Woven Yarns and Story Telling. Can the practice of weaving artwork influence the way that stories are told and understood?
- Jane Stephens
- Aug 29
- 13 min read
Updated: Sep 22
Background
My practice led research has evolved from my previous career as a psychotherapist which has been about listening to people’s stories and the shame, embarrassment and guilt in which they are often cloaked. Exploring creative ways of encouraging people to tell their
stories in an environment where they can be heard without criticism and judgement were
part of the work that I did so discovering the medium of weave as a creative practice invited
further exploration. Could this be a medium in which storytelling might find a place – a way
of telling a story that could remain confidential but that might also allow individuals the
release that having their story seen and heard by others can bring. In bringing this into the
academic world, I am curious to see how artistic method can impact both the narrator and
the listener/observer in order to extend our understanding of the impact of storytelling for
an individual as well as for a wider audience.
My experience of academic writing and talking is that it can stifle and confuse many people
(myself included). It is written in a particular style, the words used are frequently not used in
‘normal’ conversations. Academic thinking and creativity seem to me to be at polar
opposites – when I try to write and read ‘academic’ work my brain switches off, becomes a
fog and I absorb very little of what I have read. Is it just practice? Is it like learning another
language that feels impenetrable at first – doesn’t make any sense until there comes a
moment when you realise that you can understand a little of what goes on, then a bit more,
then you gain the confidence to speak a little, and before too long, if you are immersed in
the language long enough you become more fluent. The inhibitions and rules that we grew
up with stop us from thinking that we can contribute to a discourse, that others are
cleverer, know what they are talking about, and with that I wonder if many good ideas are
lost? And this is not just the reading - my normal style of writing is informal and free – a
stream of consciousness, so how do I convert that into an academic piece of writing? When I
think about this in relation to the weaving, I am struck by some of the similarities. Weaving
has a very contained structure – the warp and the weft are normally at right angles – trying
to change this on a standard loom requires specialist equipment such as that designed by
Peter Collingwood and Hella Jongeruis who play with the functionality of a typical loom.
However, within those confines play can occur with colour, texture and design. My desire to
constantly break out of these structures wars with the peace and ease of weaving within
them but somehow I have found it necessary – how far can I push something before I (or it)
breaks and I capitulate? The containment and structure, the rules of the weave are part of
what define it, just as the language of academia is something that is intrinsic to this way of
writing.
Weaving has a language of its own. Whilst the aetiology of the words text and textile remain
the same many of the terms used in our everyday language have their origins in textiles and
the practice of constructing them. We talk of weaving a tale, spinning a yarn, the warp and
weft of life. Weaving is embedded in mythology and folklore and the title of this piece of
work reflects this; the double meaning of yarn in this work both as a piece of thread as well
as a story is evidence of the inclusion of these words into everyday language. Tapestry
weaving in particular has evolved from a functional craft to an art form and enables the
weaver to portray ideas and thinking in images – it bears more relation to painting than
loom weaving traditionally does.
In my research I am currently interested in looking at the concept of storytelling. The layers
upon layers that underlie the words that we use. On my looms I am able to weave these
multiple layers – each one of which can tell a different part of the story.
The artwork that I am presenting here in the form of a poster demonstrates my practice based research both in its form as well as its content. It is multi-layered and complex in
nature. Although it may look like a normal piece of fabric from a distance upon closer
inspection it can be seen that each of the individual sections of weave are woven with a
separate portion of the warp (the threads that run from back to front on the loom, and top
to bottom in this piece of work).
Paper
Given that conventionally books and stories are written and published on paper, using this
as a medium to portray my work seems an obvious connection. Paper yarn tells its own
story and has a life of its own – the twists of the yarn as it is woven and manipulated add to
the complexity of the weave – a story within a story.
