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Posters—the silk screen method is simple enough to use in public school art classes. Covers for booklets. Designs on leather billfolds or felt shopping bags. On Junior's sport shirts, on lamp shades, on ties, on cork table mats, and a thousand and one other uses for home and school and club. You'll really never get to the end of ways in which the silk screen process can be used. And it's inexpensive, too.

It doesn't take much equipment, nor much space for small jobs. A corner of any room in the house, and a $5 outlay is sufficient for limited quantities or small surfaces. The cloth (silk or organdy) is stretched tight and smooth over a wooden frame which can be made at home. The design is drawn onto the silk with a special pencil, and the rest blocked out with solid paint. It dries. You lay it flat over your material, draw some paint across the surface with a squeegee—and there's your stencilled design.

You can even print your own designs on material for drapes and slip-covers. But when you go into printing yards and yards of material with an all-over design, you've got to have lots of space. Take Elizabeth Wilkes Hoey of Bronte, Ontario, Canada. It was a casual remark that started her off on this sort of work which has become a profitable sideline to her homemaking career.

"Say, you ought to go in for textile designing," said a boy in the industrial drafting course in Central Technical School, Toronto. "That stuff looks good."

Elizabeth had several of her pictures with her that day, ones she was taking down to an art show. They were still-life paintings of flowers.

Despite red hair, she wasn't the excitable type. She didn't rush down to the nearest textile manufacturers and wave her art work under his nose. She smiled quietly, wrapped up the paintings and took them to the art show, and that was that. But the idea stayed with her, through two more years of the war while she worked at industrial drafting.

IN SPITE of four years at the Ontario College of Art, and the mechanical course, both of which proved a great help to her, Elizabeth found there was still plenty to learn about textile designing. The various technical schools hadn't much to offer, but the textile library of the Royal Ontario Museum proved a treasure house of ancient and modern lore. It was there she discovered the importance of "space-filling" in textile design.

"Why aren't there more distinctively Canadian designs?" she had asked plenty of times in art college. And other students wondered the same thing. It finally struck home that it was her responsibility as much as anyone's to produce Canadian motifs.

For a year she studied and drew on a spare drawing-board in her father's engineering office, full hours of 9 o'clock to 5. The harvest of the year was thirty designs, finished to her satisfaction.

"Was that a fair result?" I asked on a recent visit to Mrs. Hoey.

"Very fair," she answered with her soft laugh. "I took them to a Canadian textile manufacturer in Toronto—got a very cool reception. Then I happened to run into Angus Macdonald, one of our younger Canadian artists. He thought I ought to take them to New York. So I did."

IN NEW YORK, Elizabeth Wilkes's designs proved more appealing. She was offered several positions—with strings attached. Actually it was a poor time for new enterprises, what with VE Day being just celebrated. There was then (and still is) a definite shortage of cotton and linen, and the future was a little uncertain. But she learned a lot about what people like to wear, what designs they prefer for their homes.

Back in Toronto, Angus Macdonald produced another idea.

"Why don't we make stencils of your designs and mine, and do some silk screen printing?" he suggested. "It shouldn't be too difficult. And there's lots of room in the mill for it."

Macdonald had turned a pioneer mill just north of Toronto into a generous studio for himself, and home for his family. One drawback was a lack of running water. That didn't faze them much. They washed the large screens in the Don River, down under the bridge.

But they discovered some of the problems involved in silk screen printing when it's applied to textiles. Most of all they were appalled by the shortage of precise information on the subject. All kinds of generalities, yes, but detailed instructions were woefully scant. They had to learn by the trial-and-error method. But they learned.

ONE OF their earliest pieces of work was a Quebec city design, showing the swooping eaves of Lower Town houses, with the turrets of Chateau Frontenac rearing high above them. This design was snatched up—design, silk screens and all—by a decorator employed by the Chateau Frontenac.

"If we're that good," chortled Macdonald, "let's go and see the department stores."

The large department stores of Toronto were cordial, and one gave definite encouragement. Elizabeth married W.A.N. Hoey, back from the wars, and both went to work on the new project.

But more space was needed. This time they got a barn at Oakville, Elizabeth's home town, about twenty miles west of Toronto. They could have the whole loft for textile printing, once they'd shoved aside the hay, and punched a new window into the gable. And they only had to carry their screens a few yards to wash them off in the horse trough. Worked fine—if you didn't mind the inquisitive horses nibbling the back of your neck.

