Category Archives: Mushroom dyeing

Results of dyeing fibre with mushrooms I’ve found in the surrounding rainforest

Yet another Aaaargh! moment

Lobster samples
Lobster samples

This has been a week of surprises from the dyepots, and surprises are good, right? They keep us on our toes, right? It’s just that, well, why did the surprise have to occur with my lobster mushrooms?

The last two years were not conducive to lobsters (Hypomyces lactifluorum), with prolonged dry spells and later than usual autumn rains. Added to that, three of my prime lobster patches—three!—were smack in the middle of the logging road when part of our backyard forest was clearcut three years ago.

I use just the outer orange parings of these mushrooms for dyeing, as the inner flesh is white and will simply absorb the pigment (plus, it’s good to eat if you know which mushroom has played host to the parasitical Hypomyces). So I saved up the parings from the three or four stunted specimens I found in the fall, then was overjoyed to find a paper bag of more parings that I’d evidently tucked away a few years ago. This was going to be one very special dyepot!

Indeed, the dyebath turned a beautiful orange-red within minutes of starting to simmer, and my sample yarns turned just the colour I wanted. I planned to dye a silk scarf that had taken me hours to stitch a complicated shibori design into, but I hadn’t yet mordanted many of my silks . . . never mind, thought I, I’ll just add some alum to the dyepot.

Note to self: take the time to pre-mordant, even if you don’t think you have the time for it.

I measured out a couple of spoonsful of alum, dissolved it in boiling water, then added it to the dyebath. And then . . . another moment of helpless, hyperventilating horror as I watched the red disappear before my very eyes! Thankfully I’d already removed the first sample strands (so at least I know what I missed out on) and hadn’t added the shibori scarf; a second set of samples turned out to be a lovely peach, with little distinguishable difference from one mordant to the next. (My samples are: no mordant, alum, iron, and copper.)

So now I have two silk scrunchies in a lovely peach (after which the dyepot was exhausted) and a hard-earned lesson to apply to this year’s certain (I remain optimistic) bumper harvest of lobsters.

In the meantime, I’m still looking for any chemists out there who can tell me what happened!

Now this is violet!

Colour from Omphalotus olivascens
Colour from Omphalotus olivascens

After my first Omphalotus dyepot, which I’d done with our well water and which gave me mostly very nice greens, (see my post of April 18) I decided to use distilled water for my second (and last) dyepot. When the dyebath was almost at temperature (about 170 degrees F), I saw that my sample strands showed signs of violet, so I put my first piece of undyed wool in right away and left it for about 20 minutes, by which time it too was violet.

(I should mention that I generally leave the mushrooms to simmer in the dyepot while I do the exhausts, in case I can wring out a bit more pigment. I’ve discovered Tide lingerie bags—and no, this is not a product placement for any particular brand—which are made of the finest mesh, with a zippered closure. Using this, I can lift all the fibre out in one go, and I don’t have to deal with any leftover mushroom bits.)

I pulled the fibre out immediately, fearing that this colour might get dull if left to cook too long. After it had cooled, and without realizing what I was doing, I put the fibre into a bucket of (well) water and watched, in absolute horror, as the violet disappeared before my very eyes! The wool was a lovely steel grey, but grey was not what I was after.

I immediately put another piece of fibre into the pot, watched it carefully, and pulled it out when it was clearly going to be violet. This time I didn’t rinse it, and the colour remained. In fact, I got several more exhausts from this dyepot, the violets becoming progressively lighter, but definitely violet. I stopped when my last sample came out an undistinctive beige.

After the wool had dried, I rinsed a small sample in well water and another sample in a vinegar rinse—their colour doesn’t seem to have changed, but I’m nervous about rinsing the rest of the wool until I’m certain it’s safe to do so. Our well water tests high in calcium and silica, with a pH of 7.6—any chemists out there who can explain what’s going on?

Old Gold

One Phaeolus dyepot
One Phaeolus dyepot

I realize now just how blessed I’ve been in recent years to have such an abundant supply of Dyer’s Polypore (Phaeolus schweinitzii) in my backyard forest. This year, for a number of reasons, I was unable to process much of this wonderful fungus when it was fresh; I had to leave most of it to dry, and I’m now working my way through it.

