Beyond Knitting
On Not Weaving at Weaving Camp
Weaving cloth is like experiencing an iceberg. You are only able to see a small percentage of what is there.
This holds true regardless of what powers your loom, how large it is, or how many sheds it can make. The hardest work of weaving is the least visible. So much of making cloth is not actually making cloth; it’s planning to make cloth.
Which is why I was unsurprised when I went to weaving camp, a.k.a. The Newbury School of Weaving’s week-long class on pre-1850s technology, and did not throw one shuttle or stomp one treadle. The amount of fabric I personally made was zero yards.
But output was never the point.
Instead, weaving camp was an opportunity to get up close and personal with the inputs.
Pick your loom
There are many inputs to choose from in the old church Newbury now calls home. Three rows of big ol’ barn frame looms greet you. Each with its own personality and strengths. Much like my classmates, who ranged in age from two of us approaching crone status to two whose knees don’t make noises when they squat.
I’ll let you figure out who is who
Each of us came to weaving down a different path.
I work in textiles at The Fenimore Farm and spend my days weaving, spinning, or, sometimes, knitting. The rest of the cohort included a sociology professor, an engineer, and a linguist/coverlet curator. At least two of those assembled had PhDs; one used an iPhone’s LIDAR to develop a CAD diagram of a jacquard head; and one kept the tone light.
With our unflappable leader Justin, we started at the very beginning, which I’m told is a very good place to start: how much thread do you need to make the thing you want—and then how do you compensate for those threads being handspun and, therefore, inconsistent?
Justin on his home jacquard loom, which is amazing
From there we were off on tangents involving beers and porters (which were not for drinking); runs and spyndles; New England reeds versus Manchester sleys, and why you need to know how to convert from one to the other and to modern nomenclature and back again. It was a week devoted to learning a new-to-us system for building a woven fabric.
A basic overview on weaving, just in case: woven fabrics consist of a warp (the threads going vertically) and a weft (the threads going horizontally). Weft threads are wound on a shuttle. The warp threads are wound on a back beam, then threaded individually through heddles and a reed, and tied on the front beam.
It gets significantly more interesting from there. I can hear weavers clearing their throats for a “well, actually …”
Please know that I know what you’re about to say. That’s a whole different series of columns.
Four projects were on the history discovery menu.
Applying the sizing, which the Justin had just cooked up
A linen apron check was ready to weave, thanks to a previous class who’d done the bulk of the warping work. The technique to learn was how to make and apply sizing, which is a goo of flour, water, and tallow that forces linen threads to co-operate.
Some weavers would just tie old warp treads to the new warp threads rather than tie hundreds of weaving knots. This blew my mind. Photo Credit: the Newbury School of Weaving
Project two required measuring and twisting on a new linen warp for a “beautiful 5 shaft diaper draft” from Silas Burton from 1807.
(Burton, by the way, was the Steve Jobs of 19th-century weaving in this part of the world. He may not have invented the technology, but his fingerprints are all over what we now have. Big fan.)
We looked at the Rockingham Blanket, an existing historic textile, and worked backward to replicate it.
And, finally, the project I spent the most time on: “Irish Delight,” an 1818 floating work coverlet draft from Philo Blakeman.
I cannot speak to its Irishness—but it was only a delight if you enjoy solving cryptology puzzles and creating order from near chaos, which is entirely my jam.
Justin got us started
Emily and I spent the better part of three days getting the loom dressed and ready for weaving. I’m amazed we got as far as we did, not because of how complicated the pattern was or the thousand-plus threads that needed to be wrangled—although those variables didn’t help.
No, what made it such a challenge is how the physical gear and pattern notation has evolved over time. The experience is similar to looking at a knitting pattern from the early 1800s. While the craft is the same, how you do it has shifted just enough to feel foreign.
But the path to unlock both remains the same: go forward, make mistakes, go back to where it all made sense. Tear out to that point. Move forward, armed with what you’ve learned.
To get all metaphysical—the above isn’t terrible life advice either.
A result. But not, we think, The Correct Result.
