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I’m looking forward to this conversation about your work in natural dyeing and textile art. Do you have a background of working with fabric? 

Sewing was always a part of my childhood growing up in Ann Arbor, Michigan. My mom was — and is still — a skilled quilter, and she made our clothes, prom dresses, and my sister’s competitive ice-skating costumes. My youngest sister also quilts, making gorgeous, beautiful modern quilts with colors, lines, and textures. 

And my dad was the third generation of Foxes running a tent and awning business, Fox Tent & Awning Company. Those big striped tents that you would see in antique fairs, car dealerships, graduations, and events like that. We also made specialty canvas products like boat covers, flags, music instrument case covers, lawn furniture cushions, and canvas bags. 

My first summer job at 12 years old was working in the shop sewing canvas bags for Borders Bookstore, which was started in Ann Arbor where we lived. I sewed 1,000 of those purple and black Borders book bags that summer. I can still smell the grease of the old sewing machines, hear the sounds of factory sewing and the ladies cutting fabric on huge cutting tables, and all the rolls of beautifully striped Sunbrella fabric — the sensory memories are vivid.

When and how did you find the art you’re doing now, or how did it find you? 

Two years ago around this time, a natural dye company in Seattle offered these “Feedback Friday” webinar Zooms every Friday focused on textile arts — hosting conversations with people from around the world. 

I think my sister forwarded them to me and the very first one I signed up for was about a natural dye artist and weaver who was launching a new natural dye program in New Hampshire. I looked up who she was and the farm where she was offering a residential five-day natural dye course later that spring.  

I thought to myself, ‘You know, if I wait until Friday when she does this talk, and she mentions it, everyone’s going to sign up for it and there won’t be any space.’ I’d never done anything with dyes ever in my life — no familiarity, no seeing somebody else doing it, nothing. But it was just an automatic decision of, ‘I should sign up.’ So I did. [laughing] 

There wasn’t any other option; it was a 110% yes. There wasn’t a second of doubt or question. So I signed up for a five-day workshop for something I’d never done in the middle of nowhere New Hampshire.

Being there for the workshop was the most giddy and joyful experience I had had in a long time. I was also the only person there who didn’t know a damn thing about natural dyeing. It was mostly older women. And it was so incredibly nourishing to be with them in this simple, but beautiful art studio space. The barn and property had been only recently renovated to become a traditional crafts center, Sanborn Mills Farm. 

They offer blacksmithing, weaving, basketmaking, and animal husbandry, these kinds of things. We were the very first workshop they ever offered. So we were starting something, which was appealing to me. We were staying in this beautiful place, enjoying deliciously made meals with one another and telling stories about all the places we’ve been, crafts we’ve explored, and skills we’ve experimented with.  

It was a full five days of being an absolute beginner amidst a group of wise artist elders — I just loved it. I loved not knowing anything and being at the bottom of the totem pole. I loved being in a creative space for five days, not being connected to anyone outside, just immersed in learning a new craft, a new skill. 

The technicality of it — the mixing, the ingredients, the recipes, the visuals, the vibrancy from these powdered extracts that created ruby red, or indigo, or tangerine orange colors. And then all of the different surface design patterns and techniques that you could do to resist the colors — clamping, and tying, and sewing, and wax. 

All these different traditions that have been going on for centuries. And the amazement to wonder about the magic of who and how people discovered that this plant does this… or, use this metallic salt and this dye with this temperature, and it creates this color. It was like sorcery, the alchemy of it all. 

What happened after you returned home from the workshop?

I came home from the five days and I was just absolutely enamored. I started to gather supplies I needed — pots and pans at Goodwill, other supplies from Facebook Marketplace, and refurbished a cabinet to store everything. It never had a purpose beyond knowing I just had to keep doing it. 

I started making bandanas — because it’s a simple size, and an item that has practical functions. I thought I’d give them to friends as gifts. And I just kept making them. I wondered, ‘what am I going to do with all of these?’ But then as soon as that question would come, I thought, ‘it doesn’t matter, just keep making.’

