weavers' reflections
Click here to read Maria Luisa and Jacobo Mendoza's reflections below.
Click here to read Mary Lane's reflections below.
Click here to read Betty Hilton-Nash's reflections below.
Click here to read Yadin Larochette's reflections below.
|
Jean Pierre Larochette and Sally Williamson at the loom.
|
Wall of Tears in progress.
|
Sally Williamson's Reflections
Weaving January 1-15, 2025
Participating in the weaving of Wall of Tears was a very meaningful experience for me. During this time of worldwide uncertainty and change, it felt like a gift to spend focused time at the loom with Jean Pierre, learning weaving techniques and gaining more understanding about how Yael's beautiful designs are interpreted and represented in tapestry. As the least experienced weaver in the group, I was deeply honored to be included in this project.
Weaving with another person on the same loom felt like a dance, as we reacted to each other’s work and moved across different parts of the tapestry. Initially, I was intimidated by weaving such a complex design, weaving it from the back, and at times, I stumbled, but with Jean Pierre’s guidance and instruction, I became more confident.
I am incredibly grateful for the time spent in El Tuito with Jean Pierre and Yael, sharing stories of family, travel, and weaving as we sat side by side at the loom. From the upstairs studio, the sounds of roosters crowing, children’s laughter, and traveling vendors as they advertised their wares over loud speakers will always be a part of these memories. These moments of connection and learning are something I will always remember and appreciate.
Jean Pierre Larochette's Reflections
January 1-15, 2025
We met Sally in 1999 at a workshop in Taos, New Mexico. Since that time, now and then, our paths would cross, often in Mexico, sometimes in California or Colorado. In most of these journeys, a blend of adventurous travel and tapestry incursions, we shared time by a loom, but never sat to weave together. Actually, Sally never wove on a group tapestry before arriving here, in El Tuito, a couple of weeks ago. The low-warp challenge (most weavers in the US work on vertical looms) hasn’t been an issue for her and she shows familiarity with the mechanics of our Aubusson style loom.
Sally was introduced to weaving at an early age, and kept her interest alive, taking occasional workshops with teachers from the Santa Fe area, notably James Koehler, Rebbeca Bluestone and the extraordinary Donna Martin. She participated in several of our winter workshops in El Tuito, and was one of the weavers in the small format Sin Maiz No Hay Pais (Without Corn There Is Not Country) exhibition, at venues in Mexico, United State and Canada.
As for myself, it has been over thirty years since I have woven with a partner. I marvel at the memory of my early working years, when team-weaving was the norm. Learning to work together on the same tapestry entails a special kind of commitment and dedication. As most collective work, it requires applying skills and artistry to a common goal. I have to confess that Sally’s participation made this return to team weaving an exciting, positive, and productive experience.
Sally’s imprint in the first portion of the tapestry is carefully rendered, a promising foundation to welcome the next weavers, Maria Luisa and Jacobo Mendoza, from Teotitlan del Valle, Oaxaca.
Weaving January 1-15, 2025
Participating in the weaving of Wall of Tears was a very meaningful experience for me. During this time of worldwide uncertainty and change, it felt like a gift to spend focused time at the loom with Jean Pierre, learning weaving techniques and gaining more understanding about how Yael's beautiful designs are interpreted and represented in tapestry. As the least experienced weaver in the group, I was deeply honored to be included in this project.
Weaving with another person on the same loom felt like a dance, as we reacted to each other’s work and moved across different parts of the tapestry. Initially, I was intimidated by weaving such a complex design, weaving it from the back, and at times, I stumbled, but with Jean Pierre’s guidance and instruction, I became more confident.
I am incredibly grateful for the time spent in El Tuito with Jean Pierre and Yael, sharing stories of family, travel, and weaving as we sat side by side at the loom. From the upstairs studio, the sounds of roosters crowing, children’s laughter, and traveling vendors as they advertised their wares over loud speakers will always be a part of these memories. These moments of connection and learning are something I will always remember and appreciate.
Jean Pierre Larochette's Reflections
January 1-15, 2025
We met Sally in 1999 at a workshop in Taos, New Mexico. Since that time, now and then, our paths would cross, often in Mexico, sometimes in California or Colorado. In most of these journeys, a blend of adventurous travel and tapestry incursions, we shared time by a loom, but never sat to weave together. Actually, Sally never wove on a group tapestry before arriving here, in El Tuito, a couple of weeks ago. The low-warp challenge (most weavers in the US work on vertical looms) hasn’t been an issue for her and she shows familiarity with the mechanics of our Aubusson style loom.
Sally was introduced to weaving at an early age, and kept her interest alive, taking occasional workshops with teachers from the Santa Fe area, notably James Koehler, Rebbeca Bluestone and the extraordinary Donna Martin. She participated in several of our winter workshops in El Tuito, and was one of the weavers in the small format Sin Maiz No Hay Pais (Without Corn There Is Not Country) exhibition, at venues in Mexico, United State and Canada.