It was slow going but in a pleasant, my-knowledge-is-explanding way, especially once we realized that we’d definitely get a pattern. It may not be the pattern good old Philo wrote down, but there would be some kind of cloth at the end, which, indeed, is what happened.
Both of us lost interest, however, once we had enough weft in to realize it would work. “The rest is just weaving,” Emily said, with a shrug.
But weaving camp was never about cranking out yardage. That’s the least interesting part of the iceberg once you know how to fling a shuttle back and forth reliably. The destination isn’t as important as how you get there and what you discover along the way.
PS:
I drove home with a fuzzy and unlabeled friend, who I’ve already spun into yarn.
Oh so jealous! I yearn to go spend time at Newbury. I don’t have a barn frame loom, but my antique looms are definitely my favorites.
I’m just always amazed by those of you who can take those thousands of strings and create them into beautiful fabrics with patterns! I’m very mathematical (which is what I love about knitting) but my brain just doesn’t work that way.
What a great experience!
I feel slightly speechless – this seems so outside of anything I’d have the will to tackle, and there you are, working with such concentration! You definitely have my respect – just wow! My current project is fiddly (but only in certain sections) with an unforgiving fiber – compared to this, I must revise my assessment of it!
Perhaps it’s our being Tamaras! 🙂
I have tried to weave but dressing the loom was my downfall. Emily was exactly right–throwing the shuttle back and forth is “just” weaving–the most important bit is the dressing. Tying all those knots, threading all those threads through the tiny heddles AND the reed, and then tying more knots. I just don’t have the patience, but deeply appreciate the output.
Thank you for a fascinating look at the weaving process on an antique loom. I barely have the patience for a small rigid heddle loom, so am in awe of those who can warp and weave on a large loom!
What a wonderful experience – thank you for sharing! I weave on a rigid heddle but know enough about the big boys to be dangerous. I can, to some extent, read the patterns – those old ones are mind blowing. Love your comparison to the old knitting patterns!
Wow! So many metaphors on life and gorgeous textiles as well! Love the “patterns”! My favorite line was “the rest is just weaving!” Lots of complicated things here but there is a lot in that phrase too! Thanks for sharing!
Adrienne,
I really enjoyed this. I spent many days as a student at ‘Marshfield’ and still relish every minute I was there.
How fun! Learning how to decode all that information and then putting it back in a way that works. I went to a weaving camp (rigid heddle) which was a blast, but kindergarten level compared to this. I’m still pondering flour, water, and tallow as a sizing. Did it smell awful when it was hot? How did it get washed out, was it hard to make…
Weaving has something for everyone, looks like. I just like to get all of that first part over with so I can get to the Zen of Throwing and Tromping. People like Justin who have all of that info in their heads are dazzling. Thanks again for sharing your tasty experiences, Adrienne.
It’s crazy to explain to our non-crafty friends that an experience like that would be fun! All that “work” and then nothing to show for it. Yup. Sign me up.
Grand! Thanks for sharing the processes and the people.
Thank you for this article about weaving. Craft making is so important. Just pick one and go for it!!! Some people don’t understand why you would go through a lot of steps to learn to weave, sew, knit, crochet, or do needlework or embroider. It’s all about process and hopefully the end project will be good.
Thanks, Adrienne. Not a weavers but love to learn about it. It was wonderful to see the old looms and read the old language!
I don’t weave (and am trying not to begin, as I need another hobby like I need more yarn!), but your lovely column evoked such sweet memories of an afternoon at an early Shakerag session, when I was in a room of students learning to make pompoms. It was remarkably quiet for that group, but I could almost taste the joy in the air as we trimmed, fluffed, and admired our Poms. The heart-filling satisfaction of a deep dive into something with a like-minded group is a precious experience. Thanks for sharing.
That sounds wonderful ! Weaving sounded so interesting before I learned how to knit and I went to a knitting camp many times in Colorado and Vermont and did more laughing than knitting at times. Meeting new people was the best part about those days
Very interesting. I have never had more respect for my grandmother who worked in the mills of New England as a child.
Hi
Very nice. I used to be a weaver. I loved my job. And I really miss it.