Death by Dyeing

I have discovered my Achilles Heel in hooking. I suspected all along that it was there, but never spent enough time getting to the bottom of it. If design is my strongest suit, dyeing is my weakest. Despite having dedicated a week at Trent School of Rug Hooking two summers ago, and being relatively happy with my outcomes, I have now discovered that not only do I not excel at it, I really don't enjoy it.

My hat's off to those hookers who love dyeing. Those who truly relish that "mad chemist" aspect of putting combinations of powder into a cup of boiling of water and getting the same results over and over again. I am obviously not in that club.

If the task is to create something completely original in a casserole dish, count me in. If it's to get a perfect gradation for a swatch or to reproduce someone else's time-tested formula, count me out.

I would love to believe that it's the time pressure I put myself under to achieve the results I need - remember that last "deadline-oriented" post. Well, dyeing the night before you need a perfect blue, brilliantly abrashed for your Oriental project is not a good application of the adage.

When I no longer work all day and drive around the countryside all weekend, perhaps my patience for packets of dye and syringes and 64ths and 132nds will improve. I sure hope so, because it's an expensive enterprise to purchased dyed wool from those colour wizards.

I will go back to the dye pot this week to try to transform my supposed-to-be-dark-blue from it's ugly grey-green consistency to a majestic navy. I will try to be more patient and stir more diligently. However, I feel incredibly handicapped and need to learn to enjoy it more. I'm sure that's the secret.

In the meantime, I will take my sorry excuse for dyeing to class tonite and see if the dye wizards can suggest some rehabilitation for my poor attempts. As there are no pretty pictures to accompany this post, I will instead include an illustration that portrays my current feelings on dyeing for Orientals.