Every essay — page 16
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Weaves
Plain, twill and satin, and what actually separates them — float length, interlacing count, and a satin that cannot exist on six ends.
Why satin shines
Lustre is usually filed under fibre, and silk gets the credit. It is a property of the weave: a cylinder reflects a line rather than a point, so the highlight a cloth returns is exactly as long as its longest float.
Floats and abrasion
A satin is said to wear badly. It does not wear quickly — its flat face spreads the rubbing over more thread than a plain weave's crowns do. What it does is fail badly, and those are different quantities moving in opposite directions.
Does a loose weave tear better
The trade says a twill tears stronger than a plain weave of the same yarn, because fewer interlacings let the threads group. The geometry of that grouping has no weave in it at all — and where the geometry does speak, it predicts the opposite.
Designing to a float limit
Every jacquard designer works to a rule of the form nothing longer than four. It reads as a constraint on a drawing. It is really a statement about how much of the catalogue exists, and the catalogue shrinks as the repeat grows.
Which satins are worth weaving
Manuals give the moves a satin admits as a list, as though the survivors were interchangeable. They are not. Measure how far apart the interlacings sit and the traditional counter turns out to be the best move at the orders a weaver mostly uses — and to fail first at thirteen, where the square root names four and five scatters further.
How many shafts a draft needs
Every quantity this site has counted so far is a property of the cloth. This one is a property of the loom — the number of distinct columns in the matrix — and it is very probably the strongest single predictor of which of the twenty-two thousand four-by-four drafts anybody ever wove.
How many twills a repeat admits
Sixty-four ways of writing a twill on eight ends, and twenty-one twills. The difference is two operations that leave the cloth unchanged, and a catalogue that does not quotient by them is counting notations rather than fabrics.
A honeycomb gets its cells in the wash
The obvious mechanism is take-up on the loom, and the arithmetic says it is wrong: every end of a diamond passes through the long floats and the tight ones alike. What is left is finishing, and a cell is a region that wanted to shrink less than the cloth around it.
A crepe cannot be structureless
A crepe weave is designed to have no line in it anywhere. The correlations of a draft with itself sum to a number fixed by the repeat alone, so structure can be spread and never removed — and on eight ends the floor turns out to be half the repeat, set by a fact about binary words with nothing textile in it.
A hole with nothing crossing
A real leno holds its holes open by crossing one thread over another, which is a topological arrangement and cannot come undone. A mock leno makes the same holes by grouping threads that nothing separates, and everything about it is friction.
A cord is a stripe with no colour in it
Warp rib, weft rib and hopsack are plain weave with its threads doubled, in the warp, the weft, or both. Six of the nine measures this site takes off a matrix cannot tell a 2/2 hopsack from a 2/2 twill, and the three that can are not the ones a weaver quotes.
The three basic weaves do not generate the rest
Every weaving manual opens with the same sentence: there are three basic weaves, and everything else is derived from them. The complete catalogue of the smallest interesting repeat is in hand, so the claim can be checked instead of repeated. Starting from plain weave, every twill and every satin, and applying every derivation the manuals name, reaches nine of the 426 cloths that exist there.
What combining two weaves reaches
The account before it found that the manuals' own operations on their own basic weaves reach nine of the 426 four-by-four cloths, and recorded one exclusion honestly: combination — striping, checking and figuring — was left out, because a combination of two four-end weaves is eight ends wide and so is not a four-by-four cloth at all. Admitting it triples the reach and leaves ninety-three per cent of the catalogue outside.
A float presses on nothing
The rung below expected the float correction to change how a satin's hold compares with a plain weave's, by something like the ratio of their interlacing rates. It does not change the comparison at all — the interlacing rate leaves the answer outside the logarithm and divides straight out of any ratio. What it changes is the absolute answer, by a factor of four, for every weave alike.
The six-end satin that does exist
There is no six-end satin, and this collection proved it in its founding essays. The proof is about satins with a move number. Drop that word — keep one mark per end and no two marks touching — and six ends has exactly one satin, unique up to where the repeat is started, and four ends still has none at all.
A seersucker is made at the loom
Every other relief weave in this collection gets its shape after the loom, from a difference of crimp between two regions of a few per cent. A seersucker's surplus is thirty per cent and is put in as the cloth is woven — an order of magnitude more, which the square root turns into a factor of four in depth and no more than that.
How sharply a weave lets a cloth fold
A fold's length difference is paid for out of crimp, and crimp is not spread evenly along a thread — it is made at the interlacings and nowhere else. So what a fold has to spend is not the weave's average crimp but whatever is inside the few picks the fold crosses, and in an eight-end satin half the warp ends have nothing there at all.
Only a plain weave has one size of hole
A weave's holes come in kinds, and the kinds are read off the matrix. Asking which weaves have only one kind looks like a question with an obvious answer and a one-line proof. Every draft at four by four was built and asked instead, and the count came back fourteen — of which twelve turn out to be telling the truth about the sett rather than about the weave.
A satin's hole is a slot
Two cloths at the same cover have the same open area, exactly, and do not pass the same air. A float lays parallel threads side by side and the hole beside them is long rather than square, and drawing a hole out at constant area cuts what it passes to two fifths — because the hydraulic diameter falls and the shape factor climbs, and both of them move the same way.
What a missing end does to the weave
Every four-by-four draft there is, with each of its four ends taken away in turn: ninety-one thousand cloths, and not one of them falls into layers. What happens instead is worse, and the criterion has never had to report it before.
A mispick is one row in the wrong place
Every four-by-four draft, with each of its picks replaced by every shed the loom could have made instead: a million and a third substitutions. Two thirds leave a cloth that still hangs together, a third leave a thread held by nothing, and the same wrong shed is harmless in one draft and fatal in another.
Which weave hides a fault
The trade says a busy weave hides a mistake. Every four-by-four draft there is was laid out as cloth and given every wrong lift it could have, and ninety-nine in a hundred hand that single mistake a float of seven — because a reversal does not lengthen a float, it joins two.
The other crepe is in the yarn
A crepe weave puts the texture in the matrix. A crepe yarn puts it nowhere the matrix can see: the cloth is a plain weave, and the surface comes from a thread twisted so hard that it shortens by a seventh and spends the rest of its life trying to untwist.
A float reflects into a line
A cylinder cannot return a beam to a point. Its normals sweep the whole half-turn across it and nothing at all along it, so a straight thread throws light into a fan — seen as a highlight lying along the thread, exactly as long as the length of thread that is straight. The lobe of a satin is twice as narrow along the thread as across it; the lobe of a plain weave is exactly round.