This brings us to my experimental fiber arts, where we make do with what we have, and we don’t judge the chaos of it all. Fiber arts is craft, craft is a human act, and human acts are by nature very messy. (At least that’s what I tell myself). In my quest to learn more historical and ancient techniques, my most recent experiment has been tablet-weaving. 

Tablet-weaving (also called card weaving) is an ancient method of weaving narrow decorative strips of fabric, often with decorative geometric designs. It involves holed cards called “tablets” through which the warp threads are threaded through. 

For non-weavers, the warp refers to the structural threads of the fabric which are tensioned to create a basic “skeleton”. The tablets/cards are used to separate the warp to create a shed – the gap – where the weft thread is then passed through to create the fabric.

Below are some diagrams which illustrate what that looks like (fig 1 and 2).

Fig 1: Tablet-weaving warp thread positioning in relation to the weaver, Alexandra Makin

Fig 2: The weft thread is tied around a tiny shuttle and pushed through the triangular gap (the shed), and the warp is threaded through the tablets, Shelagh Lewins

I’m hoping to continue practicing the different methods for tablet-weaving until I’m able to recreate a historically-adequate Medieval tablet-woven belt for my Renaissance faire outfit in the fall (fig 3). I will also need to learn how to sew garments, which I’m really bad at right now. I’ll work on that too, and make a separate blog post.

Fig 3: Detail of BM Troyes MS 0060.f.209, Italy, late 1100’s

Below is my tablet-weaving set-up that we improvised at work (fig 4). No, it is not particularly glamorous. We threaded these cardboard weaving tablets, each with four holes in each corner and labeled from A-D clockwise (fig 5). We used binder clips to attach two wooden shuttles for weaving to the top of a chair, and then wrapped the warp threads around the shuttles, making sure to correctly position the tablets. 

Fig 4: Our improvised tablet-weaving set up on a chair.

Fig 5: A proper tablet-weaving set-up on an inkle loom with labeled cards, Schacht Weaving

I made a tiny little bookmark with the characteristic tablet-woven diagonal patterns (fig 6). Yippee! It’s quite ugly, but all first projects are. You can see how the warp threads (the yellow and the blue) completely overtake the orange thread (the weft) on almost every pass – this is due to the twisting of that warp that happens when you position the tablets.

Fig 6: Wee tablet-woven bookmark by me

Soon, I will have a small 3D-printed rigid heddle loom to better tension my warps (fig 7). If you are also interested in this craft and have access to a 3D printer, there is a pattern here from Thingiverse. But until I have assembled that, securing my warps to sticks on a chair or table legs will have to do. 

Fig 7: Design for 16 inch 3D-printed rigid heddle loom, by ten16 on Thingiverse

If you want to follow along with the next tablet-woven project I am attempting with my chair stick set-up, here is the link to the free pattern by Shelagh Lewins I am using to recreate the 9th-century Oseburg band (fig 8). Till next time!

Fig 8: Modern recreation of the Oseburg band, Shelagh Lewins

Further Reading:

http://ladyelewys.carpevinumpdx.com/tag/tablet-weaving/

https://alexandramakin.com/2021/01/01/early-medieval-mostly-textiles-7/

http://www.lindahendrickson.com/links.htm#TABLET%20WEAVING

The factors to consider are as follows, though these are by far not all of them. A few I won’t even mention, simply because I don’t want to get into it today.

1. Safety: If I could ignore the threat of lead or arsenic poisoning, or even just ignore the hypochondriac in me screaming about mold and bacteria and all sorts of other hazards that come with historical textiles, I would. But I simply cannot. Safety is paramount. OSHA is a blessing. Let us all be thankful for safety protocols, legal protections, and hopefully prevent our future generations from further harm in this New Age of Microplastics Everywhere.

2. Structural integrity: Wearing historical textiles puts them at risk of damage. Duh. Way to state the obvious. There are a whole multitude of risks. The oils on your skin, leaving a near imperceptible stain. A loose hangnail ripping out a thread, which becomes a small hole, which then becomes a gaping hole. Exposure to the light, which lightens the dyes and weakens the fiber. Anything and everything. Textiles are so delicate and so few of them survive in the historical record — preservation is key.

3. Public opinion: It is simply not stylish anymore to wear a hennin headdress daily or humongous shoulder pads, no matter how much I wish it was. But fashion is cyclical, as we all know. Sometimes you blink and suddenly the early 2000s are back in style and we’re all wearing mood rings and capris again. As someone who always dreaded the day that skinny jeans would be back in fashion, I say screw the cycles! Though I am often a victim to them myself. I say this, staring wistfully at the very low-rise bell bottoms I bought at the thrift store that I’m too scared to wear outside.

In a completely hypothetical situation where I could just ignore these factors, like say, in an Ocean’s Eleven-style or Hustlers-style heist, these are the outfits I’d wear — loosely ranked by how much I like them and how much real estate they take up in my monkey brain. Some of them are stunning and perfectly understandable choices and some of them are a bit more… questionable.

Crinoline dress, France, 1866 © The Kyoto Costume Institute

Starting off strong with this sugar-sweet dress in the Kyoto Costume Institute’s collection. Let’s not think about the sheer impracticality of a crinoline dress. Or the deadly fire hazard that is the crinoline itself, which was made of very flammable material and very cumbersome to wear and to remove. I want to twirl around the dance floor in this gown and look like an overly stacked and decorative cupcake while I’m at it. And maybe catch fire while dancing with my lover in a candlelit ballroom. What a way to go, am I right?

Rag Book Pedlar Girl, 1910-1930 © Victoria and Albert Museum

Not going to lie to you, I really and truly would wear this today if I could. And if it came in an adult size. Dean’s Rag Books were children’s books printed on washable fabric, meant to be soft to the touch and more hygienic for kids than paper. This outfit is made out of pages from these books and is technically meant to be an advertisement prop, displayed in a storefront and not actually worn by anyone. I adore the sheer whimsy of wearing book pages as clothing and I would unironically walk outside like this. No judgment, please.

Dress ensemble, 1865-1868 © Toronto Metropolitan University Fashion Research Collection

A little arsenic poisoning never hurt nobody. I can be trusted with arsenic green dyes. This vivid apple-green dress, in the Fashion Research Collection, lives rent-free in my brain at all times. Not only is it one of my favorite shades of green, it has also tested positive for arsenic! I cannot resist the allure of something so beautiful yet so dangerous. I am weak like that. The same philosophy applies to my type in people as well as in dresses.

Costume dress, c. 1904 © Fashion Museum Bath

Because it’s nearly Halloween, I feel as though I am legally obligated to include one fancy dress outfit as my grand finale. A fancy dress party is simply another term for a costume party. Fancy dress balls have been popular in Europe since at least the 19th century. This champagne bottle dress, worn at a fancy dress party in 1904 and accompanied by a quirky matching coiffe, would probably still be a hit at any good costume party today.

What historical outfit would you like to wear to a costume party? (Or on a regular day out — I won’t judge!)

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