Quite a number of years ago I had sent a small book of weaving samples to a friend in Texas. At some point, he and his partner moved to a different house, and it seems the sample book got misplaced during the move (I know that feeling too well). Well, he and his partner were cleaning a storage room in their house when they came upon my old sample book, and sent it to me via USPS Express.
I received it the day before yesterday. Opening up the sample book was like a time capsule going back quite a ways!
In the photo immediately below, there is an index card with three silk fabric samples on it that I wove. They are all in the W-draft I used on my new AVL recently, but woven monochrome and at a much, much finer sett. The samples below are also dyed post-weaving: indigo to the left, safflower with a bit of indigo in the middle, and safflower to the right. The pink color in the middle from the safflower tends to be quite fugitive: when it emerges from the fizzing (yes, fizzing!) cold dyebath, it is almost shocking pink in color...this intensity fades rapidly over a period of days to a softer pink. After all these years I'm surprised that the pink has survived even this well; the red colorant present in safflower (which contains three dyes: one strong, colorfast yellow; one fugitive yellow, and a fugitive red) does not survive well either through time or when exposed to light. That said, it was enclosed in sample book inside a box, so it wasn't exposed to light at all.
The color to the right, a peachy color using the colorfast yellow AND the fugitive red safflower dyes together, is hideous. When it emerged from its dyebath, it was this same nauseating color of Circus Peanuts (which are candy, not peanuts). In other realms and times and contexts I am certain that it is a perfectly lovely color - say, in seventeenth-century Venice, it was probably very much in fashion; but for me the association with Circus Peanuts candy is too strong; this color has been too heavily-laden with unpleasant associations, so I can't stand it!

Next photograph down shows a single tzitzit tie from a tallit I made in 2002. I made an error in several places, and one of the woolen strings actually broke (it doesn't show, but this renders it invalid, so I had to cut it off the tallit and affix another tzitzit in its place). The very cool thing about the tzitzit in the photograph is that a single long string, the 'shammash', was dyed using t'khelet dye, a somewhat controversial dyestuff whose (animal, not vegetal) origins are still argued today; at one point more than a thousand years ago, the mitzvah requiring this blue thread was no longer able to be fulfilled because the exact knowledge of the source of this dye (was the 'hilazon' animal a Murex? was it a squid?) was lost, and rabbinical authorities officially excused the Jewish people from having to fulfill this particular mitzvah. Since that time, or at least until fairly recently, the shammash strings of the tzitzit - the one that appears blue here in the photo below - were made undyed. From what I understand, there have been several attempts to re-create the t'khelet blue, with mixed results, but what appears to me to be the best claim is the one used by Beged Ivri in Israel, and they are the makers of the tzitzit strings below in the pic.
I think that it is a lot like indigo in its molecular structure.
When I bought the blue wool t'khelet strings years ago, they were dark indigo blue in color, and crocked onto the hands (crocking means rubbing off on) and stained the rest of the undyed tzitzit threads after use, and also bled into the precious and costly handwoven silk of the tallit fabric itself. So I wondered at the time if it would behave itself and stop crocking if I did what I would usually do with indigo: wash it separately with soap until it stopped bleeding, dry it, and only then regroup it with the undyed threads of the tzitzit and then perform the ritual winding of the wraps and knots. It worked. Not only did it work, but it lost a great deal of color - now it was light blue, but not just 'light blue'; it is almost turquoise in color. The photograph below is basically faithful to the real hue.
Another tallit I made using the t'khelet blue tzitzit thirteen years ago is still in use, and the tzitzit, handled every morning while its wearer dons her tallit for minyan (the tzitzit are examined before donning the tallit every morning, to make sure that they have not come untied or are otherwise invalidated), are still bright heavenly blue.
There is still controversy about the t'khelet, and mainstream rabbis often prefer to suggest using the undyed versions, and since there is still uncertainty about rekindling this mitzvah, the matter not having been halachically settled yet, they say it is better to avoid using the blue strings until they are sure it is true t'khelet, and until they are certain about the identity of the animal known as a hilazon.
But not everyone is quite so strict about it. For me, even if I can't confirm the identity of the original animal halachically, I am still amazed and delighted at the beauty of the blue shammash, and it very much puts me in mind of the mitzvah of t'khlet when I see it and touch it. My own tallit does not have the blue strings; but perhaps one day I will attach a new set of tzitzit to it, and use the blue.

Next photo is a small swatch of some quite fine linen I wove twelve years ago. I used a combination of huck and tabby, and wove firmly. I wove this linen with the warp sprayed with water, and the weft soaked in water before putting into the shuttle; the results were better; a dense, tightly-woven web. I love linen, and enjoy weaving it; but I have found it to be challenging to warp due to its total inelasticity. I would also not try to weave linen like this on the AVL: you really need a really high tension for linen to not look sleazy after the weaving. Someday I'll have space to set up both looms, Granny Cranny and Millicent the AVL, and will use Granny Cranny to weave linen, and rugs.
The linen in the photo is very fine: the sample you see below is about 90 epi (it was woven at about 80, but draw-in and wet-finishing seem to have contracted the textile). This photo got pretty close to the linen. It's a very tiny sample, only a couple of inches by a couple of inches.
Below is the new warp.
These are the same yarns I used previously: 30/2 spun silk from Treenway, dyed with madder to make the red, and dyed with Osage orange and indigo (indigofera suffruticosa in this case) for the nice 'moegi' green at the selvedges.
Until the AVL Warping Wheel arrives and is assembled, this one warp I am putting up in the conventional way. It's warped on a warping board, but only in 2" wide sections, which will fit in the spaces on the AVL's sectional warp beam. I do not like to chain silk warps if there is any chance of tangling or getting out of tension; rather I use a kind of modified Peggy Oesterkamp method of winding the warp under tension. Oesterkamp uses 'kitesticks' but here I have used toilet paper tubes, one inside the other for added strength, and it seems that the warp is sufficiently snug. I've used this method for years and it works.
The AVL Warping Wheel, though, will be a whole new chapter in warping for me. For keeping warps under tension (ideal for tangle-icious silks!) and speed of warping and also for not having to buy a spool rack and then spending tons of time winding the many, many bobbins. I'd like to 'graduate' to small-level production (I'm talking: tallit warps for maybe 10 tallitot at a run). I love to work in exploratory series of things and would like to keep doing that.
This is the warp for my sister, the 'dresser scarf', which will actually be the runner on top of the cabinet where my brother's ashes are enshrined. It's an honor and a pleasure to weave such an item.