of moldmaking. For example, when you make a silicone mold, the equivalent product is a chemical called mold release that comes in an aerosol can. Of course, silicone molds have their place, and you can’t do everything with plaster and clay, but it does feel good to be working in a way that is relatively non-toxic and wholesome.

Once the mold is done there is a lot of trimming and scraping to do to clean up the edges and make it “mold beautiful,” which is my professor Irv Tepper’s term of highest praise. An ugly mold will do the job as well as a beautiful one, but you’re using this tool a lot and it deserves some care in craftsmanship. Even if you don’t go all the way to mold beautiful, the scraping is necessary to remove the “skin” that forms from the contact between the mold and the mold boards to allow the plaster to breathe. Every so many castings, the mold gets scraped again to keep its performance up. One mold could make 80 or so castings before needing to be remade.

Now you start casting! You pour the well-mixed slip into the opening and set a timer. The magic number for the Ooi cups is about 14 minutes, but of course this will vary with temperature and humidity. What you’re waiting for is the right amount of moisture to be absorbed from the slip so that the wall thickness is the way you want it. Too thin and the piece may warp during drying or firing. Too thick and it just won’t look right.

After the right amount of time has passed, the slip is drained back into the bucket to be reused, and the mold is left to sit for a half hour or so.

Eventually the part will start to pull away from the mold, and you can easily remove it. This is what top half of the cups look like when they come out of the mold. That extra clay around the lip will be trimmed with a knife when the piece gets to the leather hard stage. At that point you can handle the piece without denting it.

Here are some pieces in varying stages of greenware. The two in the front are firm enough to handle, so I’ve trimmed the “spare” around the lips, but they are not dry enough to sand off the parting line yet. Parting lines are notoriously difficult to remove and once you’ve slipcast a piece you start noticing them on all kinds of ceramic pieces. I don’t mind the ghost of a parting line as it reminds me of the way the piece was made, much like the navel on the bottom of the Ooi cups is a reminder of the live center of the lathe that the original positive form was turned on. In an industrial age, these marks of mass production are like the fingerprints of workers; they are the only provenance our goods can offer, the only clue that they were not just dropped here, perfectly formed, from outer space.

These cups are bisqued, which means they’ve been through the kiln once. It never fails to amaze me how the color changes in the kiln, and how creamy and pure a set looks when they come out.

Glazing. I glaze the Ooi cups by dipping them because I think it creates a smoother application than brushes. The glaze goes on bluish, but the dye is just to help you see where you put it. The glaze is actually white. The bottoms of the cups are unglazed to highlight the eggy form and create a textural contrast, both for the eye and the hand.

These guys are glazed and waiting to go in the kiln. Soon they will be real cups…

Final, glaze-fired Ooi cups. If you look very closely, on some you can see the faint trace of a parting line, but otherwise they are all identical. Just waiting around for good homes!

Greenmarket peeler salesman passes away

3 February 2009 by Ingrid | Share it on TinyURL: http://tinyurl.com/4x368cl

Anyone who’s ever seen this guy will never forget him, or his mesmerizing demos of how to make the most perfect carrot slivers with a $5 peeler. My favorite line of his shtick was always, “One for $5, 5 for $20. I know you don’t need 5 peelers but they make great gifts!”

I myself have bought two of them, though one is still unopened in case the first one ever breaks or goes dull. (Or perhaps one day as a gift for a very deserving foodie.) As Mr. Ades promised, it is the best peeler I’ve ever owned and one of my favorite things in my kitchen. I love the simplicity of it, the spare nature of the design. No ostentatious elastomeric grips or stylized arcs. Just a straightforward ribbon of steel, indented where the fingers go, beautiful in its utility.

Design and desire

30 January 2009 by Ingrid | Share it on TinyURL: http://tinyurl.com/3vqon56

Last Sunday the New York Times ran a fascinating cover story called “What do women want?” on a group of female researchers who are trying to understand what ignites female lust. It’s a really diverse treatment of the subject, with theories ranging from intimacy to narcissism, all explored through robust clinical studies.

My particular interest in the piece relates to the arousal-sensing dress I’m working on as part of my biodynamic clothing project. The premise of the project is for the garment to sense when the (female) wearer is aroused and to move in response. My original framework was based on an internal/external model, where the goal was to take an internal emotional state and project it outwards onto the “skin” of the body, much like a peacock or any of a series of other animals. Using that construct, it seems most plausible to use light or some other display technology to communicate the output. But all along I’ve really had my mind set on using motion for the output, a decision that has created numerous design opportunities, as well as many obstacles.