However, it is too simplistic to say that paper is an obvious choice in which to weave, to
make my work. Andersson (2002) describes the exhibition ‘Material Matters’ as focussing on
the qualities of contact between the material and the artist’s hands – not least the
monotony and repetitiousness in activities such as sewing, embroidery and weaving’. There
is something that is appealing about weaving with paper as I make the warp, wind the
bobbin on the shuttle and start to weave. Wool, cotton, linen and other ‘normal’ yarns have
their own textural qualities whilst the paper yarn that I use is smooth but quite firm – it
flows easily in my hands yet when I weave with it, yet it takes on a life of its own, unlike
other yarns. It doesn’t bend very easily; I have to fold it to get my selvedges straight and I
cannot beat it firmly to get a close weave. It is unlike anything else with which I weave.
Since paper is frequently a most unsustainable and environmentally unfriendly product, I
am looking at ways of reducing the impact that I am having. Some of the paper in this poster
has a 30% seaweed component, which makes it less damaging, and I am exploring the use of seaweed paper to make my own yarn. I use recycled paper wherever I can, packaging being a frequent source of weaving yarn. Discussing the use of paper Teacă (2023) states ‘Paper remains as a keeper of human history, as important as stone (even if not quite as durable), a witness to unique emotions, a mentor and educator, confessor, and a soul friend. This is why we must have paper in our life and, given the up-to-date environmental concerns, we must find alternative, non-woody resources and methods to produce paper for all uses.’
Paper yarn
It is believed that paper yarn originated in Japan over 1400 years ago. Its use as a fibre with
which to weave is evident in examples of kamiko – translated as ‘paper shirt’ ( Leitner,
2005). Washi paper made from Kozo, Gampi or Mitsumata bushes is used to make a fine
yarn called Shifu which is very hardwearing and is able to be washed. The yarn that I have
made for use in this poster is from Kozo paper, but is not particularly fine due to my lack of
expertise!
Industrial spinning or twisting of the yarn was developed in the late 19th Century in
Germany. The fine yarns that I use in this project are supplied by a German company,
Paperphine. Recycled paper is not used in the production of this yarn as it would make the
yarn too weak – recycled fibres are shorter than new fibres. The wood pulp used is mainly
supplied from Northern Europe. This paper yarn is twisted rather than spun and tells its own
story with life of its own – the twists of the yarn as it is woven and manipulated add to the
complexity of the weave – a story within a story.
Research is being undertaken into the viability of paper yarn. Coming from humble
beginnings as a fibre that was used when nothing else was available, (Daugherty 2018) it is
now starting to come into its own with a view to a more sustainable textile (Memon, 2024).
During the process of weaving this poster, I became obsessed with trying to make the poster
‘look like a piece of paper’. Working out how to lose the gaps created by the weave process
using a relatively stiff yarn, I realised that I was trying to lose the very quality that the paper
yarn gives me – that sense of stubbornness, an unwillingness to conform. I needed to work
with the paper, not against it – use its qualities to enhance the work and let it make its own
statement. In her work entitled ‘Paperness’, Nimkulrat (2009, p102) says ‘without material
recognition no expressive qualities of material would be worth studying’.
The yarns/material that I have used in making this poster are: Paperphine yarns (the fine
yarns used in the background and in some of the superficial layers, Norpla paper – using
seaweed as a component of the paper pulp, Washi paper – a Japanese paper that is used for making fine yarn, raffia, papyrus and recycled copy paper. They are all dyed using coffee and tea – sustainable chemical free dyes.