In such an atmosphere the textiles were printed for the store. The cloth was pinned down on the long tables made by Bill Hoey, the screens laid over them, and the dye poured on and squeegeed. Between bloodthirsty mosquitoes and a fire next door, they were fortunate in producing a highly acceptable job.

PRESENTLY, Elizabeth and Bill Hoey needed larger living quarters with the advent of a little daughter. Bill works in Hamilton by day, spending his evenings and weekends on the textile printing. They found a house of their own, with a good-sized stone barn, for sale just four miles farther east at Bronte. It was a sort of nuisance that there wasn't a regular town supply of water, and that the electrically-pumped wells were inclined to go dry in summer. But they overcame that, too. They just take their screens down on the dock in front of their home, and wash them off in Lake Ontario.

"Why so much washing off of the screens?" I wondered. "I mean, the paint is still there."

"That's the stencil itself," Elizabeth explained. "We just wash off the dye, so that we can use the screen again with some other shade or color. Would you like to see some of the screens and maybe some of the work?"

Assuredly. We trooped after her and Bill Hoey to the barn just a few yards from their side door. Here, at last, they have plenty of space for their present activities, and for a considerable increase in volume. The stone barn is well lighted by wide windows, and by numerous electric lights. Actually most of the printing is done by evening, or on the weekend when Bill is on hand to supervise that end of production. Warmth for winter is supplied by a Quebec heater and big old-fashioned Station Master stove.

Saturdays and evenings the helpers are free. Two lads in their last year at the high school have become skilled squeegee-pushers, and are keenly aware of the exacting nature of the work. Even better is a high school girl, who has learned to mix the dyes to Mrs. Hoey's satisfaction, and can also make the patterns for the stencils.

THE SCREENS themselves are the width of the material-up to fifty-four inches wide in some cases, and almost ²/3 that in depth. The Hoeys use nylon stretched taut over the wooden frame, with the design sketched on it from tracing paper. There may be two or more stencils for the printing, depending upon how many colors are used. Everything but that design is blocked out in solid "silk enamel," which is very durable yet plastic, and more satisfactory than the lacquer they used formerly.

The white cloth is stretched out on the 10-yard tables, and its selvages pinned in place, so that the material does not shift in the printing process. Otherwise, lines would be crooked, the colors would not register exactly, and the work would have to be repeated or scrapped.

The screen is laid over the material, secured into position, and the selected dye is poured in along the side. Then a wide squeegee (strip of wood with hard flexible rubber along the bottom) is drawn firmly but smoothly across the stencil, forcing the dye through the nylon mesh, not blocked off by the enamel. It may be necessary to scrape the dye across several times, depending upon how rapidly the yardage takes the dye. It must be darker in appearance than is intended in the finished work, since naturally the dye dries lighter.

The silk screen is raised gently, and moved down the yardage, making sure that it just meets the first design, so that no joint is visible. Then the dye-and-squeegee operation takes place again, and so on down the length of the material. At present, the Hoeys can print twenty-five yards of material at once.

THE FIRST color must be perfectly dry before they attempt to put a second color over it. It may take thirty minutes or an hour to dry. Then, using a second stencilled screen, they repeat the operation with a different color. There may be up to fourteen or fifteen screens used in silk screen color printing, though four screens give a wide range of tones.

That's the exciting part of the work, to see the glowing colors on what was a blank surface. It would be fun, if the work stopped there. But there remains the mechanical and physical drudgery of setting the dyes, washing and pressing the cloth. Bill Hoey takes care of much of this. The cloth, stiff with dye is rolled up on a roller, then steamed in a pressure vessel which sets the dye.

"You see, the dye is water-soluble until it is steamed," he explains. "The steam drives the dye into the material, so that it doesn't wash out. Then we have to wash the cloth in several waters with controlled temperatures, in order to remove the excess dye. You have to be careful that it doesn't tint the rest of the material."

"And then I press the cloth to restore its smoothness and luster," Elizabeth finishes.

IT DIDN'T sound very complicated. But the Hoeys have learned the technique through their own efforts. Details are very important, and it calls for extreme care and precision to turn out a good job, Elizabeth stresses.