Reading the article, a passage struck me that I believe illustrates another possible framework for viewing the movement aspect of the garment. In this section, the author is explaining a theory relating to the disconnect between female test subject’s subjective self-evaluation of their arousal and the physical biodata, and a contrasting tendency in men.

The penis is external, its reactions more readily perceived and pressing upon consciousness. Women might more likely have grown up, for reasons of both bodily architecture and culture – and here was culture again, undercutting clarity – with a dimmer awareness of the erotic messages of their genitals.

Motion, then, is indicative of a totally different construct – that of a leveling between men and women. Female arousal, as the article makes plain, is mysterious and often impossible to detect. Arousal in men is, by contrast, apparent, and its mode of expression is through motion. Therefore it is natural to imagine that a prosthesis (for clothing is prosthesis, at its root) depicting female arousal would also exhibit motion.

This passage also suggests to me a powerful justification for the arousal-sensing garment: to conceptually bridge the gap between mind and body for wearer and/or audience. The dress is not intended as a ready-to-wear piece – it’s an exploration into the power of technology to bring responsiveness and emotion to previously static products in our lives. But the idea of using technology to bridge this mind-body gap is very intriguing. One macro interest area for me in my work is the notion of how objects can transform our interactions with others. But perhaps this idea of biodynamic clothing could also hold potential for self-discovery, so that in the process of interacting with an object, you strengthen connections within yourself.

PS: As to why the graphic above, it’s the first pull quote from the article and I just really loved the type treatment!

On process and production

20 January 2009 by Ingrid | Share it on TinyURL: http://tinyurl.com/3uvfxx7

I’m currently in the process of getting some of my work up online, and as I do this, I’m realizing there are aspects of process that I really want to share. Before I went back to design school, I had very little idea of how most things were made, and learning about manufacturing and production has been one of the most thrilling aspects of becoming a designer. I’m fascinated by molds, lathes, mills, laser-cutters, and all the other technical and not-so-technical tools and processes used to transform material into product.

But beyond my own fascination, I feel that it’s important for everyone to start becoming more aware of how the things we use are made. One of the biggest challenges in creating more sustainable production and consumption cycles is that we have lost touch with these processes. Products appear on our shelves and in our homes like magic, and it’s easy that way not to appreciate the tremendous amounts of energy, expertise, and material that went into getting them there. I feel about products much the way that many in the slow and local food movements feel about food – that our loss of connection to the production of our consumables makes it hard for us to understand why we should value these things.

Understanding how things are made also helps consumers parse tradeoffs in cost and quality. Is the product more expensive because of the name and logo, or is there actual handcrafting that augments the value and therefore the cost? Manufacturers are catching on to the idea that a story of craft helps justify a premium, but how to know how much truth is behind the story without some education in the basic ways that materials are shaped and formed?

I’ll be showing photos from my own processes in future posts, but for now, I wanted to show this photo from a silk factory I visited in the Fergana Valley, in Uzbekistan. Uzbekistan is famous for the now-ubiquitous ikat print, which there is made from weaving a silk warp with a cotton or silk weft. But the silk all starts this way, as pods which are boiled in an iron vat over an open fire. The women use sticks to gather the strands from the pods as they are loosened by the hot water and pass them over a hook to a woman who spins the filaments together into a continuous thread.

I know that most silk factories are more modern-looking than this Uzbek one, but I never buy silk at Mood without thinking of matter-of-fact way these women went about that first step of coaxing open the papery pods and reeling in those translucent fibers.

Mongolian feltmaking

20 January 2009 by Ingrid | Share it on TinyURL: http://tinyurl.com/3jjzfxc

I’m starting some experiments into making my own felt this week and I came across this really interesting video on Mongolian feltmaking. As shown in the video, the nomads in the Mongolian/Kyrgyz/Kazakh area use felt for their traditional houses, called gers or yurts. Having spent some time in one (in Kyrgyzstan, not Mongolia) on a very cold day, I can tell you their felt is amazingly insulating.

My felt will be for an entirely different purpose, to be seen in the coming weeks if I can get it to work.