Asemic Writing
In my exploration into storytelling and communication I came across asemic writing. A
mixture of art and calligraphy, this mark making way of portraying thoughts and sentiments
aroused my curiosity and I was impressed by its diversity and beauty. Asemic writing has ‘no
meaning’ – a seme is a unit of meaning; therefore asemia is an absence of meaning. Flusser
(2011), in his book about the future of writing, states that asemic writing may be seen as
‘Torn rags of lines with gaping holes in between… on the end of writing, in particular cursive
writing’, whilst the Finnish artist Sati Kaikkonen states that Asemic art…represents a kind of
language that is universal and lodged deep within our unconscious minds. Delving further
into this practice it seemed to echo the thinking that I have had about ‘abstract, non-verbal,
unexplained communication’ in my weaving. ‘When we look at handwriting, even if we are
unable to decipher it, we are getting some sort of visual content out of it from looking at the
marks and rhythms or distributions of the markings on the page. We can get a feeling of
order or discipline or perhaps a frenetic energy, or playful or sloppy or it might seem
confused or muddled. You might say this is the body language of the writing beyond the
message conveyed. This body language is the part that is of interest in this work. (Touchon,
2021)
Mehrabian (2008) suggests that words comprise only 7% of face-to-face communication,
with tone of voice coming in at 38% and body language 55%. In this assumption that words
may count for so little (although this changes when communication is not verbal) the role of
art as a medium comes into play. When words are removed how do we come to understand
what is being portrayed, and how important is the role of the maker in this. My DNA is
embedded in the artwork that I produce – it comes from the skin of my hands as I
manipulate the yarn, the loom, the weave. How much of a sense of this can be received by
the viewer? Thomas (2016, 15) states, ‘The importance of touch as one of the body’s main
information gathering tools is undeniable’ emphasising that at least one other of our senses
is engaged in understanding what is being conveyed by a maker, which is echoed by Paz
(1974) who says, ‘The trans-personal nature of craft work is expressed, directly and
immediately, in sensation: the body is participation’. Asemic writing is fun to do, it offers the
same freedom of expression (to me, at least) that drawing with your eyes shut, or using your
non-dominant hand does – a different part of my brain takes over, logical thought
disappears and my mind stills.
Conversational storytelling
This piece of my work is focussing on conversational storytelling within a crafting
environment. It involves a group of women who describe themselves either as crafts people
or in a couple of cases as artists. Conversational storytelling uses words that people
understand, communication is easy - back and forth with pauses and gaps. It differs from
other forms of oral storytelling in many ways – it is a two-way process. The conversations
that take place in our group are punctuated with silences as the individuals get absorbed in
the work that they are doing, but these silences also offer time to reflect on what has been
said and to formulate a response. The space allows time to move on to a different topic, an
alternative story. There is a constant ‘to-ing and fro-ing’ of ideas, both internally in thought
and externally in discussion with other members of the group. However, conversations and
storytelling are not a single layered activity. As one person speaks, the words that emerge
are heard (or not) by a recipient. However, in that hearing the words are distorted. The
listener is concocting their own version of the story – influenced by their past history, their
current experience, their own interpretation of the words. Images and thoughts come into
play, and multiple versions of the story that is being told evolve. Statements are repeated,
reflected on and then restated – maybe in a different way as the listener adds his own
interpretation. And as the speaker is speaking, they are also editing and embellishing the
story – memories and images of what is being described are interposed with the words,
which are influenced by the internal monologue or discussion. Norrick (2010 p127)
describes conversational storytelling as being ‘interactive, negotiated…deeply
contextualised, diffuse…told for a reason and fulfilling multiple simultaneous functions’. Just
as in a conversation, what is seen and what is kept hidden, the surface and the underlying
substance, the changes and editing are all reflected in this poster. Cobley (2001) quotes
Bakhtin (1981) who describes narrative in the novel as ‘heteroglossic’, being made up of
many different voices, some of which are competing’, and this is certainly true of
conversation – both literally as two or more people engage in dialogue, but also in the
voices of the past, the history and influence of memory, reflection and utterance.
This slow pace of communicating, the times for reflection, formulation and the emergence
of responses are similar to the activities that are being performed. The crafts of weaving and
stitching are referred to as ‘slow craft’. The presence of industrial machinery which
increases efficiency and production does not have a place here. There is little pressure to
complete work and projects are put down and picked up again, sometimes with many
months in between. In the planning and process of making a piece of work time is taken to
think and reflect on design, colour, effect – all of which can be changed as the work evolves
and takes place, much as subsequent conversations occur.
