Category Archives: weavers

Treadles and Gas Pedals

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My husband has nicknamed treadles the gas pedals. He is not far off. Treadles do have an important function in weaving. They enable a weaver to create patterns in the weaving. As I said for the backstrap loom, the weaver picks up the individual threads. Treadles remove this step (no pun intended). The weaver steps on the appropriate treadle, which picks up the threads that the weaver has tied on to the metal rings. As these threads are lifted, the pattern is created. This enables the weaver, in combination with the threading through the reed and heddles, to make patterns, and, even for a four shed loom, fairly complicated ones.

treadles

Usually, the pattern is repeated across the warp.Look at an antique coverlet and you will see what I mean.

Since I have a four shed loom, I mainly use four treadles.

Treadles are one of THE Main features of modern looms. According to Broudy,  the treadles appeared in Europe about 1000 AD. The loom frame was not far behind. And, by the time silk reached Europe, weaving was already a highly developed art. Looms and weaving patterns developed in response to the fiber used and whether tapestries or other elaborate weaving would be done. Flax, although hard to process into linen, has smooth non-sticky fibers that lie together. Wool is a more forgiving fiber and takes dyes well. Silk is different from both. But whatever the fiber, and however the threads are warped and threaded, the treadles make the weaving of a pattern much easier than picking each strand up by hand.

Early looms – warp weighted

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No discussion of early looms would be complete without mentioning warp weighted looms.

As I mentioned in a previous post, weights have been discovered in archeological digs. The earliest date from the seventh century B.C. in Anatolia. In Europe, this type of loom was used since Neolithic times ( and according to one of the books I read is still used in Norway!). It is thought that this is the type of loom used in Ancient Greece.

What makes this loom different? Well, most of the modern looms are oriented horizontally. The weaver sits on a stool or bench. The warp runs from a front beam through the reed and heddles to a beam at the back. The tension or the warp threads can be adjusted by tightening the beam. The warp weighted loom is oriented vertically. In a warp weighted loom, the weaver stands.Moreover, she must walk back and forth and she pushes her shuttle through the sheds. How did she obtain several yards of cloth? With the modern jack, the warp can be very long and rolled around the front beam, and unrolled gradually as the weft threads are woven through. From what I’ve read, the warp weighted looms were tall. From the descriptions, she would have had to stand on a stool for the first bit of weaving. And pieces of cloth would have had to be sewn together to achieve the necessary length.

Tension is very important. To achieve a closely woven cloth, the warp and weft threads must be tightly packed together. So, the warp in every loom is under tension. In the warp weighted loom, warp threads are tied around weights that hang to an inch or so above the ground. Sticks would have had to be put through the warp to form the sheds.

All in all, weaving with this type of loom would have been much more physical than with a more modern loom. And, as a weaver, I wonder how it would have been possible to create the different patterns possible to construct on even a four shed jack loom.

A word about Norway and the Norse. The warp weighted loom is the type that would have been brought to the Norse (and Viking) colonies. Think Iceland, Greenland, and even early North America. Remnants of these looms, as well as cloth and weights, have been excavated from digs in all these areas. Ostergard, in Woven Into the Earth, discusses the digs in Greenland and the artifacts removed from just such a dig. The colonies were originally established during the middle ages. I always thought that the name Greenland was a lie,  chosen to lure colonists to a harsh and forbidding land. But the climate during this time was much warmer than it became later. In England, the climate was so warm grapes were grown and England had its own wine industry. But after the eleventh century, the climate became much colder. (It is call the Little Ice Age). So much for English made wine. And the climate in Greenland (and in North America) became too harsh for these colonies and they had to be abandoned. Or else the colonists died out.

An interesting study of the burials in North America shows that the bones, coming forward, show evidence of starvation and nutritional deficiencies. The dead also had to be buried in much more shallow graves since the permafrost line rose and graves couldn’t be dug as deeply as formerly.

