There is a North Indian folk proverb that says, in translation, "an entangled thread and a ghost are similar to each other." This is because, as the description on a panel at the small museum at Kurukshetra University in Haryana, India, goes on to detail, "...once disturbed, they cannot be set right easily." The person who works these threads into hand loomed cloth is called a julaha, or weaver. I'm not a weaver, but I can only imagine that the process of crossing threads over and under each other, row after row, much feel a little like assembly line work... repetitive, perhaps tedious, but no room for taking one's eyes off the ball, as one mistake can be seen glaringly amidst the thousands of successes. It's a meditation without the luxury of surrender. So the weaver is a tamer of threads... and of ghosts. Keeping down the individual strands that vie to upset the line. Maybe that's why they often refer to stories as yarns. The storyteller has been known to weave a yarn, and these yarns are both spiritual and living from past and present. It's a weighty responsibility.
I brought back a handwoven bedspread from my recent trip to India, and when I unfurled it after getting home from the trip, I noticed a three-inch-long mistake in the weave. It had been roughly sewn over in white thread over black to cover the blemish. At first I was a bit sad that I had not selected the other one of two, which may have been without fault, but then I settled into a sort of comfort. I mean, after all, this is handmade, I thought to myself. What better to showcase that fact than an error in the stitch. A ghost that was untamed, trapped beneath the white threads that finally bound it together. Someone took their eyes off the ball for a moment when they were making this bedspread... for me.
Christina Kim, maker extraordinaire, and owner of Dosa, explains the following about her love of handmade and handwoven things in the December 2010 issue of Selvedge magazine:
“An object is also an experience. It carries the experience of the maker: if you made the gift yourself then you are giving your own time and affection, as well as the present—that’s what makes a homemade gift so special. What about the things we buy? Sometimes we forget that a purchased object also carries the experience of the person who made and designed it. In the frenzy of seasonal shopping we can overlook the fact that, factory or artisan produced, everything we give is an expression of someone’s history, skill and time.”
In reading this, I come to a conclusion. As hard as it is for me to say, here it is... "I am not a maker." My greatest joy in life, other than my children (which I did indeed make) or my partner Nalin, is seeing beautiful objects that have been handmade with tremendous love, dedication, and creativity, and yet I feel, perhaps, relegated to the outer boundaries, appreciating, even showcasing (whether in writing or in retail) yet never fully partaking in the making. Don't get me wrong, we all make things... whether it is food for ourselves or our families or friends; our own identities woven together through our selections of apparel, education, careers; or the fabrics and furnishings which outfit our homes. And yet there does seem to be a division between those that make and those that observe the making. In another profile on the site Handful of Salt, Kim mentions her sadness that the Indian weaving technique of Khadi has been dying out due to the fact that the children of these artisans are finding more higher-paying jobs in the tech sector. It may be a sad reality of the times that the makers of old, and the traditions of old are quickly fading into obscurity. New makers are eagerly reviving some of these techniques, and perhaps the increased attention on these traditions by designers and artists throughout the world may give voice to the faint spirits of yesterday.
To all the makers out there whom I love and to those I have yet to discover... it's time to master your ghosts. Take lessons from the traditions of old and weave in discoveries of now. Your work, and your stories, are something marvelous to behold. And we all thank you.
