Field

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.

The plain. The plain on point paper, a filled square meaning the warp is on the face. Its longest float, its interlacing count and the number of separable cloths it describes were all counted from the matrix that drew it.

A fabric is a structure, not a material

Cotton is a material. Cloth is an arrangement, and almost everything a fabric does follows from how the threads are put together rather than from what they are made of.

The 2/2 twill. The 2/2 twill on point paper, a filled square meaning the warp is on the face. Its longest float, its interlacing count and the number of separable cloths it describes were all counted from the matrix that drew it.

The draft is a matrix

Point paper is not a diagram of cloth. It is a grid of yes-or-no decisions about which threads to lift, which makes a weave a binary matrix and almost every question about it arithmetic.

Whether the cloth is one cloth. Two drafts. Both interlace everywhere, both have short floats, and both look like perfectly ordinary weaves. One is a single fabric and the other is two fabrics lying on each other, and the bars beside each strand say which layer it belongs to.

Does it hang together

A draft can interlace everywhere, have short floats, and describe two fabrics lying on each other rather than one. Nothing about the drawing says so, and the test that does is exact.

The plait braid. A braid written as a word of crossings and drawn from it. Each strand is coloured by the component of the above-and-below relation it belongs to, so a word describing two independent braids rather than one shows as two colours. This one is 1 braid.

Braids and the third thread system

A braid is one set of strands interlacing with itself at an angle, so the question of whether it holds together is the same question a weave answers — and most crossing sequences answer it badly.

The 5-end satin. The 5-end satin on point paper, a filled square meaning the warp is on the face. Its longest float, its interlacing count and the number of separable cloths it describes were all counted from the matrix that drew it.

A weave is a binary matrix, and the whole of this collection rests on it. So it is worth setting down, in one place and precisely, what that encoding decides exactly, what it decides while appearing to decide something else, and the four quite different reasons a real fabric can fall outside it altogether.

A web at 6 fibre lengths squared per unit area. Straight fibres dropped at random positions and random angles. The largest connected group is drawn solid; everything not joined to it is drawn faintly. Whether that group reaches both edges is what decides whether this is a sheet or a heap.

Nonwovens, and what holds them together instead

A web of fibres laid down at random has no repeat, so the exact test for whether a fabric holds together has nothing to work on. What replaces it is a threshold, and the threshold is sharp.

$How often a draft falls apart. Every four-by-four draft in which each end and each pick interlaces at least once, sorted by its longest float, with the fraction that describe more than one cloth. The counts are produced by running the enumeration rather than by recalling it.$

Every cloth there is, at four by four

Sixty-five thousand matrices, twenty-two thousand weaves, and about a dozen with names. The complete census of the smallest interesting repeat is a map of a whole small world, and almost none of it has ever been woven.

2/2 twill: written at 4×4, repeating on 4. On the left the draft as written, with the smallest rectangle that tiles it outlined. On the right the same draft with every translation that leaves it unchanged marked from the top left corner: there are 4 of them, so a fundamental domain holds 4 intersections rather than the 16 the rectangle claims and the 16 the point paper carries. Nothing in the drawing on the left says so.

What a repeat repeats

Point paper is ruled in squares, and the rectangle a draft is written on is a decision by whoever drew it. The unit a cloth actually has is smaller — two intersections for a plain weave, four for a 2/2 twill — and it is not a rectangle at all.

3 cloths on 6 ends. A repeat of 6 ends and 6 picks holding 3 complete cloths, each with 2 ends and 2 picks of its own. The bars beside the strands say which cloth each belongs to; the ceiling at this size is 3, and the longest float is 5 because the face warp passes over every pick below it.

How many layers a draft can have

Of the 22,874 four-by-four drafts this site sweeps, 22,730 are one cloth and 144 are two. None is three, and none can be — a repeat of n ends holds at most n halved cloths, because every cloth needs two ends and two picks of its own before it interlaces at all.

