Rust dyeing works by allowing iron to oxidize directly onto cloth. The process is simple in description ; place fabric against a piece of metal, add moisture, and leave it long enough for rust to form. But the results are never simple. The iron oxide migrates into the fibers at its own pace, sometimes biting into the weave sharply, other times spreading in cloudy stains.
It is less like printing and more like recording a reaction in progress. When we first tried this, we placed fragments of rusted tools and nails onto cotton that had been dampened and rolled tightly. After several days, opening the bundle felt like uncovering a fossil, marks preserved in places we didn’t expect, pale gaps where contact failed, deep ochres where the fabric had been pressed too close.
There is very little control here. Even if you try to repeat the same setup, the pattern shifts each time depending on humidity, how much oxygen reaches the surface, and even the particular chemistry of the fabric itself. Some patches looked as though they were drawn with ink, others dissolved into faint shadows. This unpredictability is what makes rust dyeing both frustrating and compelling: the outcome cannot be duplicated, only documented. Another discovery we made was that the color keeps changing after the fabric is removed. The oxidation does not halt at once; it lingers, darkening slowly with air and light. A piece finished last month does not look quite the same today.
