A Dog on the Loom: The Art of Letting Go
It's that stubborn project that began with a burst of excitement and the best of intentions, but somewhere along the way it simply fizzled. Maybe the colors don't sing the way you imagined, or the pattern feels flat and uninspired. Maybe life intervened, and the project sat neglected, gathering dust and judgmental side-eyes from across the room.
Now it’s more than just a problematic warp: it’s a hulking, guilt-laden shadow that camps out in your creative space. A strong-but-silent type, weighing down both your loom (or needles, canvas, etc.) and your spirit.
You've invested time, money, and creative energy. You told yourself you should finish it. After all, you started it.
The truth? You have what’s known in the weaving world as a dog on the loom.
Recognizing the Dog on the Loom
How do you know if your project has crossed over into dog territory? There are some tell-tale signs:
You avoid your loom (or other creative tool) entirely.
The thought of working on it brings more dread than joy.
You're forcing yourself to continue out of guilt or obligation.
These are gentle signals from your creative self that something's amiss. A reminder that some projects are lessons, not masterpieces.
The Art—and Science—of Letting Go
Recognizing when to let go is part of the creative process. It's an act of courage, not defeat. In fact, research shows that embracing the fresh start can renew motivation, reduce creative burnout, and open pathways for innovation.
Psychologists refer to this as the "fresh start effect," a phenomenon where temporal landmarks—like the start of a new week—encourage people to detach from past failures and approach goals with renewed vigor. These resets can fuel forward momentum by psychologically separating us from what went wrong before.
In weaving, this can translate directly to cutting off an old warp and giving yourself the gift of a blank loom.
Moon and… spider? Pac Man, maybe?
I had warped my inkle loom with what I thought was a striking combination of yarns: rich plum, sunlit gold, and terracotta. They looked great side-by-side on cones, and I envisioned a band featuring a radiant sun and moon motif woven in supplementary weft technique, bold and symbolic. I drew up my pattern and warped the loom with full confidence.
But once I started weaving? Meh.
My most recent dog, but neither my first nor my last.
The pattern was questionable. My teenager squinted at it. "Is that supposed to be Pac Man... and a spider?"
I couldn’t find anything about it to love. The warp sat for months. I told myself I should reimagine the pattern, or maybe just weave a plain band and be done with it. But I loathed it. I avoided it altogether, daydreaming about other things I'd rather weave while too guilt-stricken to cut off a perfectly good warp. It stole not just my time but my enthusiasm for the entire process.
One day, frustrated with more pressing concerns and needing creative outlet, I made the cut. The relief was immediate and visceral. The scrap became a bookmark. Some warp was wasted, yes. But in its place? Space for a new project, one that brought me back to the quiet, tactile joy of cloth forming beneath my fingers. Back to the curiosity, the play, the gentle rhythm—the very things that first pulled me into this work and keep me coming back.
What Happens When You Let Go?
There’s a term called the sunk cost fallacy. It's the tendency to persist in an endeavor because of what you've already invested, even when the best course is to walk away.
We all know a thing or two about this, don’t we?
Clinging to a project that no longer serves you carries as emotional toll. So despite all outward appearances, letting go isn't about wastefulness—it's about honoring your present self and creative energy. When you free up that psychic space, you're inviting in new ideas, fresh color palettes, and different textures. You're creating the conditions for creative flow to return.
When you release a dog on the loom, several things happen:
Creative Renewal — You make space for curiosity and play to return.
Skill Reflection — You can extract lessons learned from the project without forcing completion.
Emotional Clarity — You free yourself from guilt and frustration, clearing the path for joy to re-enter the studio.
Studio Energy Shift — That lingering unfinished piece no longer drains your energy every time you walk by the loom.
The joyful project that replaced the dog—destined to be a strap for my favorite leather bag.
Letting go can be a radical act of self-care. It's giving yourself permission to fail forward, to embrace the imperfect, and to remember that creativity thrives in spaces of openness, not confinement.
Letting Go of Expectations vs. Just Letting Go
I approach my creative projects the way I approach life—by letting go of expectations and releasing the rigid picture of how things should turn out. I do my real or proverbial math, follow the process, and hope for the best. This mindset allows me to stay in the present while remaining open to surprises. Rather than hanging all my satisfaction on the outcome, I can find joy and satisfaction in the process.
It doesn’t always work.
Even after releasing expectations, some projects remain a drain on your energy. So how do you know when it’s time to let go of expectations and when it’s just time to let go?
Ask yourself:
Does the project still spark curiosity when I release my original expectations?
Do I feel excitement if I allow myself to play, without worrying about results?
Or does the project feel like a chore, even when I try to let go of outcome?
If the first two resonate, letting go of expectations might open doors. If the third feels true, it might be time to cut the dog off the loom and create space for what's next.
Learning to hold both kinds of letting go side by side is a creative superpower. It invites both resilience and discernment—qualities that help us navigate not only our weaving projects but life itself.
From Dog to Discovery
Weaving teaches us patience and persistence, yes—but also discernment. Not every project needs to be wrestled into submission. Sometimes, the most generous thing we can do is let the dog off the loom and set it free.
And what about that leftover warp, those half-woven inches? They can still find a second life:
Cut up for samples.
Used in mixed media art.
Repurposed into tassels and other weaving finishes.
Reimagined into coasters or bookmarks.
Used as fodder for blog posts
Finished handwoven crossbody strap, courtesy of letting the dog off the loom.
Ready for a Fresh Start?
Are you clinging to a dog on the loom? What might open up if you made space for what's next? What creative corners could you explore if you gave yourself the freedom to begin again?
Starting over isn't a step back—it's a leap forward, fueled by everything you've learned along the way.
Need help sorting your creative projects or breathing new life into your studio? I offer personalized guidance for weavers and fiber artists in the greater Philadelphia area—including those stuck with a stubborn 'dog.'
