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What cloth is
A fabric is a structure before it is a material. Interlacement, the draft as a matrix, and the question of whether a cloth holds together at all.
A cloth has an outside
Every quantity in this collection is a property of the inside of a fabric — a crimp, a cover, a hole, a fibre count. None of them says where the cloth stops. The outside is a height field the draft computes, its crowns stand at two different levels, and which of the two is higher decides what the cloth touches the world with.
The curve that says what a cloth touches with
Take a cloth's surface and ask what fraction of the plan lies within a given depth of its highest point. The answer is one curve, it answers every question of the form what does this touch, and its behaviour at the top is decided by a single bit of the draft — whether the longest float is one crossing or more than one.
Two drafts of twenty-two thousand
Every four-by-four draft there is, measured by how much horizontal crown line its surface carries. Two of them carry none — the plain weave and its translation, and nothing else in the catalogue — and the quantity turns out to be smallest for the most balanced cloths and largest for the most one-sided, which is the opposite of what a float count suggests.
How much of a cloth is touching
Press a fabric against a flat plate with the weight of a hand and ask what fraction of it is actually in contact. The bearing curve answers, and the answer is about four per cent — of which the great majority is not the cloth's surface at all, but the hairs standing off it, which nothing in this arithmetic can see.
A thickness gauge reads the draft
A presser foot does not stop at the top of a cloth. It sinks until the area it is touching can carry the load, and how far that is depends on the shape of the bearing curve near the top — which is a property of the weave. So there is a weave term inside a measurement nobody thinks of as a weave measurement, and it is worth about one per cent.
A yarn's surface is a distribution
This collection has computed where a cloth stops, and every one of those numbers is a statement about yarn. What a finger, a plate, a droplet or a ray of light actually meets first is a population of fibre ends standing off the yarn — and it is a population, with a count and a length, rather than a layer with a thickness.
A yarn has a diameter for every instrument
Conservation of volume gives a yarn one diameter and every other route gives a different one. The disagreement is not experimental scatter: a yarn's outside is a coverage that falls away exponentially, and each instrument stops at whatever contour of it will trigger the instrument.
Two hairiness meters read two moments
The trade has two instruments for yarn hairiness and thirty years of failing to predict either from the other. They are not measuring the same thing badly. One reports the first moment of a distribution and the other reports a tail probability, and two functionals of one curve are related only through a parameter neither of them reports.
A light touch never reaches the crowns
This collection found that a plain weave touches at points and every other cloth touches along lines, and that the difference is an exponent rather than a factor. It is a real result about a real surface, and at the pressures a fabric is actually touched at, nothing ever reaches that surface.
The hairs decide the sign of the wetting
Raising a cloth is not a wetting treatment and it is not a repellency treatment. It is an amplifier, and which of the two it turns out to be was settled in the dyehouse before the raising machine was switched on — by whether the fibre's own contact angle was above or below ninety degrees.
What a thickness gauge reads on a knit
The structure says two yarn diameters and the gauge says more, and the gap is not an error in either. A gauge lands on the highest crowns, through a canopy of protruding fibre, under a load that has already begun to compress both — and it does that on a surface that is nothing but crowns.
Every fabric's thread lies in a plane
A woven thread's crimp wave lies in a plane at right angles to the cloth. A knitted loop lies in a plane twelve degrees off it. Both halves of this collection turn out to be one picture with one angle in it, and the angle decides how much of a fabric's contact force acts through its thickness.
Why a knit runs and a weave frays
The two fabrics fail in two ways and everybody knows which is which. This collection has described both accurately for eighteen phases without being able to say what causes them, and the cause turns out to be one integer each: nought for a cloth, one per wale for a knit.
The closest approach is not the crossing
Two wavy curves that touch at a point are not necessarily closest at that point. Whether they are depends on one thing: whether they run alongside one another or cross. That distinction decides which of this collection's two fabrics fits together and which does not.
