UNDER THE SPELL OF THE LOOM

I realized quite early on, that my artistic journey was going to be quite multidisciplinary. New branches in my creative expression have formed as new materials, crafts and discoveries come in. Yet, as I’m writing this, I realize that “new” isn’t the right word to describe it. Most of these things actually feel old, as old as time itself. They feel familiar, like a remembering from the depths of my soul.
Certainly, they are not new. I must have lived them before.

I have remembered my way with clay and Earth just like this. I have remembered my way with plants and working with the natural medicines of the earth, sensing the vibration of living things. I do not really choose the way this happens to me. It’s quite strange actually: I may not even seem to care about something in the first place (at all). But then suddenly it may appear to me in symbols, in synchronicities and in successive events - beckoning me to pay attention. It is this same remembering, this same inner knowing, that has somehow guiding me to the loom as of lately.

I have been living in Crete for about four years now - an island rich in history and ancient craftsmanship, who continues to be a vortex for my intuitive remembering. I had never been paying attention to the art of weaving, and how much it is present here in the backbone of tradition. Just as pottery, it is a craft that has been practiced here on the island since the beginning of time, but I had not been pulled by the energy of woven textiles. My mind had shut it off completely - I couldn’t understand and I couldn’t see their magic at first. Yet lately the whispers of weaving have been weaving themselves into my life.

Every whisper has been like a little thread, a little clue. I am starting to see the bigger picture now, although to be honest I still do not understand it - and do not necessarily want to. I am willing to cultivate a beginner’s mind and totally surrender to this big mystery. Yet it is very comforting to notice the connections.

My grandmother was a seamstress, working with fabric as her main mode of expression. I have not been working with fabric as much, although plant dyes have been a part of my journey since a while now, as I have enjoyed extracting colours from Nature.

During a mushroom trip in the desert a few years ago, I received a vision where many large fabric pieces were surrounding me all the way to the ceiling - and I met a weaver. She was a woman at first, but then shape-shifted into a spider (another form of a weaver).

About two years ago the work of Jessica Streets, who creates weavings from natural yarns - caught my eye. We collaborated on a small collection that we just released recently.

In the meantime, my dear friend Sylvia who’s a writer, a weaver of words and stories - and with who I share a profound love for the mysteries of this island - told me about a one-week workshop that was going to happen in a cretan village, where we could learn the art of weaving from traditional local weavers. At first I thought “Who, me? I will weave? Why?” but my mind quickly surrendered and the doubts vanished. It felt like a real calling from the depths of my bones. So I went.

I could hardly ever capture the whole picture if I’d have to describe this experience in words, but I’ll try.

This week was spent in company of 20 other women, of all walks of life. Somehow, the threads had pulled us all together, to remember - as one. There was a talented weaver, teaching us, guiding us. There were techniques to learn. There was yarn. There were small looms. Big looms. And little surprises in between. Old songs sung while weaving. Stories to listen to, from the old days. Tears, heartbeats and shivers down the spine.

There were unspeakable sensations rising when we’d sit together on those old looms.

We were told that the looms themselves, were considered sacred - as sacred and central to the house as the hearth. They were crafted of noble wood, carved with intentional symbols and were passed down from generation to generation. It was a woman’s temple, the seat of her consciousness. The place where she could not just weave threads to create pieces for her home and family, but where she could pour all her soul, expressing her every joy, her every frustration, her every sadness. The loom was always listening and holding space for Her, as it did to every woman before her.

The loom spoke from very deep, and so did the art of weaving. Watching every thread become a part of a bigger tapestry, was simply a metaphor for life itself. Weaving is a very alchemical art. An art of patience, dedication and trust that all of the threads are meant to come together as one.

My partner, David was around for a few days during the workshop and captured it in this beautiful video.

The question of materials rose quickly in my thoughts. Some acrylic yarn was supplied during our time together but it didn’t feel completely right - it did not really allow the energy to move. I felt quite blocked creatively when deciding on how to make my own pieces.

