sarah muehlbauer: August 2011

I've been putting this off for some time, but now finally seems, well... as good as any. I'm starting with a few pictures from this bizarre series of events that has snowballed into my 9-5 identity as a fabric dyer (or "dye master" because it sounds cooler and makes me feel like i'm actually using my degree). It started on Valentine's Day, thus beginning my romance in Paterson, New Jersey where I trained with Mike Petto, the nicest, most entertaining field mentor that I could ask for. He made the bone-chilling temperatures in the studio (a much nicer term than the space deserves, though I'm not quite sure what to call it) seem almost tolerable. I lived in a hotel in Newark for 3 weeks, spending morning through mid-afternoon dyeing fabrics with Mike, and trying to sort through a chaotic catalogue of colors, meant only for one man. The rest of my time was spent doing yoga in my hotel, and occasionally meeting up with my grad school friend, Lauren, who was sequestered for work in a nearby northern New Jersey town during the week. I then returned to Philly to begin training with another dye-vet (both men had been dyeing fibers since just out of high school to present day—both now nearing the age of retirement). I am finally on my own and about 6 months in, and seem to be good at it. But the job is always, as Mike would refer to it, a heartache. The fabrics seem to have an emotional temperment all their own, and I am constantly trying to coax a good product out of a fabric that is trying to out-wit me. I didn't really understand this sentiment until I struck out on my own, but some days are triumphant while others are pure tragedy. I am convinced that is what has kept Mike young at heart, and has fueled his unquestionable passion for the job. He doesn't continue for any reason but that the dye has bled through his identity and colored his fate. I cannot tell yet, but perhaps the colors have been affecting me too.