A friend and mentor, Eric Epstein, has a studio over at West River Arts in Westville. Eric has been a muse, a mentor, and a dear, dear friend. Our friendship is so fueling — it’s creative and generative, appreciative and celebratory. He has filled me up in my artistry, and I am so incredibly grateful. I jokingly call him, ‘Mr. Why Not?’

We regularly go for weekend walks in the woods and one Saturday, he asked, “Why don’t you show your art in my studio for City-Wide Open Studios?” I hadn’t yet thought of it as ‘Art’ or worthy of others being interested in seeing it. But when I expressed that, as usual, he would simply respond, ‘Why not?’

With that simple question, he helped me reframe how I see myself as an artist.

I totally hear that — and I’m looking forward to our next conversation we planned, diving into those questions of identity-as-artist. But back to Open Studios!

Yes! So with Eric’s ‘Why not,’ I brought the bandanas I’d done and other samples and set them up in his studio. It was the first time I had ever shared and displayed my artwork. It was incredible to share and to have friends who I respect as artists be genuinely surprised and impressed with the colors and designs I’d created. I don’t know if or how some of the things I’ve done would have happened without his friendship and belief in me.

I hadn’t thought of selling any pieces at Open Studios, but many visitors had asked about buying my bandanas, which sparked the idea of being a vendor at the annual Westville Artwalk or New Haven Night Market in the spring of 2023 — they’re actually both coming up again.

I signed up for Artwalk and was excited and nervous. How would I display things? Could I create enough items to have an offering and show them in a way that people would be interested? Would people be interested? Just because I like it, doesn’t mean other people will like it. But I honestly didn’t care — because I was just making, making, making. 

And then friends helped me think through my booth and lent me a tent and other display supplies. I practiced setting my booth up inside of my apartment and in my backyard. And the first sale, oh my God, someone I didn’t know actually bought my stuff! It was a perfect, beautiful spring day, and was really exciting; I sold out of all of my bandanas.

What an affirming start of that part of the journey. I’m curious, what does the fabric and dyeing creative process look like for you? 

Just before we got on this call, actually, I was standing over my stove, the steam coming up, I’m stirring a marigold vat with a big wooden spoon. I don’t have music or a podcast on. It’s silent, but it’s so busy. The stirring, the measuring, the reading, the note-taking where I track different processes, and listening to instinct.

It feels like magic, I feel like a witch, I have cauldrons on the stove adding a pinch of this and a spoonful of that… bark and buds, metals and salts, cooking these vibrant colors from the natural world.

Each piece requires so many steps, it’s extraordinary and requires an appreciation for what it takes to create things from scratch. 

You first have to scour the item to get out all of the fixatives that were part of the fabric in the making of it, you use a soap and a soda ash. You next create a tannin vat for plant-based linens and cottons. The tannins integrate with the fibers and provide a base level for a richer color. The third step is to create a mordant bath made up of different kinds of metallic salts. Those salts attach to the fibers on a cellular level and provide the foundation for the dye molecules to attach to. 

Once a piece is mordanted, then you can dye it. Either you prepare the dye vat — every color and plant substance requires a different process to make the dye vat and submerge the item for hours, then rinse and dry. Or I create natural dye paints that I use to paint colors and patterns directly on a bandana, which then I need to steam in order to fix the colors.

This whole process takes multiple days and is methodically done to make fibers light-fast and color-fast — meaning, that it keeps the color despite exposure to sunlight and washing. You’re weighing each piece, measuring ingredients, tracking temperatures, and timing it all — I keep a dye journal to track each item as it moves through the process so I can remember how I got a particularly good — or not so good — color.

I had no idea. Respect for the art and science of it! 

I know, right? And it’s true, to fully understand natural dyeing requires a base level understanding of biochemistry — how ions and electrons work with one another. I’m actually taking an alchemy of natural dyeing class right now, and it’s like going back to college and taking chemistry all over again. 

I was just using an iron vat, using ferrous sulfate, to shift the colors of a scarf from a white, cream color to a dark gray. Literally you put it in the vat, and in seconds you see it change from white to gray in front of your eyes. You can use logwood, a tree bark, which is a dye that makes purple colors. I make a special kind of thickened dye paint; and when I paint it on a fabric, it paints on as orange, but literally before your eyes, as you stare at it and watch it, it turns purple. 

