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When there is a lot of weaving to do, but not a lot of different elements to the work, describing it can be somewhat challenging.
After all, to most, it would seem that all I am doing is moving the sage yarn back and forth, then moving the ivory yarn back and forth, then moving the sage yarn back and forth yet again.
Earlier this week, after reading my last column, a friend asked me in a rather sarcastic manner, “Why bother to buy a table runner already made from the store for $7, when you can make it yourself on some archaic device for $92 and then spend 50 hours working to make it look like the $7 piece?”
When I was done giving said friend a blank stare, I proceeded to attempt to explain exactly what it is about the “50 hour creation process” that makes it all worth while to me.
My explanation began with me saying “why should I buy the exact same table runner that everyone else has for $7, when I can make something that will be a one-of-a-kind work of art that I know will be unique, and something that none of my neighbors will ever have?”
Trying to convince someone that the actual weaving process is more than simply moving yarn back and forth, and that it is worth the effort that goes into it, is a challenge unto itself.
The weaving process is both complicated and relaxing at the same time. Well, it is relaxing until something goes wrong, at least.
Last week, I explained how the weaving of this particular houndstooth pattern requires the concepts of moving the comb-like heddle up when I move the string from left to right, and moving it down when I move the string from right to left, in order to weave.
Although it may seem like a simple thing to keep straight, I found myself repeatedly confused by my own pattern while weaving.
At one point, I transitioned from the sage yarn to the ivory and wove a full section before I stopped and realized something was not right. It took me nearly five minutes to realize that I had left my heddle down instead of moving it up again before going from left to right in the pattern.
This mistake resulted in two rows of string being against each other rather than woven into the piece. I had to back up to this point and fix the problem.
The rigid heddle loom, like any loom, only provides so much weaving space before the cloth has to be advanced.
The process is rather simple, so long as the weaver obeys one rule: never loosen the tension on both sides of the loom at the same time.
With my loom leaning against my worn desk top, and propped up by the arms of my computer chair, I shifted both of my shuttles filled with yarn to under the loom, laying on the bar against my stomach. Then, I leaned forward and grabbed the peg-and-cog tension device near the back of the loom.
I popped the peg. The strings loosened slightly, and the white shuttle fell from the bar to the floor, unwinding as it went. I pursed my lips and stared at the shuttle on the floor for a moment.
I knew better than to attempt to retrieve it while my loom was not tensioned. If I tried, my work would have unwound and made a mess of my strings.
Instead, I left the shuttle be, and gripped the front bar of the loom with one hand while holding the back one with the other, stretched out over my work in this awkward manner. I twisted the front bar and the back bar at the same time, winding the woven cloth onto the front bar and letting more string come up from the back at the same time.
If this sounds awkward to describe, imagine the coordination needed to do it.
When I finished, and the edge of the woven cloth was just barely peeking over the front bar, I tightened the strings, and popped the peg back into its cog. I adjusted the settings on the peg-and-cog until the tension was just so.
I know when the strings are the right tension by touch alone. When the strings look right, I run my fingertips across them and they vibrate like guitar strings.
It was when I did this that the loose string reared its head.
I had worked hard during the stringing process to get all of my strings evenly tensioned, but this one sage-green string simply did not get the message. Despite my efforts of tugging, pulling and tensioning, this single stubborn string began to work its way loose at this point in the weaving.
The loose string could not be permitted to remain loose. Whether this was the string that had a earlier fallen out of the loom and needed to be replaced, I could not tell. But this string was going to be a problem.
If I ignored this problem, it would result in this one string producing bubbles and loops in the finished piece. I had to fix it before I could continue.
I grabbed a nearby pen and ran it under the loose string. I pushed the string up toward the back bar of the loom, and began to twist the pen around and around. As I did, the slack in the string began to tighten up.
When the slack was gone, and the rogue string was back under control, I used my toes to grip the fallen shuttle, pass it back to my hand with my foot, and continue weaving.
Join me next week for even more weaving shenanigans, including my cat Mari’s contribution to the weaving project a part of the story no fan will want to miss.
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Gretchen Richards is a reporter for the Parkersburg News and Sentinel. She is a fifth-generation artisan, and skilled in multiple art forms.