Kurt R.A. Giambastiani

Morse Code scarf in wool

As some know, a month or so ago I fell down a deep rabbit hole: I am learning how to weave—weave, as in, to make cloth from yarn or string. With a loom. And shuttles. Seriously old-school, low-tech stuff—and in doing so, I have received an unexpected gift.

Music.

I alluded to this new activity—here and here—in recent weeks (albeit obliquely), but in the past weeks it has become a full-on passion. All those books in the TBR pile? Forgotten. Those shows we were going to binge over the long weekend? Not happening. And sorry, but if I owe you a letter, it’s going to be delayed.

Weaving has infiltrated all my waking hours (and some of my sleeping ones, too). Not only has the learning curve been steep and chock-a-block with new words like “sley,” “heddle,” “gamp,” “raddle,” and “sett,” each new thing learned is like a hydra, sprouting new thoughts and questions with each answer. Hues for color palettes swoosh through my head. Wearable-fabric-as-art is now a thing for me. And inspiration strikes All The Time now, shining beams of creativity for pieces well beyond my technical expertise, illuminating ideas that I’m not sure are even possible with the tools I have.

And that’s all before I put warp to peg, weft to shuttle.

Once I get to that point, once I actually sit down and begin the weave, it’s all-involving. I’m so new to this, there is no muscle memory to kick in (a fact to which my upper back will attest), but the repetitive mechanics of working the loom, the rhythm of throwing the shuttle, the ever-present attention to tension and selvedges, these form the base of an activity which, like gardening, engages the motor-function/analytical part of my brain and leaves my creative functions free to “what if?” their way through myriad thoughts and ideas.

Then, as I become familiar with the patterns of motion for a project, as I introduce efficiencies into my movements, the world around me draws inward, and I enter a place of meditative serenity.

So, where does the music come in?

Houndstooth muffler in acrylic

The world is filled with distractions. Sirens, deliveries, hungry housecats, text message pings, K-drama sound effects; these can pop me out of my trance and make me lose track of where I am in a pattern. I could counter these with podcasts or books on tape, but the spoken word is sometimes just as distracting, sending my brain on little wonder-tours based on a thought or idea under discussion.

And that is where music comes in.

I used to listen to music a lot. My iPod (yes, I still have an iPod) has over 18,000 songs on it. That’s over 50 days of music, but ever since 2016 my music consumption rate has dropped off a cliff, replaced instead by various news broadcasts, analyses, and podcasts. In retrospect, this has not been good for my stress level; the world is not a friendly place, and focusing on news has only heightened my awareness of it.

It was, then, a surprise—as well as a surprise that it was a surprise—that when I plugged in my earbuds, put P!nk on shuffle play, and began weaving a Morse Code scarf (pictured, top right), I felt my brain relax and my heart ease as I slipped into the mood of the music. Since then, I’ve been re-exploring my own music collection, from symphonic metal to Tudor chamber music, from solo oud songs from Egypt to fully-synthesized renditions of Richard Rodgers classics.

And it has been like coming home.

I would have continued with this new weaving avocation even if I had not found this wonderful synergistic pairing, each activity feeding and supporting the other. Now, when I begin to imagine a piece to weave and colors to use, I’m also thinking about the soundtrack to go with it. Paul Hindemith? Jethro Tull? Hans Zimmer?

It’s like listening to a tapestry whilst transforming yarn into cloth.

I didn’t need an excuse to listen to music again. But I’m glad I have one.

k

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