And indigo, which is a whole other kind of chemical oxidation process. When you have your fibers submerged in an Indigo vat, and you pull them out, in that instant they’re an emerald green. But as the fiber is exposed to oxygen, you watch as it turns from green to the rich indigo blue right in your hands. 

So it’s just this magical thing that kind of takes my breath away, every single time I see it. 

I appreciate your holding that magical and what you named earlier as sorcery-feeling side of it, alongside the tangible chemistry side. They’re such different lenses, I see people lean into one or the other, but not always both at the same time.

Hm, thanks for naming that, it’s true. There’s the spiritual side of it for me — deeply listening for what comes through in design, in artistry choices, and in the connection with the natural world. And then seeing the magic of all of these beautiful colors that come from things that are growing right in front of our eyes. 

I’ve used the mint from my backyard, it’s this beautiful, light yellow. I’ve used goldenrod from the park, I’ve used avocado pits and skins, which have this nice mauve pink color. And who knew! Who knew and first discovered these processes? Over the centuries lots of people and cultures have actually discovered these chemical explanations for what happens. But even though I’m trying to learn the chemistry side, I’m still choosing to believe that spirit, magic, and chemistry can be different ways of describing the same thing.     

What was it specifically about natural dyeing that drew you in, as opposed to, say, those toxic RIT dyes? 

It’s figuring out and learning how to make it myself from ingredients in my backyard and the park in my neighborhood — no comparison to going into a craft store for the RIT dyes made out of toxic chemicals. I just made this vibrant, gorgeous cabernet-colored silk pocket square last night from a Madder root vat, it’s this rich, bright red color. And last weekend I made bright, electric, vibrating yellows from a Buckthorn vat. 

You can also play with the chemical ph of a dye vat — if you add things like citric acid or lemon juice to make it more acidic, then certain colors will come out more. If you make it more basic by adding chalk or soda ash or even Tums, the calcium will darken it. If you add iron it will move it towards gray. It’s a limitless palette and so spectacular. I’m deepening my love and obsession for color. 

Are you finding that your creative process is changing as you get deeper into it?

The idea of slow fashion and up-dyeing previously loved clothing is another method I’m exploring. At one of my recent art shows, the clothing rack was the most active part of my booth — with visitors making a beeline to look through the clothing. I go to Goodwill, vintage, and garage sales to find white or light-colored items of clothing or bedsheets, and I’ll up-dye them. I’ve also had friends commission me to up-dye clothing that they want to transform into a new refreshed color.

And actually, for the first time just yesterday, I started blending my sewing and dyeing skills. I decided to design naturally dyed throw pillows, because not everybody wants to wear their art — and who doesn’t love adding a splash of color to a couch, living room, or bed? So I used the same process as I do for my bandanas, but using up-cycled bed sheets from Goodwill, and then I paint modern designs with my natural dye paints; once they’re steamed and pressed, I’ll sew them together!

The making part is really about the state of flow and play and creativity and the giddiness from that. However, as I’m getting ready to be a vendor at spring and summer art fairs, I feel that I have to produce because I need inventory. That takes a little bit of the spark away — feeling outside pressure to make another one, and another one… 

But this time around, I’m trying to keep the creative spark and inspiration alive by grouping the batches of inventory I need to make by specific colors. I will first complete all the scouring, tannin-ing, and the mordant-ing. Once I get that base foundation process done, I can simply select pieces that are ready to dye for the color group du jour.

Last weekend was yellow — I was working on different shades and resist patterns, but they were all coming out of similar yellow dye baths. This week was reds and oranges. Yesterday was about the color gray. This weekend is indigo. And so I’m identifying what I need to make, and exploring my way through the rainbow to build my inventory. Silk pocket squares, silk and cotton shawls, silk and cotton bandanas, and now framed pieces and pillow case covers. 

I can’t wait to see how this evolves, what I learn, what I create, and how the spark of it all continues!

Interview with The Circle creative director & editor Lara Herscovitch. To reach Lara directly: thecircle@clpnewhaven.org or Lara@LaraHerscovitch.com

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