If I line up all my weaving shuttles, end to end, how far do you think they will reach? The accumulation started slowly, adding a shuttle here and there, as needed. My husband contributed to my collection by handcrafting some of the shuttles for me. “I could use a stick shuttle in such-and-such a size.”“Okay, dear,” he would say, before going out to the garage to whip up yet another yardstick shuttle for my rigid heddle loom.
Ski shuttles are for rag weaving. Boat shuttles are for almost everything else. Most of my boat shuttles are traditional Swedish shuttles. All these fascinating shuttles, such simple tools, work the wonder of weaving.
With a flick of the wrist, the shuttle glides across the warp. The curved, narrow end of a traditional Swedish boat shuttle slides right into my hand. This dice weave uses one shuttle for the plain weave background, and a second shuttle for the pattern weft.
From my bin of shuttles I choose the ones best suited for the warp that is on the loom. When a shuttle fits my hand, as the Swedish ones do, that’s even better. As the weaver, I am usually the only one who sees the shuttles at work, but that makes them no less important. The one purpose of a weaving shuttle is to carry weft thread across the warp, by the weaver’s hand.
How do you find your purpose? Discover your calling by putting others first. Like most people, I would rather put my own self first. But our grand weaver calls us to be last. He calls us to be servants of each other. In that role where we carry the thread without being noticed, we do our most important work. And that is where we finally find our great value in the weaver’s hands.
Lay the groundwork; add a row of rya knots. Because of the coarser sett, and the thickness of this doubled linen weft, this rya weaving is progressing faster than the previous one. Tying all 36 knots across the warp is still the slowest part. But I can see progress. I like to see something happening, don’t you?
I weave about an inch / 2.5 cm of point twill linen background first. It provides a framework to hold the mixed wool and linen rya knots. This means throwing the shuttle at a good pace for a short distance, and then stopping to add another row of rya. Through this moving – stopping – moving – stopping, progress is made. A little green and beige garden is growing on the surface of the linen structure. It is during the slow part that the “growing” happens.
Are you troubled about anything today? Don’t lose hope. If progress seems slow, you may be in a growing season. The Lord rebuilds ruined places and replants desolate fields. It feels slow now, but in time, you will look back and see a garden covering what once was ruins. Keep going, you’re going to make it.
Slow and deliberate, rya knot tying is a satisfying exercise of patience. This background cloth feels like coarse canvas. You can imagine how robust the fabric is, with a hefty 8/2 linen warp, and the same, doubled, for weft. Threaded in a point twill, the cloth is simple, but texturally vibrant. The yarn pile, called rya, is made with combined threads of thick Åsborya wool, fine Mora wool, and fine 16/1 linen. (You can see my previous rya project in the post, Are You in a Pretty Mess? And if you want to see exactly how to make rya knots, check out this post – Quiet Friday: Making Rya Knots.)
I simply step on the “pile” treadle, which raises only shaft four, and tie rya knots around pairs of the raised ends. This process works because the fabric was planned and designed to have rya knots inserted on its surface. In a similar fashion, people are designed to receive God’s helping hand.
God wants to give us the ability to flourish in life. That’s his grace. We are made for that, and it happens when we offer “humble” threads. We must wear the cloth of humility as we interact with each other, revealing our coarse, simple, honest self. This is where God inserts his grace. In this process of his, he patiently makes us his work of art.
My feet follow an eight-step sequence on four treadles for this rosepath pattern. Even one step out of sequence makes a glaring error. I start out conscious of the order, repeating the numbers aloud while moving my feet. 3-2-1-4-1-2-3-4. After a while, my feet find a motor memory and I don’t need to concentrate as much. Now I’m in my sweet spot, throwing the shuttle back and forth, making cloth. (This flat cloth will be the back of a cushion with THIS rya weaving on the front.) I would like my attitudes to stay in their sweet spot, too.
There are normal interruptions in weaving, like stopping to replace the quill in the shuttle. Most of my treadling errors happen after those interruptions. With my attitudes, the disruption that knocks me out of my sweet spot is an encounter with someone who is disagreeable, rude, or unkind.
When we give a blessing, though, even to the undeserving, we come out ahead. If I show empathy, kindness, and humility to someone who does not show it in return, I end up with the blessing. If I return evil for evil or insult for insult, however, I throw that blessing away and my misstep makes a glaring error in my own fabric. Giving a blessing is the best way to get back to that sweet spot.