Where a yarn is thinnest
A yarn in a fabric is pressed where it crosses and free where it does not, so its section changes along its own length. Every flattening this collection has ever quoted is a single number for a profile that runs from four fifths of a diameter to nearly four.
A fabric is a population of contacts
Only a fifth of a knitted fabric's yarn is inside a diameter of its neighbour. So a fabric's friction lives in a fifth of its length, and every calculation this collection makes about withdrawal, slippage and fraying has assumed it lives everywhere.
A repeat has to fit the width
A repeat tiles the plane and a warp has two edges, so somewhere between them a repeat is cut through. The set of repeat widths that divide a warp exactly is the set of divisors of its body, and a body of a few thousand ends has a few dozen — two to eight per cent of the candidates. So a designer choosing a repeat for any reason except the width chooses one that does not fit, and the leftover averages half a repeat, split between the two selvedges.
A repeat has to fit the panel, and the panel is cut
The warp's width is fixed at warping and a piece's length is not, so the fitting problem in the two directions is not the same problem. Along the length a repeat has to fit a *panel*, because every panel of a patterned cloth must start at the same phase or the pattern breaks at the seams — and the allowance is a whole repeat per panel. A ten-centimetre repeat costs a seventy-centimetre panel twelve and a half per cent and a sixty-four-centimetre repeat costs it forty-eight.
A profile draft is a notation whose alphabet is weaves
The rung below measured four notations for a single weave and left open the notations for something larger. A profile draft is the first of them: a grid of blocks, each carrying a figure weave or a ground weave. Its image is enumerable and it is tiny — every pair of two-by-two weaves against every assignment of two-by-two blocks reaches 306 of the 22,874 interlacing four-by-four drafts, which is 1.34 per cent. And the 306 are the ones anybody weaves.
A lifting plan says nothing without a threading
The second of the notations for something larger than a weave is a pair, not a notation: a threading and a lifting plan, and neither alone expresses anything. The pair's image is exactly the drafts with no more distinct columns than there are shafts — 98 at two shafts, 5,282 at three, all 22,874 at four — and it is not nested with the profile draft's in either direction. The profile reaches 192 drafts that need all four shafts, and misses 64 of the 98 a two-shaft loom weaves.
Two lots of one cloth drift apart down a drop
A pattern repeat is a count of picks, and its length in the finished cloth is whatever that count's loom length became after the cloth gave back its crimp. Two lots woven with the warp held a tenth harder give back 1.13 points more of their length — so matched at the top, two lengths from the two lots are thirty millimetres apart at a 250 cm hem, and visibly apart a quarter of a metre down. The size of the repeat does not enter, and no cutting allowance can take it out.
A skew steps at every seam and a bow at none
A finished cloth's weft rows are seldom square to its selvedges, and on a patterned cloth the weft rows are the pattern rows. A skew — rows straight but slanting — puts its whole rise across every seam where two widths meet: two per cent on a 140 cm width is a 28 mm step, and matching the steps out tips the whole hanging instead, 112 mm across four widths. A bow — rows curving between level selvedges — matches perfectly at every seam and scallops each width in between. A three-millimetre match needs a skew under a quarter of a per cent, and down the seam a lot difference overtakes it.
The census counted two systems and a surface has one
Two drafts of twenty-two thousand touch at points, and the two are the plain weave. That is a count of the crown line both systems carry, and a bearing curve sees one: a plate meets whichever crown stands higher and meets nothing else until it has sunk past the step. Counted the way a surface is read, 494 drafts touch at points rather than two — and which 494 depends on a crimp division already called a convention rather than a measurement.
Four drafts in five have no path along their own crowns
A 2/2 twill and a 2/2 hopsack carry exactly the same length of bearing crown line, which the surface census noted and could not explain. One of them is a ridge running diagonally across the cloth without a break; the other is a field of square islands with no path between them. Counted over the whole catalogue, 4,016 of 22,874 drafts have a crown path that reaches the far side, 1,616 have one in both directions, and 130 have crowns with no neighbour at all.