That’s the question!
Nothing I’ve thought of laying down on the warps is sticking. Nothing, I tell you, nothing!
So, I unpacked and repacked the vacuum-storage bag I’m using to store yarns, rifled through the two iOmega HD’s that accompany me on my peregrinations. There, I found the photoshop I’d done of Vanity of Vanities, and kicked myself that I never got that version of the image printed up large before flying out.
What’s so spectacular about this image? Well, the artist’s drawing of Solomon is colored according to his vision. In fact, he called the drawing Solomon. I don’t. If I were to lay down the weft according to his vision, I’d make myself a stenographer in yarn. That, I am not.
So, the question was then, what do I see when I look at the artist’s depiction of Solomon. In his drawing, Solomon is an old man seated on his throne, surrounded by the implements of music, wisdom, wealth, and such. However, he is not joyful. Instead, he looks depressed, morose, burdened by the cares and excesses of his life.
What I heard when I looked at the drawing, done in various shades of gold, with slight touches of rose, green, and darker colors, what I heard was vanity of vanities and vexation of spirit. Ecclesiastes 1. Immediately, I knew there could only be one name for this tapestry: Vanity of Vanities.
So, for a long time, I knew what the tapestry was about, what the name of it would be. I also thought I knew what it would look like. Wrong.
The absolute value of the drawing had to remain constant. That means, in order to weave Vanity, I could and would not alter a single line of the drawing but would attempt to depict each line faithfully. Stenography? Yes. However, the artist drew Solomon, but I perceived Vanity of Vanities, character versus spiritual condition. Immediately, there is the demarcation line between the original artist’s vision and mine. The difference in perspective creates the line though we both agree on the absolute, and quite likely would on my vision of his work.
So, then, to weave a tapestry of the absolute value of the artist’s vision reconciled with mine, I had to alter the work to reflect my vision while leaving the absolute value, the lines, untouched. Therefore, I went into Photoshop, everybody’s best friend, fiddled with the image, and finally settled for an inversion of it.
There it is! There! The inversion altered the colors and gave Solomon an insubstantial quality while retaining his dark spiritual condition, and bringing every line, not quite seen in the original, into sharp relief. Then I flipped it horizontally, just because I could. The alteration of the colors, combined with the pose in which the artist drew his creation, brought about the marriage of the two visions that results in Vanity of Vanities.
Now, if only I could get the Mirrix here, for, now that I’ve found that inverted image and scrutinized it, and thought about it, and looked at it from various angles, Vanity, while it has not yet broken its self-imposed silence, has begun to hum in the background.
Maybe I should just go home and weave Vanity on the Macomber!