Air

On the loom, air and space are essential to producing drape and the sinuous fall of the fabric.

Air and Space can be conceived as one element or two. I think of them as one, though they are not always in harmony. When the Galisteo wind gusts at 50 mph, air accelerates and space shrinks as I cover my eyes and hold onto my hat. Air and space can be a seesaw: being 6000 feet above sea level depletes the air of oxygen, yet the fineness and dryness of the desert atmosphere clarifies the senses, and there is so much space, it beckons. When I stand up from the loom, I call my collies and strike out on foot for the Ortiz Mountains, which enclose the western side of the Basin and give it the name of basin, defining its open space.

A technique called denting amplifies space – it makes a textile breathe, and softens a tight weave structure. When wishing to create a balanced weave, my eye and hand square the empty space between the threads. I am reminded of what my piano teacher told me: ’Listen less to the notes, and more to the space between them.’ 

As a long time meditator, space has a place in my heart. Buddhist beat poet Anne Waldman wrote, ‘I am putting makeup on empty space.’ Though the Buddhist understanding of emptiness is an experience, not a definition, here’s an approximation: emptiness is the no-thing that makes possible all things. Like empty bobbins imply the threads.