I
have lived for two decades with several
Navajo rugs, themselves now nearly a century
old. Age has worn them but slightly; it has
given them a luminous beauty which inspired
me to learn to weave, and to weave primarily
rugs, for I wanted what I made to be of
practical use in daily life as well as
beautiful. I weave on a simple vertical frame
loom like those used to weave the rugs I
consider my teachers, the loom developed by
the Native peoples of the Americas in ancient
times. The technology of this loom is
rudimentary, and my own hands and body become
critical components. The method is slow and
requires close and constant attention. It
also yields the physical and spiritual
rewards of all contemplative practices, as
well as a sense of participation in ancient
rhythms of work, a connection back through
all of human time, as I reembody the tasks
and movements that every weaver must repeat
again and again.
I
am also a martial artist, having studied Tai
Chi Chuan since 1988 (I now also teach it),
and I hold nidan (second-degree black belt)
rank in the Japanese martial art Naginata. I
find the practice of weaving requires a
similar presence in the moment,
attentiveness, and focus. Do not sit down at
the loom, Navajo weavers warn, when you are
out of sorts, for if you fail to bring to the
task all your being in harmony with your
world, the weaving will suffer. A feel for
the correct tension of the weft yarn as I
lace it between the warps is not so different
from the hold I must have on the thread of
time while moving through space in a
choreographed form or in counterpoint to a
sparring partner. In place, however, of the
fleeting moments of kata practice or a
tournament match, recorded only indirectly in
the honing of one's skill for subsequent
practice and one's character--weaving yields
in the finished work a more permanent record
of the interaction between warp and weft,
weaver and material. That work, I believe,
will contain, and forever radiate, something
of the quality of the time and the effort
that went into its making, and so I remind
myself to take care for each
moment.
All
of my rugs are woven with a tightly spun,
sturdy, four-ply wool warp, wound
continuously, which gives the weaving
finished edges on all four sides and permits
a tight packing of weft yarns to withstand
the hard wear rugs receive. The warp is then
completely covered by the softer, but more
closely packed single-ply wool weft yarns
that give the rug its thickness - about
one-quarter inch - and supple resilience. For
the technically minded: I generally weave
with 5 warps to the inch and 30 to 32 wefts
to the inch. The surface of each piece has a
sheen to it from the staple of the
wool.
Weaving
is magical. One
starts with an empty space, then fills in a
web of thin vertical lines, then builds up
the substance weft by weft until the
nothingness is filled in with something that
never before existed on this earth. Weaving
is also a straightforward physical process
anyone can understand. Weft is laid upon weft
crosswise between the vertical lines of the
warp. Horizontal lines and stripes are thus
the easiest and most obvious means of
introducing variety in texture or color.
Truncate stripes and they become wider or
narrower blocks and rectangles. Collections
of these blocks, particularly when the edges
are angled, give rise to all manner of
motifs. The rugs shown here, part of a series
I call 5 Seasons, 7 Blossomings, record my
explorations of these variations, from the
simple rhythm of lines and rectangles in
Winter to the complex flower forms of
Peonies.
All
the designs shown here can be woven to order
in other colors and sizes. Anyone interested
in visiting my work space in Ukiah and seeing
more of my weaving can reach me by phone at
707-468-0718 or by email at
shoppe@pacific.net. I have a number of rugs
as well as pillows and wall hangings
available. I also welcome commissions and the
interaction of working with you to create
something that enhances your living
space.
Please Visit My
Other Site:
http://www.stephaniehoppe.com
