Finally, I have another warp on the Katu loom - the foot-tensioned backstrap loom which I acquired and learned to use from Keo and Mone Jouymany in Luang Prabang, Laos. As with other backstrap “looms”, it is a collection of specialized sticks, but the way it is warped and operated is different enough from my standard backstrap weaving practice that I had to work up to it. This is the fourth time I have tried this type of weaving, and I can possibly say I see a little improvement in my handling of the loom and the circular warp.
Warping with two-stranded balls of fine cotton from the market in Luang Prabang
The circular warp is wound directly onto the loom bars, using a frame of 2 x 4’s. The string heddles are added as the warp is wound. Preparing the 2 x 4’s and setting this up were a necessary part of the process of incorporating this type of weaving into my life. Last time, I warped using a wooden ladder, which sort of worked.
I was thinking about how the foot-tensioned style of loom developed in areas where people are often barefoot, due to climate and culture (southern China and the peninsula to the south, and islands in the region such as Taiwan.) This barefoot life gives the feet enough habitual dexterity to work the loom. Going around in shoes all the time limits sensory awareness, as well as foot dexterity. And somehow Western civilization decided that less use of the feet equalled intellectual advancement - an odd equation. Even now, having foot and toe dexterity is something that startles adults in modern cultures - it is the reserve of small children, hippies, and indigenous people pre-contact. We no longer use the word ‘savages’, but the uneasiness with bare, wide, skilled feet persists.
Tim Ingold observes in his book Being Alive that European historical and philosophical separation of the upper and lower parts of the body, with the mind in the head and to some extent the hands, has led to shod feet which are mere mechanical extensions, best for marching, pumping, treadling. Which brings us back to modern loom development, and the increasing mechanization of what the legs do, keeping the focus of skill in the hands.
The typical, unskilled foot shown here, in my first attempt to use the Katu loom. The default for those of us who grow up wearing shoes is to brace with the feet, as if the loom bars are pedals. My toes don’t even know they’re supposed to be involved. (Ock Pop Tok Living Crafts Centre, Luang Prabang, 2013) You can see this stance in The Weaving Sisters’ students in their Instagram and Facebook photos. Mone and Keo do a great job of coaching awkward Western students through the use of their loom, but we all seem to start like this, with feet planted as if on the ground.
Compare with Keo’s feet and toes, which are fully engaged in the work - not simply applying force, but holding, manipulating, and controlling the tension of the loom bars. In this video, you can see that her feet are continuously making micro-adjustments as she works, then completely changing position to loosen the tension when the heddled shed is opened. Her toes work separately to hold the bars in different ways. It’s so cool to watch!
I had originally been thinking only of the practical, climate-related realities of loom design. Backstrap and ground looms persist in cultures that spend more time outdoors, with foot-tensioned looms (necessitating bare feet) in the warmest of those regions. Meanwhile, Europeans in colder climates developed warp-weighted looms, usually found inside the remains of buildings in archaeological sites. Then of course it was in Europe that treadled machines took off: spinning wheels, floor looms, eventually sewing machines. Asian spinning wheels appeared earlier, but were turned by hand and used a driven spindle, as they still are in many places, such as in Kashmir for fine fibers, and Laos for cotton.
Cotton spinning in Laos, using a hand-turned driven spindle wheel (and recruiting the foot to hold the wheel in place.) (Ock Pop Tok Living Crafts Centre, Luang Prabang, 2013)
The reason this matters to me is that I want to use my foot-tensioned Katu loom, so I’m keeping my feet bare as much as I can, and trying to move and exercise them in a way that restores some foot and toe dexterity. One of the points Ingold makes is that the habitually shod foot is not anatomically different from that of the lifelong barefoot person. They just develop differently based on constriction or freedom, lack of toe use or the reliance on toes for additional work. I’ve seen enough feet in India, Laos and Thailand to demonstrate the range of possibilities of foot shape based on lifestyle. And the way I’ve seen weavers not only in Laos but also Qatar recruit feet into the work shows a clearly different attitude from those of us stuck in shoes. The feet are accessible and available, and can be relied upon for assistance (shoes may be worn, but they’re easily and quickly removed, so that the transition to bare feet is not hampered). Laverne had a nice post about working with feet a while back, which included some of my notes about Keo. Of course with the Katu weaving technique, feet are essential, and this is what drives the whole inquiry and physical effort on my part.
Getting my toes into the game. Slightly less awkward, fourth time around….
You want to know about that gorgeous piece lying underneath my current weaving? Keo wove that, and I bought it soon after I first met her. We had a photo session with Mone, shown here. It’s usually draped over a table, but I’m using it to wrap my weaving when I roll it up - maybe it will add good vibes from my teachers. If you’re not familiar with Katu textiles, all those white bits are beads, embedded with the weft yarn. I’m still working on my basic weaving skills before attempting much beading. For more of these sisters’ amazing work, look for The Weaving Sisters on FB or IG (linked at the beginning of this post), or if you find yourself in Luang Prabang!
For now, I want to avoid the whole West vs. the rest trap, and simply think about how skill develops, how there is hope for anyone who uses the body assiduously, with trust. Somehow along the way many of us have been taught not to trust our bodies (thus, the buy-all-the-tools approach.) There’s a reluctance, in extra-traditional learning (by which I mean learning skills without, or outside of, a community of handed-down, traditional methods), to believe that the hands, feet, or whole body can change over time, can acquire skills as an adult. As adults, we tend to think “I can’t do that” is a true statement, case closed - whereas if a child says the same thing, we encourage her to keep trying, knowing that “can’t” may be temporary. It can be grown out of - but also grown into. Too often we are given a pass as adults, provided with excuses. And of course, we each have our own physical limitations, but functioning limbs and appendages can be trained to work in new ways. As I challenged myself to pick up a pencil with each foot, one after the other, I remembered Christy Brown, the artist featured in the movie My Left Foot, who drew, wrote, and painted with only the one working limb.
A woman spinning wool in Doha, Qatar (2011) uses her toes to hold a large distaff, freeing both hands to spin.
Toes are good for holding Peruvian spindles while winding a plying ball, too.
The fascinating thing is that western man (and I do mean “man,” since that’s where this agenda is coming from,) would deliberately cripple himself and then call that the ideal form - this limited, narrow, pale and soft foot with useless toes. And yet this is just what western civilization does again and again - cut off options, and then declare that this limited, narrow way is the way, in fact it’s the pinnacle of achievement. Ok, I did not avoid the trap, and I’m stuck in an epic eyeroll, but when I’m done I’ll get back to flexing my toes and weaving on my foot-tensioned loom.
Since this is a circular warp, there is an unworked layer of warp threads underneath the working shed. This also means the tension of the warp has to be correct at the winding stage - something that still needs much work, in my case.