June 4, 2025

Hi friends,

With the arrival of better weather, my front door is now bright red and my deck is beautifully honey-stained (thanks to the stain donation of a generous friend). I’ve been gardening, organizing, and generally cleaning things up around the house. Basically, I’m in full summer project mode. It’s been a bit chaotic, especially with four children, but I can’t not work on things my favorite time of year. During all this activity, I’ve noticed a few recurring themes pop up in my weavings: containment, domesticity, and presence.

My latest experiment has been weaving on sardine cans.

We ended up with a handful of them and, instead of throwing them away, I threw them in the dishewasher. Once they were sparkling clean, I wrapped one in cotton warp like a loom. Leftover embroidery thread became the weft. I’ve been working small lately, but this… this was really, really small! I’m not sure it’s even possible to go smaller! At least not by hand. Typically I prefer using my fingers, but this definitely required a different kind of tool. Luckily, I had a pack of sewing needles in my bag. It went much slower than my previous pieces, but the humor of it all kept me going. There’s something I love about a landscape framed by a disposable item. A tiny world in a can.

I held. I grew.
My voice, a flicker
pushing through.
Not loud. Not bright,
but steady still.
Enduring light.

(From No Flash, No Spark, part of my What Holds series.)

My sardine can weavings aren’t the only small-scale works I’ve made. Lately, my tapestries have been ranging from 4 to 6 square inches. But I never really intended to work small. It just made sense.

I have babies to feed. Dishes to do. Someone always needs something. My hands are never quite free.

But I love weaving. It’s something I can do just for me.

So I went small.

My series What Holds started with a few cardboard looms. I’d made them for a weaving session with my friends and surprised myself with how much I enjoyed the size constraint. At first it felt like compromise, but slowly, I realized small doesn’t have to mean less. It just means closer. You have to get near to see the details. You have to pause. Small art is intimate.

So right now, I want to lean in. Notice texture, choice, slowness. Resist stepping back to “get the whole thing”. I want the process of weaving to be the point; my hands, my lap, my breath.

Small mirrors the season of life I’m in; tight on time, but rich in feeling. It honors my priorities as a mother and in some ways, working small is empowering. After a few hours I can hold a finished piece in my hand and say, this is good. This is enough. I don’t need a studio. I can weave on playground benches, at the beach, during baseball games, and in between school lessons. I’m sure one day I’ll have a studio, but right now my practice is exactly what I need it to be— a natural rhythm of my day.

I’ll keep working small as long as it feels right. There’s a beautiful restraint in it. A quiet dignity, and it’s enough.

Coming Soon

My exhibition What Holds opens June 11

A few sardine can weavings might be released soon

Next post: Visible Warp, an invitation to witness

Thanks for reading.

If you’re also making something, I’d love to hear about it! Or if you’re just stepping outside to water your flowers, that counts too.

—Jess

A Practice of Enough