$What four notations can say. Four ways of writing a weave down, with how many of the 426 four-by-four cloths each can express and whether expressing one identifies it: point paper, 426, identifies; a four-part draft on 3 shafts and 4 treadles, 110, identifies; a fraction name, 5, does not identify; a longest-float specification, 426, does not identify. A longest-float specification names every cloth and separates them into only 3 classes.$

Four ways to write a weave down

A weave's name in the trade is a pair of numbers — 2/2, 3/1, five-end satin — and the notation is so universal that it is easy to forget it is a notation. It has an image and the image is computable: of the 426 cloths at four by four, five have a name of that kind, and there are four names for the five.

The force at a crossing. One warp end of a sheeting riding over three picks, with the weave angle Peirce's geometry solves for at that construction: 36.8°. An end held at 0.50 N presses each pick it crosses with 0.599 N, which is twice the tension times the sine of the angle and has no material constant in it. What the drawing cannot show is the relaxed case: a cloth with no tension in it still holds its threads together, and what does the holding then is the yarn's own resistance to being bent, which needs an elastica not available here.

Every crossing is a force

A thread arrives at a crossing at an angle and leaves at its negative, so the two pulls have transverse parts that add. The force pressing one thread onto another is twice the tension times the sine of the weave angle — and for an ordinary sheeting that is more than the tension in the thread itself.

Where a thread stops sliding and starts breaking. A pick of sheeting gripped over a length of cloth, drawn one crossing at a time. The resistance is 0.30 times the 0.599 N each crossing presses with, so it rises with the length held; the breaking load of 3.74 N does not. The two are equal at 7.4 mm. What the drawing cannot show is that μ is a range rather than a constant, so the mark is a band and its position is exactly inversely proportional to the friction.

A thread is held one crossing at a time

Grip a thread over a length of cloth and its resistance to being pulled out rises with that length, because it is held at every crossing it makes. Its own breaking load does not rise at all. The two curves cross, and the length at which they cross turns out to be a seam allowance, a frayed edge and a tuft's anchorage — three rules of thumb with one number under them.

A thread withdrawn from a plain weave and from a satin. One pick of a sheeting being pulled from 1.60 mm of cloth, in a plain weave and in a five-end satin, at a friction coefficient of 0.30. The drawn width of each thread is the tension in it at that point, to a common scale; the faint rules are where the thread actually turns, which is at its interlacings and nowhere else. A plain weave turns 2.80 times per millimetre and a satin 1.12, so the plain weave's tension compounds 2.78-fold over this length against the satin's 1.46. What the drawing cannot show is that the wrap angle is taken from a plain-weave geometry in both panels: a satin's crimp is genuinely smaller, so its real turns are gentler than these and its grip weaker still.

A thread is gripped where it turns

The usual arithmetic for fraying, seam slippage and tuft anchorage counts every crossing a thread makes as a grip and adds them up. A thread lying flat on the surface of a satin presses on nothing at all, and a thread that is gripped is gripped by a friction that compounds along its length rather than adding. Both corrections were recorded as missing and both are here.

Stick, slip, and the ratio between the two coefficients. The force in a thread as a cloth is agitated, with a static coefficient of 0.300 and a kinetic one of 0.225 — a ratio of 0.75, which is what fibre on fibre measures. The force climbs until it reaches the static limit, the contact breaks away, and while it is sliding it resists only at the kinetic limit. So a cloth that is being shaken can be left anywhere in the narrower band, and a cloth at rest anywhere in the wider one. What the trace cannot show is how much this buys: the band does not narrow in the ratio of the coefficients, because the restoring force stiffens away from the minimum, and the real narrowing is nearer 0.87 than 0.75.

Two coefficients, not one

Every friction on this site is a single number, and the account of why a cloth relaxes better when it is agitated depends entirely on there being two. Separating static from kinetic changes what a resting state is: a cloth at rest is held by one coefficient and a cloth being shaken by the other, and the band it can be left in narrows — by less than the ratio, because a cloth's restoring force is not linear in its extension.

