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invariably were impressed to see walls covered with all the colors in the rainbow, and many that never appeared in a rainbow. A brief digression may illustrate the effect. Years later, before I found the quarters for a studio in New York, I worked in my apartment at 116 East 66th Street. The old building (alas, it has vanished) had been a carriage house; my living room had been the hayloft. The front window was about 18 feet high so that the upper part of the walls could be seen by persons passing on the opposite side of the street. I had put up the bins and filled them, as before, with bright, multi-colored yarns. One Sunday night, a young man and two young women rang the doorbell. From below, they said, "We have been arguing about what you have on your wall. Is it a painting or a tapestry?" We invited them to come up and see. They were astonished to find that the effect came from colored yarn. A number of newspaper and magazine writers have reported, in much the same words, "she paints pictures with woven