As for myself, it has been over thirty years since I have woven with a partner. I marvel at the memory of my early working years, when team-weaving was the norm. Learning to work together on the same tapestry entails a special kind of commitment and dedication. As most collective work, it requires applying skills and artistry to a common goal. I have to confess that Sally’s participation made this return to team weaving an exciting, positive, and productive experience.
Sally’s imprint in the first portion of the tapestry is carefully rendered, a promising foundation to welcome the next weavers, Maria Luisa and Jacobo Mendoza, from Teotitlan del Valle, Oaxaca.
|
Jacobo and Maria Luisa Mendoza at the loom.
|
Wall of Tears in progress, showing the Mendozas' stars.
|
Jacobo and Maria Luisa Mendoza's Reflections
Weaving January 18-28, 2025
Weaving January 18-28, 2025
Thanks to Yadin Larochette for interviewing the Mendoza's and translating their responses.
Why did you want to take part in Wall of Tears?
We were drawn to both the project as a whole and the opportunity to work with Jean Pierre. The project, which involves other weavers and is all about uniting peoples, attracted us. We were also eager to work with Jean Pierre and learn the French tapestry technique, which is very different from the Zapotec tradition. Zapotec weavers work from the front, hide their ends, and the geometric imagery is achieved from the bottom up. As Jean Pierre noted in his reflections on working with Jacobo and Maria Luisa, everything was turned upside down and inside out for them at the Aubusson-style loom weaving the Wall of Tears.
What did you imagine your experience would be like and what did it turn out to be like?
Weaving this way—from the back, was more challenging than we anticipated. We thought at one point that we would not be able to do it. But we were able to overcome our doubts and persevere, which was really exciting!
What was it like weaving with another person?
This was the first time we’ve shared a loom, weaving side by side. It brought up a deep sense of ascertaining the reality of the process of weaving. This was a very unexpected experience, interlacing the movement of weaving with the emotions of being a weaver. At one point the three of us were at the loom, Jean Pierre in the middle and Maria Luisa and I at each side. That was a memorable experience!
What did you learn?
This was a unique experience. The sharing of ideas and processes makes us feel more united with the art of weaving as a whole. Seeing where there is commonality between the French and Zapotec traditions has made us feel more connected in unexpected ways. We’ve been thinking a lot about the power of imagery and how it can unite concepts. The drops in the Wall of Tears tapestry, for example, unite different aspects around the vitality of life: tears, water, etc.
What else would you like to share about the project?
We cannot overemphasize how inspiring it has been to be a part of this project. We both came back with new ideas and concepts, which will no doubt influence our work.
Jean Pierre Larochette's Reflections
January 18-28, 2025
Imagine you are a master weaver of international reputation from a town of seven thousand people where ninety percent are weavers - Teotitlan del Valle, Oaxaca. Imagine your weaving techniques are at their best when rendering perfect geometrical symmetries, with no other model than your own vision and experience. You carry your colors mostly from selvedge to selvedge. You work from the front leaving no tails, and from the bottom up.
Now enter the Wall of Tears project: The world turned upside down and inside out. The work of these two dear friends radiates exquisite craftsmanship, carried on with love, passion, and joyful energy. Born into an illustrious family of weavers, Jacobo Mendoza sees in each piece a field to play in, to challenge himself with fresh new games, and he doesn’t like to lose. While playing, he dances with the loom.
Working next to Maria Luisa I wonder if she is weaving at all. She seems to be in quiet meditation, so delicate and soft are her moves. Her mother and grandmother were tortilla makers, by hand and by the fire from dawn to dusk. After she put her eight children to sleep around her, her mother would sit at a small loom and practice under candlelight. She dreamt that one day she could sell her work. Maria Luisa pretended to sleep, watching every move. Weaving was the portal to a creative world she desired with passion. Thirty years ago, she met Jacobo and together they created one of the finest workshops in Teotitlan.
And so, the Wall of Tears tapestry continues to grow, and for this weaver every day is a feast.
Why did you want to take part in Wall of Tears?
We were drawn to both the project as a whole and the opportunity to work with Jean Pierre. The project, which involves other weavers and is all about uniting peoples, attracted us. We were also eager to work with Jean Pierre and learn the French tapestry technique, which is very different from the Zapotec tradition. Zapotec weavers work from the front, hide their ends, and the geometric imagery is achieved from the bottom up. As Jean Pierre noted in his reflections on working with Jacobo and Maria Luisa, everything was turned upside down and inside out for them at the Aubusson-style loom weaving the Wall of Tears.
What did you imagine your experience would be like and what did it turn out to be like?
Weaving this way—from the back, was more challenging than we anticipated. We thought at one point that we would not be able to do it. But we were able to overcome our doubts and persevere, which was really exciting!
What was it like weaving with another person?
This was the first time we’ve shared a loom, weaving side by side. It brought up a deep sense of ascertaining the reality of the process of weaving. This was a very unexpected experience, interlacing the movement of weaving with the emotions of being a weaver. At one point the three of us were at the loom, Jean Pierre in the middle and Maria Luisa and I at each side. That was a memorable experience!