A cotton fibre dry and wet. One cotton fibre in its dry state and saturated with water, both drawn at the same scale in both directions. It is 20% wider and 1.2% longer, so its cross-sectional area rises by 44% if the section stays similar to itself. The length difference is drawn and is nearly invisible, which is the point: a swelling that were the same in both directions would make a cloth bigger and change nothing about its structure, and this one changes every ratio of a diameter to a spacing in the cloth. What the drawing cannot show is the section: a cotton fibre is not a cylinder, and the directly measured area swelling of 40% to 42% does not agree with the square of the width change, which is a fact about the fibre.

What water does to a thread

A cotton fibre in water is a fifth wider and a hundredth longer. If it grew equally in both directions a wet cloth would simply be a bigger cloth and nothing structural would follow; because it does not, every ratio of a diameter to a spacing in a cloth moves, and they all move the same way.

A yarn's voids against its fibres' swelling. One cotton yarn's cross-section at a packing factor of 0.60, drawn dry and with every fibre swollen by 20% while the yarn's own outline is held. The fibres now occupy 0.864 of the section, which is above the 0.75 a heavily compacted assembly reaches and above the 0.65 of a spun yarn, so the yarn cannot stay this size: it must grow by at least 7.3%. What the drawing cannot show is disorder — the fibres are laid on a lattice here to make the areas exact, and a real yarn's fibres are neither round nor evenly spaced, which is why the bound is quoted over three packing limits rather than at one.

A yarn's voids are not enough

A ring-spun cotton yarn is sixty per cent fibre and forty per cent air, and its fibres gain forty-four per cent of area in water. The obvious thought is that the air takes it. The arithmetic says the air cannot, and gives a floor on how far the yarn itself must grow with no measurement of a yarn in it anywhere.

The two routes a poplin has to a strain. A poplin drawn in section at three places: as woven, at the end of what its crimp can supply, and past that. Between the first two the warp's crimp falls from 8.97% to 4.85% and the weft takes on what it gave up, and the thread length is 0.4953 mm in both — nothing has stretched, and the cloth is 3.93% longer. Between the second and the third the geometry cannot move because the weft's straight run has vanished, so the cloth's extra 2.0% is the thread's extra 2.0%. What the drawing cannot show is which of the two a piece of cloth has had: the first two states look different and the last two look the same, and it is the last two that differ in whether the cloth comes back.

A cloth gives back less than it took

Everything this collection computes about a deforming fabric is reversible, and no fabric is. The repair is not a new material property: a woven cloth has two routes to a strain, one of them costs its threads nothing and comes back in full, and where the first route runs out is a number about the sett with no fibre in it at all.

The interchange budget against cover, at three yarn counts. The extension a plain cloth can reach with no thread stretching, plotted against its warp cover factor, for 10, 20, 40 tex yarn. The three curves coincide, because every length in Peirce's geometry is a multiple of the yarn diameter and a spacing measured in diameters is a cover factor — so the count divides out exactly and the maximum is at 0.407782 for all of them, at a budget of 7.2857%. That the curve has a maximum at all is the finding: crimp is what a cloth spends, so more of it should be better, and past this cover the weft has nowhere to put what the warp gives up. What the plot cannot show is the balance, which moves the height of the maximum a long way and its position hardly at all.

The most a cloth can give back

The extension a cloth can find without stretching a thread comes from crimp, so setting a cloth closer ought to give it more. It does, up to a point, and then takes it away again — and the point is a cover factor of 0.4078 at a budget of 7.2857 per cent, identical to six figures for every yarn count from five tex to a hundred.

A hole is a channel, not an opening

Every hole drawn so far has been drawn from above, and the sentence underneath every one of them says the same thing: the hole between four threads is the spacing less the diameter, and every hole is the same size. That is a picture of a cloth's shadow. A cloth has a thickness, so its hole has a length, and the narrowest place along it is not the place a person looking through can see.

