The white blanket evolves

Some time ago my daughter made an all white blanket for herself. It was her second weaving ever and because she wanted it to be "really big" it was quite an undertaking. I was quite impressed that she stuck it out and the results were beautiful, don't you think?

Well, the other day she decided to wash it, in the washing machine, and when you wash (and dry) a textile made of many different types of fibre, this is what happens:

It's much smaller than it used to be, but fortunately she still loves it. I agree that it is stunning, and now I want to go out and shrink everything that I've woven. I can't stop taking pictures of it. It looks like some sort of fabulous rock formations. I suggested that she might call it the "White Cliffs of Dover", but she scoffed and said that a blanket doesn't need a name, even though she has named her trumpet (Garth), her computer (Miranda) and her ficus plant (Lloyd).