Dyes are unpredictable at the best of times, even when every precaution has been taken, as textile operators are well aware. The Hoeys are continually testing for color and solubility, though they use the best drapery dyes on the market.

A very important ingredient is thick gum tragacanth, which acts as a vehicle for the dye. It must be of the right consistency, a clear mixture with the dye, so that the dye is evenly distributed throughout it to give an even representation on the cloth. Crystal urea is put in with the dye as a fixative and solvent.

Before ever a screen is laid down over the material, it is closely examined against a light to guard against "pinholes" which appear without much excuse. These must be blocked off with more lacquer, or if in haste, with gummed tape. Otherwise strange little marks would appear on the printed cloth, ruining the design. "HAVE I got this right?" I asked. "Elizabeth does all the designs, copies them onto the silk screens, paints the stencils and makes the dyes. Bill makes the screens, pins the cloth on the tables, supervises the printing, does the steaming, washing and drying. That right?"

"Well, I do the secretarial work, too," added Elizabeth in mock injury. "And call on decorators with the samples."

They have a very full program, both of them. For the textile designing and silk screen printing is in addition to the chores of homemaking (with two little daughters now) and Bill's daily work in Hamilton.

"Is it worthwhile?"

Both looked at me in surprise. "Why, of course!" Elizabeth replied. "In fact, it's maybe a good thing that cotton and linen goods are still in short supply, or we'd be tempted to plunge into it full-time. Actually, we'd rather learn the business thoroughly by degrees, and get started in a small way before we launch out into a career. But the work is growing. This last season was far better than any previous year, and we've got a lot of orders ahead."

THE HOEYS work through interior decorators almost exclusively, and always if there's a considerable yardage involved. They have a large demand from stores and gift shops for luncheon sets and cocktail napkins. These are printed on the regular yardage, cut out and fringed, then attractively wrapped in cellophane with cardboard backing.

For larger quantities, the work all goes through special clients. Swatches of the printed materials are submitted to various decorators, who decide upon the designs they or their customers like. Then the decorator submits shades, and gets an exclusive color job to her exact yardage requirements. This can be done fairly readily in a small concern, something no large firm could afford to bother with. A decorator who wants a really exclusive job can also buy the screens, if she has a mind to pay the price. Some do.

"Most of the cloth appears to be cotton," I remarked. "Do you use other materials, too?"

"Quite a wide variety of materials take the silk screen printing very well," said Mrs. Hoey, "but we use cotton mostly, because it's what we can get, and best suited to our projects. Linen is both scarce and expensive; we import some occasionally for an individual customer, but it comes quite high. The printed cotton we can sell at around $4 a yard."

Not bad, from the customer's point of view I discovered, comparing prices later in the department stores. And best of all, the customer can get a design that is not stereotyped. Occasionally Elizabeth sells designs to decorators who require a much greater yardage than is practical by handwork, say 3,000 yards for a large hotel.

Many of her designs are flowers—tiger lily, lady slipper, dandelion, phlox and trillium being the most popular of the group. Her study in the Museum resulted in the Indian Horse—not strictly true-to-nature but after the Indian paintings on the tepees of the plains. Another design well-liked in Canada is the Thunderbird totem pole, taken from the culture of the West Coast Indians. The snowflake all-over pattern is another that has sold well.

Patterns for that are readily available through the long Canadian winter. She had to go farther for her Shadow River design, which came from a northern stream. The cat-tails standing stiffly in the swirling waters will always recall that holiday in the north woods. The Women's Union of University College needed something for its dining room windows. Elizabeth came up with the design of the college itself, and the famous Norman doorway. It looks even better in use than it did on the trestle tables.

"WE FEEL that our prices should not be so high that the average Canadian home cannot afford them," said Elizabeth with gentle force. "As much as we can we'd like to emphasize better design for the average home, less hackneyed and meaningless motifs. And if the designs are a contribution to Canadian culture, then we're gratified."

Although the craft has advanced very well in the short space of time the Hoeys have been at it, they aren't altogether satisfied that their methods are perfect. They are interested in transferring the designs to the silk screens by photographic processes, which would save time and insure accurate registry. That will be their next step.

One of the most satisfactory moments of the sideline occupation was a display last year in the Royal Ontario Museum, where the silk screen printed fabrics were on exhibit for a month. Not much wonder, then, that their clientele is growing.