Weaving and an interest in looms has led me far afield.

 

weaving in myths and legends

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Spinning and weaving were so important in the past that these activities are a regular feature of the myths and stories that have come down to us. Think Sleeping Beauty, put to sleep by pricking her finger on a spindle.

Usually the myths put the creation of weaving at the beginning of  history. As we might expect, many of the early myths attribute the beginnings to the spider, or, in China, the silk worm. The myth of the spider-weaver was still present in the Greek myths during the Classical period. (Remember, Hera turned Ariadne into a spider for comparing her weaving to the Hera’s.)  So the archeologists say that weaving probably began somewhere in the dawn of prehistory. There was weaving before there were looms. And spinning before that. Barber, in Women’s work, the first 20,000 years, talks about cords and string that were used as netting. Sometimes the fibers were twisted together to make a stronger cord. And then plaiting strands together was invented. Who would guess that braiding would have to be discovered?

Anyway, references to spinning and weaving are all through the folktales we still know now. Besides Sleeping Beauty, there are the three fates, who determine a man’s lifespan. How many fairy tales are there where the simple but beautiful and virtuous maiden must spin straw into gold. Rumplestiltskin is probably the most well known of this theme but there are others.

Remember the Grimm story of the princess supposed to spin straw into gold. She is helped to do so but the price is to invite three deformed women to her wedding.(Rather do this than give up my first born.)  One has a swollen lip, from moistening the fiber, one a large foot from pressing the treadle on a spinning wheel and the large thumb comes from twisting the fiber into yarn. Or the 12 swans where the sister had to weave nettles into shirts by a certain time or her brothers will stay swans forever. She is unable to finish the last shirt and one brother has a swan wing the rest of his life.

These are stories we still know, although I venture to say most children in the past were up close to both spinning and weaving in the home.

Looms – Early history

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When I originally took weaving lessons, my instructor commented that language pertaining to men’s activities had come down to us. No so true about language pertaining to women’s activities.

Well, words have come down to us. We just don’t always know them. Heirloom, for example, referred to the loom that was passed down from generation to generation. Looms are expensive now, they were really expensive then. I suspect most people know that spinster derives from spinning. Unmarried women had to spin a certain amount of yarn to make the family linens. We’ve all heard of the Hope chest which girls filled so they had the items necessary for their households as married women.

Eric Broudy, inThe Book of Looms, explains the word loom as from the Old English geloma, which meant simply tool or utensil. He says “The loom, perhaps next to the stone ax and spear, was the tool in ancient times.”

Who knew, right?

more about weaving and looms

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As I continue to research the varieties of looms, I came across a book titled “Women’s Work, the first 20,000 years” by Elizabeth Wayland Barber. In it, she traces the history of weaving, from the first beginnings when primitive fiber was twisted into string and used to make clothing.

The modern loom is actually a very sophisticated construct, with many variations that came before. I am thinking of the ground loom that the Ancient Egyptians used to weave linen.

The backstrap loom is another efficient loom that is still used in some places today, such as Peru.

For millenia, the weaving of cloth was women’s work, easily fit in around child care. I am proud to weave (I feel I am not skilled enough to call myself a weaver) and work at other fiber arts; I am at the end of a long line of tradition.

King Indigo

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If Madder is Queen, then Indigo must be King of natural dyes. Indigo bearing plants occur in many parts of the world. Woad, the blue stuff used by Mel Gibson is actually a form of indigo.

Indigo, unlike onion skins or madder or even cochineal, does not require a mordant. The real problem is preparing the dye to make it useable. Indigo is not water soluble so the water has to be sufficiently alkaline to ‘fix’ the dye onto the fiber.

The real work comes in the processing of the indigo plant into dye. The weed was covered with lime water and soaked. Fermentation began in the vat, resulting in a blue froth rising to the top of the water. The water is drained into a second vat and agitated. Then lime water is added to reduce the dye. Clear liquid rises to the top and sediment containing the dye settles to the bottom.