What did you learn?
This was a unique experience. The sharing of ideas and processes makes us feel more united with the art of weaving as a whole. Seeing where there is commonality between the French and Zapotec traditions has made us feel more connected in unexpected ways. We’ve been thinking a lot about the power of imagery and how it can unite concepts. The drops in the Wall of Tears tapestry, for example, unite different aspects around the vitality of life: tears, water, etc.
What else would you like to share about the project?
We cannot overemphasize how inspiring it has been to be a part of this project. We both came back with new ideas and concepts, which will no doubt influence our work.
Jean Pierre Larochette's Reflections
January 18-28, 2025
Imagine you are a master weaver of international reputation from a town of seven thousand people where ninety percent are weavers - Teotitlan del Valle, Oaxaca. Imagine your weaving techniques are at their best when rendering perfect geometrical symmetries, with no other model than your own vision and experience. You carry your colors mostly from selvedge to selvedge. You work from the front leaving no tails, and from the bottom up.
Now enter the Wall of Tears project: The world turned upside down and inside out. The work of these two dear friends radiates exquisite craftsmanship, carried on with love, passion, and joyful energy. Born into an illustrious family of weavers, Jacobo Mendoza sees in each piece a field to play in, to challenge himself with fresh new games, and he doesn’t like to lose. While playing, he dances with the loom.
Working next to Maria Luisa I wonder if she is weaving at all. She seems to be in quiet meditation, so delicate and soft are her moves. Her mother and grandmother were tortilla makers, by hand and by the fire from dawn to dusk. After she put her eight children to sleep around her, her mother would sit at a small loom and practice under candlelight. She dreamt that one day she could sell her work. Maria Luisa pretended to sleep, watching every move. Weaving was the portal to a creative world she desired with passion. Thirty years ago, she met Jacobo and together they created one of the finest workshops in Teotitlan.
And so, the Wall of Tears tapestry continues to grow, and for this weaver every day is a feast.
|
Mary Lane at the loom.
|
Wall of Tears, in progress, showing the barbed wire.
|
Mary Lane's Reflections
Weaving February 2-12, 2025
Weaving February 2-12, 2025
I was honored to be asked to participate in the weaving of Wall of Tears. And, as the new year arrived, I was very much looking forward to my time at Yael and Jean Pierre’s welcoming home and studio in El Tuito, Mexico, working on a project whose intentions were so meaningful.
I was also nervous. I had never woven on a low warp loom and I had not woven from the back of the tapestry in over 30 years. And what about 12 ends to the inch! But, what was even harder for me to adjust to was not seeing the front of the tapestry. That was quite a leap for me. Jean Pierre’s reflections (below) on this topic are particularly insightful.
And then, of course, there is the matter of sitting and weaving next to someone whose understanding of, and passion for tapestry weaving is marked not just by technical excellence but, more profoundly, by a deep sympathy for and understanding of tapestry’s potential as narrative expression. Jean Pierre’s artistic partnership with Yael Lurie is legendary. Their perceptive and sophisticated use of woven language – the patterns and forms that populate woven fabrics from around the world – marries form and content sensitively and with great aesthetic beauty. Their subject matter is conveyed in imagery that is, at one and the same time, representational, symbolic and abstract. To the astute viewer, it is revealed through careful looking and thoughtful contemplation.
Given all my worries, what was I to do? The answer was simple - sit at the loom and weave. The hours and days passed. And, with time I became more comfortable with a process so different than my own. I enjoyed the challenge of weaving the complex shapes and ever changing colors. I understood more deeply the thoughts and intentions behind the tapestry’s design. Before I knew it, it was time to say good bye to Yael and Jean Pierre and to turn over my place at the loom to another lucky weaver.
I was also nervous. I had never woven on a low warp loom and I had not woven from the back of the tapestry in over 30 years. And what about 12 ends to the inch! But, what was even harder for me to adjust to was not seeing the front of the tapestry. That was quite a leap for me. Jean Pierre’s reflections (below) on this topic are particularly insightful.
And then, of course, there is the matter of sitting and weaving next to someone whose understanding of, and passion for tapestry weaving is marked not just by technical excellence but, more profoundly, by a deep sympathy for and understanding of tapestry’s potential as narrative expression. Jean Pierre’s artistic partnership with Yael Lurie is legendary. Their perceptive and sophisticated use of woven language – the patterns and forms that populate woven fabrics from around the world – marries form and content sensitively and with great aesthetic beauty. Their subject matter is conveyed in imagery that is, at one and the same time, representational, symbolic and abstract. To the astute viewer, it is revealed through careful looking and thoughtful contemplation.
Given all my worries, what was I to do? The answer was simple - sit at the loom and weave. The hours and days passed. And, with time I became more comfortable with a process so different than my own. I enjoyed the challenge of weaving the complex shapes and ever changing colors. I understood more deeply the thoughts and intentions behind the tapestry’s design. Before I knew it, it was time to say good bye to Yael and Jean Pierre and to turn over my place at the loom to another lucky weaver.