My first discovery has been that the colour isn’t as bright with the dried mushrooms as when they’re fresh, although this dyepot would contradict that finding. This is one of the more brilliant golds I’ve ever had, and I know there was one smaller Phaeolus in the pot that had been picked fresh. It was still coming out of its button stage, and the inner flesh, when I cut it into chunks, showed some promising colour. However—and this is where I’ve been blessed, or some would say spoiled—one dyepot was all I got. The silk scarf on the right also went into this bath, scrunched down and tied around a wine bottle, and the colour barely registered.

Also, I’m having to use more mushrooms per dyepot, four or five dried mushrooms versus one or two fresh. I tried boiling up this dyepot again, with just the mushrooms and no fibre in the pot, to see if I could squeeze out a bit more gold, but to no avail—my samples came out a tired tan.

Phaeolus green
Phaeolus green

But never mind—while moving buckets and things up to my studio, I came across this batt of Corriedale, which did go through a fresh Phaeolus dyepot last fall and came out a beautiful, deep green. It had been mordanted with iron, and after several rinsings to remove any traces of the mordant, I left it in a bucket of water and promptly forgot about it. What a bonus find! I think this will card up nicely with some of the less striking golds and browns, and I should have a nice tweedy yarn in the end.

Omphalotus olivascens

Omphalotus ready to go
Omphalotus ready to go

I was fortunate enough to obtain a quantity of these mushrooms (dried) from the amazing Alissa Allen (see mycopigments link at the side), who’d collected them in December around Arcata, California. I was swooning in anticipation, because these beauties are purported to give a violet colour, and they don’t grow this far north. So here they are, having soaked overnight in my well water, ready to be cooked up.

Omphalotus_first_dyepot
Here, then, the results, from left to right: First dyepot, unmordanted wool; first dyepot, mordanted with iron; second dyepot, mordanted with iron; third dyepot, mordanted with copper; fourth dyepot, mordanted with iron; fourth dyepot, mordanted with copper.

As an experiment, I took a bit of wool from the first violet sample and placed it in an ammonia solution (pH9) to see if that might bring out even more of the violet. To my dismay, the sample (seen at the left, under the first violet sample) quickly turned grey. A striking grey, but grey nonetheless. Next to that grey sample is a bit of synthetic “icicle” that picked up the violet colour without a problem.

Being unwilling to let go of this potential colour, I tried yet another exhaust with my little samples, but it was clear the pot had nothing more to give than an uninteresting beige, so I was forced to return what was left back to the forest.

This has been a very exciting dyepot, and I still have half ot the dried Omphalotus to play with again!

Hydnellum green

Hydnellum Green
Hydnellum Green

Hydnellum aurantiacum

My first dyepot after a long winter hiatus! I was trying for blue, using a good lot of Hydnellum aurantiacum and following directions provided by my mushroom dye mentor, Susan Hopkins.

I broke the dried fungus into small pieces, soaked them overnight in plain water, then the next day brought them up to ~170-180 degrees F and held that for an hour. The fibre and silk went into the dyepot the next day, when I added enough ammonia (neither sudsy nor flavoured) to raise the pH to 9. Another hour at the same not-quite-boiling temperature, and I was hoping beyond hope to see the lovely blues that are possible from this toothed fungus.

The one thing I didn’t do: I didn’t use distilled water. Our own well water is neutral in almost every way, except that it’s high in calcium. I wonder if that might have made the difference.

I won’t say I’m disappointed with this soft sage green, because I’m not, and I have another variety of Hydnellum yet to try—hope springs eternal!

My New Haven

Shroom Works studiio

After months of planning, preparation, painting, and moving, my new space is officially open and ready to accommodate this mushroom person. The most stressful part of the whole transition was having to sort through all the fibre I’d accumulated in the eight years since I started spinning. As any fibre person will attest, a stash is not a static thing—it reproduces in the dark, silent hours, apparently exponentially, until it has occupied space in every room of the house. (Yes, even our guest bathroom had fleece spread out to dry on the floor.)