A cloth is a population, not a thread

Every number in this collection was computed from a diameter, and no yarn has one. Putting the distribution back changes some answers by nothing at all, some by a few per cent, and some by a factor — and which of the three happens is decided by one derivative.

The evenness a cotton yarn cannot be better than. Lay staple fibres down at random and count how many cross a plane: the count is Poisson, its variance is its mean, and the coefficient of variation of the mass per unit length is therefore 1/√n with no material and no machine in it. The lower curve is that floor. At 20 tex there are 118 fibres in the section and the floor is 9.93 per cent; at 5 tex there are 29 and it is 19.86. The upper curve is what a yarn spun at an index of irregularity of 1.35 actually measures, which is the floor times a constant — so the whole shape belongs to the counting and none of it to the spinning. The exponent is exactly −½ and is asserted as such rather than fitted to the curve.

The spread was never free

This collection has taken a yarn's irregularity off a delivery note and used it as an input. It is not an input. Counting the fibres in a cross-section puts a floor under it that no spinner can beat, and the floor is one over the square root of the count.

$The two diameters of a 20 tex yarn. The pressure inside a twisted yarn is zero at its surface, so the outermost fibres are held by nothing but their own buried ends and some of them stand off as loops and ends. A yarn therefore has two diameters: a mass diameter of 167.1 µm, which is a volume divided by a length and is the one every other calculation of cover uses, and a contact diameter of 217.1 µm, which is what a neighbouring thread, a finger or an air stream meets. The gap is a hair layer of 25.0 µm on each side and it is measured, not computed — nothing here predicts hairiness. What is computed is the consequence, and it is 29.9% of the diameter every cover factor is built from.$

The hairs are what touch

The pressure inside a twisted yarn falls to exactly zero at its surface, so the outermost fibres are held by nothing and some of them stand off. A yarn therefore has two diameters — the one its mass gives and the one a neighbour meets — and only the first is in the arithmetic.

The surface of a 2/2 twill, in plan. One repeat of a 2/2 twill in sheeting, drawn 2 × 2 times, with every point painted in the colour of whichever thread owns the outside of the cloth there and at an opacity set by how high it is. The range is 221.0 µm from the highest point to the lowest, the root-mean-square roughness is 74.9 µm, and 30% of the plan is hole rather than surface. The bright ribbons are the float plateaux, where a thread lies straight across the threads it passes over and its outside is a horizontal line rather than a point — which is the whole of what follows. The warp crowns at 190.8 µm and the weft at 182.8 µm, a step of 8.0 µm, so the cloth touches the world on its warp alone until anything pressing on it has sunk that far.

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 bearing curves of 4 weaves in one cloth. How much of the plan is within a given depth of the highest point, for plain, 2/2 twill, satin 5, satin 8 — all in sheeting, all at the same sett, the same counts and the same thickness. They differ only in their drafts. At a hundredth of the cloth's thickness the last of them is touching 9 times the area of the first, and the gap widens as the depth shrinks, because the curves do not merely differ by a factor — they have different exponents. A crown that is a line opens as the square root of the depth and a crown that is a point opens in proportion to it.

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.

The crown line of every four-by-four draft there is. All 22,874 four-by-four drafts in which every end and every pick interlaces at least once, at sheeting's construction, counted by how much horizontal crown line each carries per square millimetre. The bar at zero holds 2 of them — the two plain weaves, and nothing else in the catalogue. Every other draft has a float somewhere, and a float is a plateau, and a plateau is a line of constant height. So the whole catalogue divides into two drafts that touch at points and 22,872 that touch along lines, with no intermediate case, because a float is either present or it is not.

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.