Jean Pierre's Reflections
February 2-12, 2025
Casa Tejedora, the House that Weaves, is what this house/studio we built 25 years ago in El Tuito is called. This house that weaves people’s lives, of course, adds to tapestry’s penchant for metaphor; A shelter/loom where we weave the tapestry of our existence. In this imaginary cloth, threads connect, interact, enlace. So, it should not be that surprising that a tapestry exhibition Mary saw in Mexico City’s Bellas Artes in her youth, a show that kindled her interest in tapestry, was the work of the Taller Nacional del Tapiz (National Tapestry Workshop), whose head weaver, Bertha Preciado, trained in Aubusson, was one of the earliest guests at Casa Tejedora. The National Tapestry Workshop closed its doors in 1984 and Bertha passed away a couple of years ago. But Mary is here now, at Casa Tejedora, collaborating in the weaving of the Wall of Tears tapestry, back in the Mexico that inspired her.
After her return from that fateful visit to Mexico City, Mary studied traditional tapestry, was a weaver at the Scheuer Workshop in NYC, completed a Masters in Art History, and opened her own studio. During her early weaving years, she worked on high-warp looms from the back. Then, in 1992, while working on small format pieces, she switched to weaving from the front. High-warp weaving from the front and from the bottom up is the most popular approach in the U.S.
As stated in the project announcement, the Wall of Tears is a low-warp tapestry project following traditional methods, with a life-size cartoon as a model, woven from side to side, and from the back. This is the traditional weaving method by which iconic pieces such as the Hunt of the Unicorn were created. The same methods are practiced today in the three major tapestry centers in France at Gobelin, Beauvais, and Aubusson. Mary, who has experience working in both methods but is bringing over thirty years of practice with the front weaving approach, helped identify some of the many divergent points.
This is a theme that I feel merits further discussion. Let me point out just the most evident: If the process of weaving from the front relies on direct visual observations to assess the work in progress, weaving from the back, to the contrary, is guided basically by experiential knowledge. The moment-to-moment outcome is not judged so much by what you see, but by the holistic fluidity of cadence, experience, and intuition.
It was amazing to watch how Mary, once she passed the initial tentative surveying of the work in progress, recaptured her professional energy and rhythm. After sharing many hours at the loom, she is leaving with the tapestry at the halfway point. This fits in perfectly with the timing; we are completing the first six weeks of the planned twelve. I’m so much looking forward to the second half, with Betty, Yadin and Susan.
February 2-12, 2025
Casa Tejedora, the House that Weaves, is what this house/studio we built 25 years ago in El Tuito is called. This house that weaves people’s lives, of course, adds to tapestry’s penchant for metaphor; A shelter/loom where we weave the tapestry of our existence. In this imaginary cloth, threads connect, interact, enlace. So, it should not be that surprising that a tapestry exhibition Mary saw in Mexico City’s Bellas Artes in her youth, a show that kindled her interest in tapestry, was the work of the Taller Nacional del Tapiz (National Tapestry Workshop), whose head weaver, Bertha Preciado, trained in Aubusson, was one of the earliest guests at Casa Tejedora. The National Tapestry Workshop closed its doors in 1984 and Bertha passed away a couple of years ago. But Mary is here now, at Casa Tejedora, collaborating in the weaving of the Wall of Tears tapestry, back in the Mexico that inspired her.
After her return from that fateful visit to Mexico City, Mary studied traditional tapestry, was a weaver at the Scheuer Workshop in NYC, completed a Masters in Art History, and opened her own studio. During her early weaving years, she worked on high-warp looms from the back. Then, in 1992, while working on small format pieces, she switched to weaving from the front. High-warp weaving from the front and from the bottom up is the most popular approach in the U.S.
As stated in the project announcement, the Wall of Tears is a low-warp tapestry project following traditional methods, with a life-size cartoon as a model, woven from side to side, and from the back. This is the traditional weaving method by which iconic pieces such as the Hunt of the Unicorn were created. The same methods are practiced today in the three major tapestry centers in France at Gobelin, Beauvais, and Aubusson. Mary, who has experience working in both methods but is bringing over thirty years of practice with the front weaving approach, helped identify some of the many divergent points.
This is a theme that I feel merits further discussion. Let me point out just the most evident: If the process of weaving from the front relies on direct visual observations to assess the work in progress, weaving from the back, to the contrary, is guided basically by experiential knowledge. The moment-to-moment outcome is not judged so much by what you see, but by the holistic fluidity of cadence, experience, and intuition.
It was amazing to watch how Mary, once she passed the initial tentative surveying of the work in progress, recaptured her professional energy and rhythm. After sharing many hours at the loom, she is leaving with the tapestry at the halfway point. This fits in perfectly with the timing; we are completing the first six weeks of the planned twelve. I’m so much looking forward to the second half, with Betty, Yadin and Susan.