Excess water is drained and the indigo is dried. It is cut into bricks and left to dry.

I confess I don’t do this. I buy partially reduced indigo dyes, which looks like chunks of blue stone.

indigo scarf

These chunks are heated. I add a reducer; thiox dioxide, plus soda ash. Soda ash is like the lime; it makes the water alkaline. The solution is heated and amazingly enough, the liquid turns a funny yellowish green.

Cloth or fiber dipped into the dye comes out that same yellow green but as it hits the air, it turns blue.

This is a really smelly process. One of my students likened it to having a perm. And the smell lingers long after the vat of dye has been removed elsewhere.

Indigo overdyes beautifully and I dyed the above scarf with both the indigo and the madder. The central section is a very interesting mix of blue and peach.

 

Queen Madder

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Madder is a root, latin name Rubia tinctorum. This is a dye that has been known for many years. The plant has little yellow flowers and has to grow in the fields for three years before the roots can be harvested and used.

madder

Depending upon the mordant, it yields red, a pinky brown, or brown. However, because it is a botanical and dependent upon growing conditions, yield and color can vary.

I mordanted silk scarves with alum and cream of tartar.

The chopped roots were put into a stocking and soaked in a dye bath.

 

madder

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Although the dye bath itself was a lovely red, my scarf came out more of a pale peach.

madder scarf

 

 

Dyeing with Annatto seeds

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I work in a library and, well I guess most people don’t know this, but libraries run regular programs. Since I am a crafty person and especially interested in textiles and textile crafts, I do a lot of programs that involve quilting and dyeing.

Using the same directions I used for onion skins, we dyed annatto seeds. Annatto seeds are red seeds that are used in Latino cooking, most particularly Puerto Rican cooking. Thus, they are totally non-toxic.

annato seeds

 

 

annatto dyed cotton

 

 

 

Here is a cotton towel dyed with annatto seeds. It is a lovely sunflower yellow.

 

 

 

 

annatto dyed yarn

 

One of my students preferred to dye lambswool, worsted weight. The yarn had more orange to it. A really beautiful color.

Natural dyes

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I learned to quilt at a young age (and still do it), as well as knit, crochet and weave. But some where along the way, I became interested in dyes.

When I was researching the Dyes for “Death of a Dyer”, I started to think about the bright colors we take so much for granted. Most natural dyes produce pastels, which is why indigo, madder and cochineal were so prized. They yield bright colors, especially when used with appropriate mordants.

So, what would people use who had little or no access to indigo, which was expensive, or cochineal, which was VERY expensive?

I started with onion skins. I saved the papery covers up for about three months. I mordanted a cotton towel with 2 tsp alum and 1 tsp cream of tarter.

onion skins

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Simmering the onion skins until they are transparent yielded a yellow brown dye. I tried the dye with the cotton towel and also with unmordanted plain yarn.

fabric

 

 

 

 

More about looms

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Although I learned to weave years ago, (I learned on a LeClerc with 4 sheds) I did not realize the long history of the loom or the many kinds of looms that came before the styles with which we are familiar now.
I began learning about them as I researched the Triangle loom. I still haven’t discovered any definitive information although still working on it.
I did know of the backstrap loom. I saw that style up close in Peru and was amazed at the speed and dexterity of the weavers. And I should add their memories – since they memorize patterns. No graph paper instructions for them.
Originally, plant fibers and animal hair were twined together or knotted into a kind of fabric. Archeological research has put the discovery of cloth back to about 7000 B.C. in Mesopotamia. Egypt perfected the art of linen weaving. Their linen was reputed to be so finely woven that the limbs of the wearer could be seen through the cloth. (Not sure I’d care for that!) It is not clear whether the Egyptians had looms with heddles. People are relying on paintings.
I’ve also read that cotton weaving in India was so sophisticated that a length of cotton laid upon dewy ground became invisible.
Weaving has had a long and glorious history.