The Artwork
Planning this complex weave has taken a considerable amount of time. In thinking about the
conference and the poster that I wanted to weave, I had to fight myself and really think
about who would be viewing it. I recognised quite early on that this was a conference about
paper, not about weaving, and therefore the focus had to be about paper – but I am a
weaver who enjoys the challenge of complexity. I narrowed down the concepts that I
wanted to portray to three main points:
Paper and it’s properties: Demonstrate this with a piece of weave that shows the
contraction and expansion of the paper yarn, the stubborn rigidity of it. Use different kinds
of paper, presented in different ways.
Multiple layers: weave in multiple layers echoing the multiple layers of a story – the whole
poster?! Most people won’t understand how difficult and time-consuming a multi-layered
weave can be but what will satisfy me to show here?
Conversational narrative: As a part of my PhD this is reflected in the current work and
research and is discussed in this artwork, demonstrating the to and fro, stop and start,
others joining in that is part of a conversation.
Having recognised this, this is also a part of my practice-based research so needs to link to
my PhD. Using an autoethnographic methodology I have kept a google slides journal
reflecting on my process and practice which has been shared with my supervisors as I
continued to develop the artwork. This has included exploring how the creative process
works for me under discipline, deadlines and structure.
The poster was woven on my Glimakra loom, a 165cm wide, 12 shaft, 12 treadle loom
named Gertie (Fig.2). I have a love/hate relationship with this loom which I was hoping to
challenge. In doing this project I had the time to find ways of making the loom work for me,
getting the rather temperamental set up right so that I didn’t experience enormous levels of
frustration.
Sampling was done as part of my 365 project – I am weaving a piece every day for a year
(https://www.wovenyarns.co.uk/post/__365 ) in order to explore the various yarns/paper
that I was expecting to use, and this provided a useful resource for experimenting and
playing.
The design for the poster was taken initially from images of weaves that I had done prior to
this piece, laid out on a full-size piece of card. Measurements were taken from this, as on
my loom it is impossible to see the completed weave in one piece. This meant that I could
weave the proportions accurately (Fig. 3)
Multiple layers are a challenge on a loom. The warp (the threads that go from the back to
the front) appear as one weave and it is only when the piece is removed from the loom that
the different layers become apparent. It is easy for the layers to become entangled and
working with the paper yarn made this a particular challenge.
Choosing the yarn was an important part of designing the weave. It needed to be paper and
I wanted to demonstrate weaving with a variety of paper yarns and paper itself. The paper
needed to reflect the various topics that I was demonstrating in my weave and are
demonstrated in Fig. 1.
Conclusion
Weaving this artwork has deepened my experiential understanding of the layers of a story,
or in this case a piece of writing, and how this is communicated. The work is rough, not
polished, as are the conversations that I have had both prior to weaving this, and during the
process of constructing the piece. The conversations and the weaving stopped and started;
new ideas and reflections both internal and external from colleagues have shaped what I
have woven and there is evidence of the various layers of meaning. The yarn has taken on a
life of its own – stretching, curling and messing with the tension, similar to the way stories
take shape as they are told and retold.
Bibliography
Andersson, Fred. 2002 Textiles as Webs of Meaning. Sourced at:
Bakhtin, M. M. 1981. The dialogic imagination: 4 essays. Austin, University of Texas Press.
Found in Cobly, P. (2001) Narrative. Routledge, London and New York. P 104
Daugherty, G. 2018. When Paper Clothing was a Perfect Fit.
Flusser 2011. Does writing have a future? Translated by Nancy Ann Roth. Minneapolis,
University of Minnesota Press. Found in Schwenger – Asemic the art of writing. P5
Hafeezullah Memon, Diefei Hu, Lingya Wu, Yan Wang, Juming Yao, Jiri Militky, Dana
Kremenakova, Guocheng Zhu. 2024. Structure, properties, and fabric applicability of
sustainable paper yarn with high washing stability. Heliyon, Volume 10, Issue 5. Sourced at
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