Betty Hilton-Nash at the loom.
|
Jean Pierre and Yael's home and studio in El Tuito, Jalisco, Mexico.
The studio is on the second floor on the right. |
Betty Hilton-Nash's Reflections
Weaving February 16-28, 2025
I was given a gift when Jean Pierre asked me to participate in the Wall of Tears project. My invitation came 21 days into our recovery from Hurricane Helene in Western North Carolina where I live. Of course I would join, it was in many ways my silver lining from the storm. And of course, to be invited to weave with Jean Pierre on a cartoon designed by Yael was an honor and humbling all at the same time. Their work, as anyone in the tapestry world knows, is unsurpassed in its beauty of design and weaving excellence.
This was also an opportunity to bear witness to man’s inhumanity to their fellow man. It is full of symbols of repression and subjugation, the barbed wire and the fence below, but also birds above representing the soul’s ability to fly free. But most importantly, it was a gift, given by friends whose common bond is the love of tapestry.
The weaving itself was both challenging and so familiar. I weave from the back so no adjustment there. I weave on upright looms but found it very easy to make the switch to low warp. What a treat to sit down to a loom with great tension and bobbins already positioned in their proper sheds. The big lesson for me was learning to trust the weave structure. With no opportunity to view the front of the work, the focus was solely on the proper weaving of shapes based on the cartoon. The cartoon was a suggestion, not to be slavishly followed. The weave structure took precedence. Line became most important in the sharp barbs of the barbed wire. Shape building required proper building of steps that defined the shape. Rules of weaving long learned needed to be applied in every instance. It took about a week before these techniques became automatic and I could enjoy the dance of the weave. I loved weaving with Jean Pierre, I have woven with others before and there is a beautiful intimacy in sharing a loom.
The other gift I received from my trip south was a reintroduction to the beautiful spirit of the Mexican people. Thank you to those that spoke slowly so I could practice my halting Spanish, and learn about their families and why they were proud of their town and its resources - good coffee, good cheese, good tequila, all of which I sampled. A final hug at the airport from a virtual stranger sealed the deal. Of course, I would love to return someday….
Weaving February 16-28, 2025
I was given a gift when Jean Pierre asked me to participate in the Wall of Tears project. My invitation came 21 days into our recovery from Hurricane Helene in Western North Carolina where I live. Of course I would join, it was in many ways my silver lining from the storm. And of course, to be invited to weave with Jean Pierre on a cartoon designed by Yael was an honor and humbling all at the same time. Their work, as anyone in the tapestry world knows, is unsurpassed in its beauty of design and weaving excellence.
This was also an opportunity to bear witness to man’s inhumanity to their fellow man. It is full of symbols of repression and subjugation, the barbed wire and the fence below, but also birds above representing the soul’s ability to fly free. But most importantly, it was a gift, given by friends whose common bond is the love of tapestry.
The weaving itself was both challenging and so familiar. I weave from the back so no adjustment there. I weave on upright looms but found it very easy to make the switch to low warp. What a treat to sit down to a loom with great tension and bobbins already positioned in their proper sheds. The big lesson for me was learning to trust the weave structure. With no opportunity to view the front of the work, the focus was solely on the proper weaving of shapes based on the cartoon. The cartoon was a suggestion, not to be slavishly followed. The weave structure took precedence. Line became most important in the sharp barbs of the barbed wire. Shape building required proper building of steps that defined the shape. Rules of weaving long learned needed to be applied in every instance. It took about a week before these techniques became automatic and I could enjoy the dance of the weave. I loved weaving with Jean Pierre, I have woven with others before and there is a beautiful intimacy in sharing a loom.
The other gift I received from my trip south was a reintroduction to the beautiful spirit of the Mexican people. Thank you to those that spoke slowly so I could practice my halting Spanish, and learn about their families and why they were proud of their town and its resources - good coffee, good cheese, good tequila, all of which I sampled. A final hug at the airport from a virtual stranger sealed the deal. Of course, I would love to return someday….
Jean Pierre Larochette's Reflections
February 16-28, 2025
Betty tells me with a smile that she is a second-generation San Francisco Tapestry Workshop weaver. Her teacher was Pam Patrie, one of the first students to attend our programs in the mid-seventies. This is music to my ears, a faithful traditionalist for whom weaving from the back and with a cartoon under the warp is common practice! Yet, of course, challenges are encountered, and conversations develop.
Considerations on the importance and function of the cartoon as a model were a major factor in the making of modern tapestry. Early in the 20th century, a group of painters interested in tapestry, among them Jean Lurcat (a spokesperson for the revival movement), understood the need to create tapestries that were respectful of and in accordance with tapestry techniques. This movement was in opposition to the then prevailing imitation of paintings (where paintings were being used as cartoons). “Give your work all the spirit and intelligence of the paintings in which lies the secret of achieving tapestries of outstanding beauty” (J.B, Oudry, head of Gobelins, 1730s).