This turned out to be an exercise in cleansing and purging, as I realized I have no space in my life for unwashed fleece filled with VM (short for vegetable matter) or the leftover bits and pieces of commercially dyed wool that might have one day gone into the making of something interesting but will be put to better use by my grateful fellow Guild members.

Already, after just a week of gloriously peaceful afternoons spent in my little cottage (formerly our B&B cabin), I can see the huge difference it makes to have everything at hand, especially when that everything doesn’t have to be put away at the end of the day.

In honour of my mom, who created her own little contemplation room she called My Blue Haven, I’m calling this My New Haven, a space I feel truly blessed to have.

Spinning silk . . . or, What was I thinking?

Image

I saw the image on the cover of Crochet So Fine, a book of crochet patterns. I fell in love with it: a “wrap cardigan” of such exquisite lace, with a large pineapple motif centred on the back, three-quarter sleeves fashioned with intricate vertical designs, and a deep V-neck achieved by crossing one front over the other and tying wispy ties at the back.

I am not a maker of intricate crochet. I once (way, way back when) crocheted bulky toilet roll covers for everyone in the family for Christmas. I’ve crocheted mushroom tree ornaments. I tried to crochet cute little lacy strips meant to adorn the fronts of my kitchen shelves (in some sort of decorating madness) and ended up ripping everything apart and depositing the leftover crochet cotton in the thrift shop.

But when I first set eyes on that stunning crocheted wrap (“cardigan” just doesn’t do it justice), I knew I had to make it. And I had to make it with mushroom-dyed silk.

Silk comes in many forms, and I decided to dye and spin silk “hankies,” soft, fly-away bundles, each made up of eight to ten layers of gossamer. Each layer must be peeled gently from the stack, then carefully stretched, stretched, and stretched some more, until the long, weightless strand is just a few fibres thick. Then it’s time to spin.

As with most handspinning, preparing the fibre takes up the greater part of the time; once the wheel gets going, the silk fairly slides across my fingers, building up in fine layers on the bobbin. I divide each hankie into two bobbins, so that two fine strands of the same colour can be plied together into a balanced silk thread.

I then wind the silk thread into little skeins. I love to fondle these wee treasures in the sunlight, admiring the characteristic sheen imparted by true silk.

Each skein measures close to 50 yards.  I will need a little more than 2,000 yards to complete this garment. I don’t want to think of the time required to complete this garment. I am in denial that I will one day have to sit down with a crochet hook and create this garment..

Right now I’ll just enjoy spinning and fondling my silk in the sure and certain knowledge that one day, if nothing else, I’ll be laid out in a Phaeolus-dyed, handspun silk shroud.

Close-ups of the handspun

Image
Thick ‘n thin: Hydnellum
Image
Coils: Dermocybe

I had the good fortune to attend a spinning workshop by the amazing and inspiringJacey Boggs last summer, where she opened my eyes about the possibilities in handspun yarn. Here are some close-ups of a couple of the mushroom-dyed skeins I posted about a few days ago. The pink one, dyed with dermocybes (the darker shade was mordanted with iron), is spun with coils, while the green yarn, dyed with Hydnellum, is one thin strand plied with a thick-and-thin strand.

Now I have even more reason to fondle my handspun!

A few mushroom yarns

Image
Some of this year’s spinning

For a variety of reasons, some personal, some structural (as in setting up a studio, aka My New Happy Place), some environmental (as in this wasn’t a very good year for dye mushrooms), my dyepots have been cold for the last few months. That will soon change, however, once my new workspace is ready and functional.

My spinning wheel  hasn’t slowed down all that much, though; here are some interesting textures that resulted from some of my play sessions.

More posts to follow as soon as I can fire up the dyepots!

What a long, strange year it’s been!

ImageAfter a very long, dry summer, we began to despair of having any sort of mushroom season at all. The Phaeolus schweinitzii (dyer’s polypore) appeared in their usual abundant numbers, so at least I’m guaranteed of having lots of gold/green/brown dyepots. Some of the other standbys turned up later than usual and in smaller numbers than usual—more about them in future posts—but for now I’m revelling in golds.

Here’s a silk scarf that’s been sitting with some chunks of Phaelous for a couple of months now—”solar” dyeing at its best, even in the midst of a foggy autumn.