Loom-ing

Earlier this year, I completed a handwoven piece using salvaged silk, linen and wool. It was one that seemed to hold together exactly as I had hoped; the colours, textures and irregularities finding their own balance.

Rather than moving on from the piece, I found myself returning to it. Looking at the surface, I began translating elements of it onto a floor loom, using the original work as a starting point rather than a blueprint. Familiar colours reappeared, textures shifted and scale expanded. The resulting woven samples carry traces of the original piece while becoming something entirely different.

Working on a floor loom feels worlds apart from weaving on a tabletop loom. There is a greater physicality to the process. Feet, hands and body move together in a rhythm that is both repetitive and absorbing. The loom becomes something you work with rather than work on.

There is also a sense of connection to the history of the craft. Sitting at a floor loom, surrounded by the sound of heddles lifting and the shuttle passing through the warp, it is difficult not to think about the generations of makers who have repeated these same actions before. The process feels both contemporary and ancient at the same time.

These photographs document a period of exploration; testing how an idea can move from one form to another and how a successful piece can continue to generate new possibilities. What began as a small handwoven work has opened up a new conversation through the loom, one that I am still following thread by thread.