Moving from paintings as cartoons to outlined and color-coded cartoons and later enlarged photography, collages and prints, modern designers’ efforts steered clear of the painted image, as much as possible. This story is well told in “Wall Power!” a current exhibition of French tapestries from the 1940s to the present at The Clark Art Institute in Massachusetts.
The cartoon for Wall of Tears, following the revival approach, is designed with the weave in mind: the orientation of forms, the alternating rhythms of detail and color-field areas, the balanced interaction of positive and negative spaces, textile patterns, and subtle transitions of color coupled with dynamic contrasts.
In the late 1940s, a time of tapestry experimentation, Raoul Dufy stated: “If we see one day a painter undertaking the weaving of his compositions by himself, then we would say we are on the right path, and the hopes for a renaissance of this admirable profession will be granted.” This vision (weavers becoming their own designers seems to be a more accurate and current description) implies that tapestry weaving is more than following cartoon lines.
Some gifted weavers, bringing to life images seemingly impossible to draw on paper, find their compositions on the loom themselves. For the rest of us, especially when unified in a collective project, the cartoon is a map, a thoughtful guide, not so much a set of strict directions. Tapestry is a construction, and as such, it evolves in its own materiality. The architect’s blueprint is not the house.
Betty’s stay and her collaboration coming to an end coincides with the completion of the fourth of six sections. As it has been for me all along in this experience with each weaver, witnessing her love and dedication has been uplifting and, as a host, immensely rewarding. Our next collaborating weaver is daughter Yadin. Imagine, it has been over thirty years since we shared a loom.
February 16-28, 2025
Betty tells me with a smile that she is a second-generation San Francisco Tapestry Workshop weaver. Her teacher was Pam Patrie, one of the first students to attend our programs in the mid-seventies. This is music to my ears, a faithful traditionalist for whom weaving from the back and with a cartoon under the warp is common practice! Yet, of course, challenges are encountered, and conversations develop.
Considerations on the importance and function of the cartoon as a model were a major factor in the making of modern tapestry. Early in the 20th century, a group of painters interested in tapestry, among them Jean Lurcat (a spokesperson for the revival movement), understood the need to create tapestries that were respectful of and in accordance with tapestry techniques. This movement was in opposition to the then prevailing imitation of paintings (where paintings were being used as cartoons). “Give your work all the spirit and intelligence of the paintings in which lies the secret of achieving tapestries of outstanding beauty” (J.B, Oudry, head of Gobelins, 1730s).
Moving from paintings as cartoons to outlined and color-coded cartoons and later enlarged photography, collages and prints, modern designers’ efforts steered clear of the painted image, as much as possible. This story is well told in “Wall Power!” a current exhibition of French tapestries from the 1940s to the present at The Clark Art Institute in Massachusetts.
The cartoon for Wall of Tears, following the revival approach, is designed with the weave in mind: the orientation of forms, the alternating rhythms of detail and color-field areas, the balanced interaction of positive and negative spaces, textile patterns, and subtle transitions of color coupled with dynamic contrasts.
In the late 1940s, a time of tapestry experimentation, Raoul Dufy stated: “If we see one day a painter undertaking the weaving of his compositions by himself, then we would say we are on the right path, and the hopes for a renaissance of this admirable profession will be granted.” This vision (weavers becoming their own designers seems to be a more accurate and current description) implies that tapestry weaving is more than following cartoon lines.
Some gifted weavers, bringing to life images seemingly impossible to draw on paper, find their compositions on the loom themselves. For the rest of us, especially when unified in a collective project, the cartoon is a map, a thoughtful guide, not so much a set of strict directions. Tapestry is a construction, and as such, it evolves in its own materiality. The architect’s blueprint is not the house.
Betty’s stay and her collaboration coming to an end coincides with the completion of the fourth of six sections. As it has been for me all along in this experience with each weaver, witnessing her love and dedication has been uplifting and, as a host, immensely rewarding. Our next collaborating weaver is daughter Yadin. Imagine, it has been over thirty years since we shared a loom.
Yadin Larochette weaving on Wall of Tears.
|
Wall of Tears, in progress
|
Yadin Larochette's Reflections
Weaving March 1 - 14, 2025
Unlike the other weavers on this project, arriving in El Tuito was very much like coming home to me. Jean Pierre and Yael built their house and studio over 25 years ago, and we’d been coming here as a family for decades before then. My first memories of this area involve camping on the river that runs through town and a terrifying encounter with a pig as big as a cow. Granted, I was about 4 years old at the time and a bit smaller than I am now at 55. Size is, indeed, relative.
Climbing onto the loom bench was also a coming home. It has been over 30 years since I’d woven on a low warp loom; my weaving has been limited to Jean Pierre’s vertical student loom. It’s been even longer since I shared a loom with my father. The cadence of colors, textures, and sounds evoked a certain rhythm as we sat side by side. Our pedals changing sheds fell into the orchestra of our surroundings: of crowing roosters, clucking chickens, chirping birds, barking dogs, and the undulating din of people living their lives. The varying textures, colors, and shapes we were working on were reflected in this vibrant ensemble.