During a walk, I found some dried leaves hanging from a dying iris plant near a church. They were long and seemed quite flexible, so I brought them in and we twisted them into thread, into cordage, to make different experiments. I couldn’t help but wonder about wool, about flax, about all of these natural materials our ancestors and grandmothers has access to, that they would process so beautifully and with such know how. I fantasised about working with natural local yarn from the island, hand processed and spun from sheep’s wool. But I quickly found out that shepherds throw it away these days. It is tossed and burned, as yarn now comes from other places in the world at cheaper prices. It saddens me so much, to see that the wisdom of such a precious local material and its importance in our crafts and culture can be forgotten in just one generation.

Oh, the greed of this world. Oh, my aching Heart.

A few days later I found some freshly shorn wool in the community garbage and brought it home to process. I did not have any tools to do so, just a few buckets to wash the wool with soapy water. A few days (and washes) later when it was clean and dry, I gathered a few my favourite pieces in a basket which I left in our kitchen.

In between doing things at home, I would take little bits of wool and hand spin them into thread, tied around a piece of wood. It became an incredibly relaxing ritual, where I’d lose track of time and would feel immediately connected to Spirit.

Undoubtedly a much more nourishing activity than scrolling on my phone or fidgeting around in these “in between” moments. This wasn’t a mere distraction.

Here, I was called into presence.

A few weeks ago the loom appeared in my life yet again.

I felt called to go to Pelion, a region that I heard was very green and abundant. This wasn’t at all part of my travel plans, but I surrendered to the many synchronicities and made my way there. On the first day I landed in this area, I got to meet a weaver as I wandered into the streets of Zagora, the mountain village I stayed in. The loom in her shop was what I first noticed and what called me in.

It felt karmic. We didn’t know each other but we both immediately felt like we met for a powerful reason. Kati had been working on the loom since her young years - and had been in love with the process of dying yarn as well.

I noticed the two woven pieces hanging behind her. Abstract pieces, where natural colours were blending into one another. They exuded a lot of powerful energy. She didn’t have to say a word. I knew and felt that these were her soul’s creation.

It had been decades since she had last dyed any yarn. It had been years since she last wove such pieces. Her creative journey had taken a turn and her inner compass had lost its direction. She had become a shop owner who had forgotten about the essence of her craft, and was selling industrially made towels, following the business model of other tourist shops in the area. I felt called to stick around and ask her about her journey. We had long conversations where she told me about what had been happening in her life. Slowly I watched her spark grow bigger and bigger as we spoke about things she was truly passionate about. The loom, the yarn, the weaving - was her true path. The more we spoke and the more she shared the magical moments of her life, the more we both realised that the unseen had been holding and guiding her all along.

Suddenly she asked me “Shall we dye some yarn together?”. And of course I agreed. Our next few days were spent dying some gorgeous handspun wool, with onion peels and local flowers. In between, we were sharing stories and discoveries of all things numinous in our lives.

An artist is often misunderstood. She often feels like she doesn’t fit in this rational world, as she is being guided by something much bigger that no one can see or measure.

When I left, I felt complete, knowing that she would be encouraged to get back to her soul’s work.
I am grateful that our paths crossed for this reason.

I forgot to mention that another thread had appeared in the meantime.

Our neighbour (who spends her winters in Athens and her summers in Crete) owns the ruins near our house, that we’re hoping to purchase to expand our space. She had already told us about the fact that she used to live in this small building. This time when she circles back in our lives, I ask her a few questions about it: “Tell me more about this building! Could you describe how it was it inside? What was it like?”. She tells me that most of it was used as a storage space. She also mentions there was a huge loom in the main room, on which her sister would be weaving.

Here was the loom again, whose spirit was still there.
Here it was, appearing in our conversation, asking to be remembered.

I still do not quite understand where my journey with the loom and with weaving is meant to take me exactly. I do not know if I am meant to weave, or if the symbolism of weaving has come to my life for another reason. Maybe to remind others that the essence of these ancient alchemical arts are still very much alive within us. Connecting the dots during synchronicities like those can be quite hard, but the only thing I can do is trust, trust, trust that something divine is unfolding.

Sometimes I wonder if a loom will come to my life and become mine. If a loom will be part of this ruin, when we will be re-building it. Maybe. I have no idea where this is going, but I’ll keep surrendering to find out. This story will continue and I might have to add more pieces to it.

✺

I am under the spell of the loom.
Following the trail to the labyrinth, under the guidance of Ariadne’s thread.