The pillowy soft merino wool from Santa Fe Wool & Supply Co. ranges from peacock blue to the deepest aubergine. It’s an unusual fiber and color spectrum in the Land of Enchantment, where noteworthy weavers lean toward earth-toned fiber from Churro sheep. This collection, curated by owner and felt artist Karen Waters, nods to the diversity of the state’s fiber artists, who pick up all manner of wool and plant fibers for their creations. New Mexico’s fiber arts roots run deep. The craft began in the region as pure utilitarianism. Indigenous peoples in the desert Southwest have used cotton for thousands of years. According to the tome Cotton: Origin, History, Technology and Production, archeological digs in the state have uncovered evidence of cotton being grown as early as 300 BC. This fiber was also woven into cloth for rugs, blankets and apparel. When Spanish settlers trekked into the area, they brought with them sturdy and highly adaptable Churro sheep. The sheep’s coarse outer coat protects a softer interior coat, which weavers adore because it requires little water to clean, spins easily and accepts natural dyes. This wool soon became the foundational material for Native, Spanish and Mexican textiles, and it has remained so for hundreds of years. The vintage rugs stacked in stores such as Shiprock Santa Fe attest to this lineage. Over time, master weavers developed the state’s regional styles. For example, Native American artists work in the Toadlena/Two Grey Hills style, which can be found at shops such as Malouf on the Plaza, while Irvin and Lisa Trujillo of Centinela Traditional Arts keep the Chimayó and Río Grande weaving styles alive. These traditional forms just scratch the surface of the fiber arts styles emerging in the state today.

Rooted in the West

Linda Bentley follows a different weaving tradition than the one most often found in New Mexico. Growing up in the Midwest, she and her sisters would gather fabric scraps from their mother’s drapery business and deliver them to German women, who wove the scraps into rag rugs. Years after learning to weave woolen tapestries at Ghost Ranch Education and Retreat Center, and being mentored in that art by Eppie Archuleta and her family in Medanales, Bentley returned to rag rugs. She and her potter husband, Kipp, work under the mantle of Estambre Studios to create this homey style with a western twist. They get material from Pendleton Woolen Mills of eastern Oregon, which creates many iconic patterns of the American West. After Pendleton workers create blankets on looms, they trim the edges to apply hems. The mill makes these offcuts, or selvages, available to fiber artists around the country. On the day we spoke, the Bentleys had just accepted delivery of 200 pounds of Pendleton’s high-quality wool strips, dyed in rich shades and with hints of the

mill’s signature designs. “We use material that’s grown here in the West and processed in the West,” Linda says. “We’re using waste to make something new. We wouldn’t consider at all using new materials to weave with.” Each box is a surprise, so each rug evolves from the interplay of patterns and colors they can create from these found fabrics. “When we open the eight boxes out there, there might be colors that we’ve never seen before,” Kipp says. The Bentleys weave the selvages on stand-up Río Grande walking looms, traditional tools that anchor their work in New Mexico. Their work is rooted in weaving customs in another way. Their residential compound, which includes Estambre Studios, is the former home of James Koehler (1952-2011), a master tapestry weaver whose works are in the Smithsonian American Art Museum in Washington, DC. The couple relocated from Colorado when they happened upon the opportunity to purchase his home. “We’re continuing the traditions that went on in this house. The house and studio are filled with his love of work,” Linda says. It’s a tradition they’re glad to continue. “Few people work with their hands anymore to make something that’s beautiful, is usable and has integrity.” “The ‘usable’ is important to us,” Kipp adds. “Some of our clients take them and hang them on a wall, but they’re rugs. They’re made to last for years and be trod on every day . . . . They’re not precious. If the dog throws up on it, take it outside, hose it off, put it in the dryer to fluff it up and toss it back on the floor.”

Not your usual wearable art

Sharon Davis also practices a functional craft, though she tries to push beyond the everyday. She learned knitting from her fourth-grade teacher — a “little old lady,” says Davis. Davis took to the craft right away. “It was almost magical,” she remembers. Although she knit off and on over the years, she didn’t pursue it seriously until midlife. She often creates wearable art — though never hats, scarves or socks. “Socks and hats have been done to death,” she says. Instead she makes wraps inspired by the rainbow colors and sumptuous textures of silk, bamboo and mohair yarn. “You don’t have to follow instructions. You can make it as large as you want . . . . These are fun and whimsical. I experiment with colors and textures, and things just turn out fun.” The native New Mexican also creates innovative wall hangings. “Knitting is a fiber art form that people most often associate with sweaters or a blanket,” she says. “I like to make a statement. There’s thousands of different knitting stitches, and you can put the combinations of those together and

come up with all sorts of things. Weaving is basically warp and weft, back and forth. Knitting gives more freedom.”

All knotted up

In Karen Waters’ hands, one of the oldest known textiles gets a new life. A photographer for most of her artistic career, Waters spotted felt objects at the Santa Fe Railyard Artisan Market and went down a research rabbit hole to discover how felt is made. The ancient art of felt making, which predates spinning wool, boils down to wool, moisture and agitation — essentially, getting the wool to tangle tightly enough that it can’t be torn apart. There’s a lot of know-how and elbow grease involved in getting those elements to coalesce. During her educational journey, Waters had to travel outside the state to find felt-making workshops. Along the way, she was drawn to a new form, beyond the customary rugs, clothing and millinery for which felt is commonly used: vessels. Her vessels often appear Asian- or African-inspired, a look that mostly comes from the merino wool itself. Waters challenges herself to create works using only two or three colors. Making a vessel takes three days of constant work — and if that work falters, the forms can become moldy and must be thrown away. But that’s a rare occurrence for the eco-conscious artist, who was drawn to the medium because of its sustainability. “It’s so natural the way it feels and looks. You don’t need anything toxic to create it,” she says. Waters often uses rainwater collected at her home, and her wools are colored with nontoxic dyes. “Anything I make out of wool can be put in the compost. We have such a throwaway society. It’s our responsibility to do everything we can to help preserve what we have.”

The trees have it

Love of the earth — and nature — drives artist Ilse Bolle. She uses fibrous material such as grapevines, roots, grasses and handmade paper to make her fine art pieces. “I didn’t want to do anything functional. It was too much of a craft for me. I wanted to be an artist,” she says. “I call my work ‘fiber construction.’” Occasionally she weaves other found materials, such as rocks and feathers, into her creations. The results are architectural and intricately woven wall hangings and pedestals. Sometimes they are stark and minimalist, like the desert in which she now lives. Other times they are complexly layered and incorporate encaustic. She sometimes uses sticks and leaves, which remind her of her childhood in rural Germany. The beeswax of encaustic takes her back to time spent with her beekeeper aunts Her creations begin with a memory, a travel experience or an observation, and earn names such as With Open Arms, Lean on Me and Through Thick and Thin. The pieces materialize in her imaginings from these starting points. “I like people to connect with the titles and make their own interpretations,” she says. “Doing my work is my therapy. All my thoughts and feelings, all my disappointments and joys, come out in my work.”