Weaving from the back and sideways is natural to me— this is how I was trained, after all. Genetic memory was at play as I built each shape, cognizant of how it related to its adjacent neighbor. The soft curved lines of a hand or ripple of water, the sharp angularity of barbed wire, the straight definitions of the border wall … all were tied together with a shifting light that Yael, as a designer and painter, has mastered.
While weaving, for the most part, came easily, I did have challenges. The varying weft thicknesses and different types of yarns that offer the rich textural qualities to this piece presented a persistent need to adjust and adapt. Silk, mercerized cotton, and different wool types each have their own characteristics. Throw in yarn density, degree and direction of spin, varying number of plies, and different number of yarns per weft color, and I continually needed to shift how I managed each weft pass. Some weft types required generous amounts to cover the warp properly and not pull in at the edges, while others needed a firmer hand to prevent rippling of the surface or expansion of the weaving. My fascination with materials drove me to try to understand how these weft characteristics manifest. I worked on figuring out the perfect ratio of weft to warp for each. Unable to reach a conclusion, I am reminded of the value of intuition and of also remaining perfectly imperfect.
On one of my last days, we went to El Tuito’s community center to hear a presentation on the cultivation of cacao by Mayan descendants from Tabasco (a state about 1000 miles southeast of where we were). The talk was geared towards a group of school children, around 8 or 9 years old. An elder speaker began by addressing the kids, acknowledging their individuality and their power. “We are each a flower, here to make everything around us more beautiful.” He then told them that they are part of a connected web. “Our hearts weave together.” His weaving metaphors continued throughout the presentation, reminding the children over and over again of their interconnection to each other, the earth, and all it offers... My eyes welled up. I couldn’t help but think of the tragic consequences that the polar opposite - division - brings. How the walls we put up, both literally and metaphorically, foster alienation, pain, and suffering. I contemplated the lives lost and the fear, anxiety, and depression manifested.
I went back to the loom that afternoon with an even greater sense of honor to be participating in the creation of this resonant tapestry. This artwork, beautiful to look at, also presents a powerful message and a ray of hope. And how lucky am I to have been born to the two people that brought this to being! I’m grateful for the ancestral blood that links us, for their continual inspiration, and most of all, for their friendship.
Weaving March 1 - 14, 2025
Unlike the other weavers on this project, arriving in El Tuito was very much like coming home to me. Jean Pierre and Yael built their house and studio over 25 years ago, and we’d been coming here as a family for decades before then. My first memories of this area involve camping on the river that runs through town and a terrifying encounter with a pig as big as a cow. Granted, I was about 4 years old at the time and a bit smaller than I am now at 55. Size is, indeed, relative.
Climbing onto the loom bench was also a coming home. It has been over 30 years since I’d woven on a low warp loom; my weaving has been limited to Jean Pierre’s vertical student loom. It’s been even longer since I shared a loom with my father. The cadence of colors, textures, and sounds evoked a certain rhythm as we sat side by side. Our pedals changing sheds fell into the orchestra of our surroundings: of crowing roosters, clucking chickens, chirping birds, barking dogs, and the undulating din of people living their lives. The varying textures, colors, and shapes we were working on were reflected in this vibrant ensemble.
Weaving from the back and sideways is natural to me— this is how I was trained, after all. Genetic memory was at play as I built each shape, cognizant of how it related to its adjacent neighbor. The soft curved lines of a hand or ripple of water, the sharp angularity of barbed wire, the straight definitions of the border wall … all were tied together with a shifting light that Yael, as a designer and painter, has mastered.
While weaving, for the most part, came easily, I did have challenges. The varying weft thicknesses and different types of yarns that offer the rich textural qualities to this piece presented a persistent need to adjust and adapt. Silk, mercerized cotton, and different wool types each have their own characteristics. Throw in yarn density, degree and direction of spin, varying number of plies, and different number of yarns per weft color, and I continually needed to shift how I managed each weft pass. Some weft types required generous amounts to cover the warp properly and not pull in at the edges, while others needed a firmer hand to prevent rippling of the surface or expansion of the weaving. My fascination with materials drove me to try to understand how these weft characteristics manifest. I worked on figuring out the perfect ratio of weft to warp for each. Unable to reach a conclusion, I am reminded of the value of intuition and of also remaining perfectly imperfect.
On one of my last days, we went to El Tuito’s community center to hear a presentation on the cultivation of cacao by Mayan descendants from Tabasco (a state about 1000 miles southeast of where we were). The talk was geared towards a group of school children, around 8 or 9 years old. An elder speaker began by addressing the kids, acknowledging their individuality and their power. “We are each a flower, here to make everything around us more beautiful.” He then told them that they are part of a connected web. “Our hearts weave together.” His weaving metaphors continued throughout the presentation, reminding the children over and over again of their interconnection to each other, the earth, and all it offers... My eyes welled up. I couldn’t help but think of the tragic consequences that the polar opposite - division - brings. How the walls we put up, both literally and metaphorically, foster alienation, pain, and suffering. I contemplated the lives lost and the fear, anxiety, and depression manifested.
