Water
life and magic in the fulling and the pot
Deep Water, Nov 20, 2002, cotton, dented twillWater is the hidden magic in weaving. After the textile is cut off the loom, it is hand-washed and the fibres bloom – the scales on wool reach out for each other, making a fragile fabric resilient.
Water for dyeing is more magical still: water is the signature of location and moment, responsible for colours specific to mineral content and ph. Cochineal dye – made from bugs infesting the prickly pear cactus – will create a pretty pink or fuchsia, if I use the hard water from my taps, sourced from the Galisteo River and rich in calcium. But if I want a deep red, I wait for the rains to fill my bucket.
It is true everywhere – but in the desert, the knowledge is imperative – that water equals life. You don’t save up for a rainy day in the desert. Rainy days are the days of abundance.
New Mexico is the last recipient of the American Monsoon as it travels north from Mexico, usually arriving at the end of the parched and unpleasant month of June. The monsoon’s arrival is wondrous. A rain and light show erupts, as lightning displaces the afternoon sun and the sky pretends it’s dusk. There are many in this desert who dance and pray for rain, but even those who never pray, run from their homes to dance in the downpour.
Maps call the Galisteo River a creek, and most of the year it is one. But if the monsoons come on strong, the Galisteo River liberates trees and uplifts rocks as its red waters roar to the east, hell bent on the sea. On such days, surely, the mineral content of my water will differ – for water is a living system – and perhaps I will discover a brighter pink or softer red or a colour as yet unimagined.
Deep Water, detail, Nov 20, 2002, cotton, dented twill
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