I went back to the loom that afternoon with an even greater sense of honor to be participating in the creation of this resonant tapestry. This artwork, beautiful to look at, also presents a powerful message and a ray of hope. And how lucky am I to have been born to the two people that brought this to being! I’m grateful for the ancestral blood that links us, for their continual inspiration, and most of all, for their friendship.
Jean Pierre Larochette's Reflections
March 1 - 15, 2025
In the studio we used to rent in Berkeley in the 1970s, a former corner store across the street from our one-bedroom apartment, Yadin was having a cutting-off party. She must have been ten or eleven years old, like her friend Dolo. There is a yellowing slide of the two of them by the loom, Yadin proudly displaying her tapestry.
In another studio, the one we built with Yael behind the newly acquired house in 1984, yes, just the two of us, with the occasional help of a poet friend (the building is still standing!), there is a picture of Yadin weaving her first commission on a low-warp loom. She must have been about fifteen then, working on one of the many tapestries she wove during that time, before and after her stage/internship at the Gobelins in Paris. She was one of the youngest foreign students ever accepted, I was told. Simone Lurcat, who hosted her in her guest apartment, thought so too. She was so impressed and happy to see Yadin's resolve and dedication.
Only a few years later, we both sat weaving at the same loom on a study piece. We worked from an old Verdure cartoon my father designed in the 1950s. That was the last time we wove together, over thirty years ago.
As with each participant in this project, our conversation – and our silences - brings forth a certain theme, a particular emotion. Some are not easy to explain, or refuse to be condensed in a few paragraphs. Such is the theme of tradition, the awareness of continuity, and valuing the legacy of our ancestors. For Yael and me, weaving is also a ritual, the thread that connects us with reverence to all aspects of existence. To see that Yadin shares this belief, at this moment of global turmoil and disintegration, fills us with gratitude.
Yadin’s response to her generational vocation was to specialize in textile conservation, with a focus on tapestry. We co-wrote a book together, Anatomy of a Tapestry: Techniques, Materials, Care, published in 2020.
Aside from the solemnity of the occasion for this 83-year-old weaver, there was also much laughter and lightness, camaraderie in the journey, and contagious high energy. With these same words, I could describe her company during our backpacking adventures, which we still enjoy. In these two similar journeys, the one we weave and the one we walk, we intend to keep the same purpose in mind: move mindfully, keep in shape - there is a long way ahead – and to be, as she told us when she was about three years old, while camping in the jungle in the mountains of Panama, “I know what I want to be when I grow up: HAPPY!”
March 1 - 15, 2025
In the studio we used to rent in Berkeley in the 1970s, a former corner store across the street from our one-bedroom apartment, Yadin was having a cutting-off party. She must have been ten or eleven years old, like her friend Dolo. There is a yellowing slide of the two of them by the loom, Yadin proudly displaying her tapestry.
In another studio, the one we built with Yael behind the newly acquired house in 1984, yes, just the two of us, with the occasional help of a poet friend (the building is still standing!), there is a picture of Yadin weaving her first commission on a low-warp loom. She must have been about fifteen then, working on one of the many tapestries she wove during that time, before and after her stage/internship at the Gobelins in Paris. She was one of the youngest foreign students ever accepted, I was told. Simone Lurcat, who hosted her in her guest apartment, thought so too. She was so impressed and happy to see Yadin's resolve and dedication.
Only a few years later, we both sat weaving at the same loom on a study piece. We worked from an old Verdure cartoon my father designed in the 1950s. That was the last time we wove together, over thirty years ago.
As with each participant in this project, our conversation – and our silences - brings forth a certain theme, a particular emotion. Some are not easy to explain, or refuse to be condensed in a few paragraphs. Such is the theme of tradition, the awareness of continuity, and valuing the legacy of our ancestors. For Yael and me, weaving is also a ritual, the thread that connects us with reverence to all aspects of existence. To see that Yadin shares this belief, at this moment of global turmoil and disintegration, fills us with gratitude.
Yadin’s response to her generational vocation was to specialize in textile conservation, with a focus on tapestry. We co-wrote a book together, Anatomy of a Tapestry: Techniques, Materials, Care, published in 2020.
Aside from the solemnity of the occasion for this 83-year-old weaver, there was also much laughter and lightness, camaraderie in the journey, and contagious high energy. With these same words, I could describe her company during our backpacking adventures, which we still enjoy. In these two similar journeys, the one we weave and the one we walk, we intend to keep the same purpose in mind: move mindfully, keep in shape - there is a long way ahead – and to be, as she told us when she was about three years old, while camping in the jungle in the mountains of Panama, “I know what I want to be when I grow up: HAPPY!”
All website content pertaining to Wall of Tears was compiled, edited and posted by Mary Lane.