$What it costs to touch a cloth. The pressure needed to bring a stated fraction of the plan into contact, for plain, 2/2 twill, satin 8 in sheeting. Reaching two per cent of the plan takes 2.83 kPa on a plain and 0.05 on a satin 8, a factor of 55. The stiffness in this figure is fitted and is labelled as such. A yarn's resistance to being squashed out of round has no lower bound at all — a bundle of fibres free to slide is a fluid in cross-section — so no bracket exists to compute this from, and what is used is the value this collection fitted to measured fabric thickness. Every curve moves together across its published range, which is why the ratio between weaves survives and the absolute values are quoted with the fit named.$

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.

$The presser foot sinks 1.8 µm into a 2/2 twill. A thickness gauge presses a flat foot onto the cloth at 1 kPa and reads the gap. It does not read the geometric thickness. The foot sinks until the area it is touching can carry the load, and that is 2.57% of the plan at a depth of 1.8 µm — so a 2/2 twill in sheeting whose outside stands 381.6 µm apart measures 379.8 µm. How far the foot sinks is a property of the draft, because the bearing area near the top is, and a weave with plateaux stops the foot in a fraction of the distance a plain weave lets it travel. The transverse stiffness used here is fitted to measured fabric thickness rather than predicted: across its published range the reading moves between 377.0 µm and 380.6 µm.$

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.

$A 20 tex cotton yarn and the fibre standing off it. 6 mm of a 20 tex ring-spun cotton yarn with the hair population this site computes from the yarn's own count and staple — 0.89 hairs per millimetre, every one of them drawn. The two axes are at different scales and have to be — the yarn is 167 µm across and its hairs reach past a millimetre, so a picture at one scale is either a bare line or a black rectangle. Along the yarn is 99 pixels to the millimetre and off it is 74, a 1-fold exaggeration of the vertical. Lengths are drawn from the exponential the model predicts, mean 621 µm; the rules mark one, two and three millimetres with the count a hair-counting instrument reports at each, and the hairs crossing each rule in the drawing are the ones those counts are about. At the yarn's own surface the long hairs cover 1.1% of the space beside it, which is why the picture is mostly gap. Nothing here is the short population, which carries most of the protruding length and none of the reach; and a hair reaching past the room the canvas has is drawn to the edge of it, so the very longest few are shortened in the drawing and not in the arithmetic.$

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.

$A yarn's diameter is a contour, not a length. The fraction of the space beside a 20 tex cotton yarn that is occupied by hair, against height, grossed up from the modelled population by the measured split between the long and short populations. At the yarn's own surface it is 8.9% — the layer is almost entirely gap — and it falls away exponentially from there. Every instrument that reports a yarn diameter is picking a contour of this curve, and the contours are far apart: a threshold that needs half the space filled is never met at all, one that needs a twentieth is met at 355 µm, and a hair counter triggers out at 2353 µm. The earlier model gave the layer a single thickness of 25 µm, which is a fair description of where most of the material is and wrong about its extent by more than a decade. What the curve cannot say is which contour any particular instrument uses, which is a fact about the instrument.$

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.

One hairiness reading does not fix the other. Every yarn on this curve has exactly the same total protruding fibre length — the quantity an integrating hairiness meter reports — and they differ in how that length is distributed. The count of hairs at least three millimetres long runs from 170 to 4354 per hundred metres, a factor of 26, across decay lengths real yarns actually have. The two instruments read two functionals of one population: the first moment N₀λ and the tail N₀e^(−3/λ). A correlation between them can exist only if λ is fixed across the yarns being compared, and λ is a fibre property, so it is not. That is the whole of why the trade's two hairiness numbers have never agreed, and it is arithmetic rather than instrumentation. What the figure cannot show is which of the two predicts anything: the tail does, because pilling, prickle and a printed edge all need reach.

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.

At 0.1 kilopascals the plate is standing on hair. A flat foot pressed onto sheeting at 0.1 kPa, over 3 mm of cloth. It stops 25 µm above the cloth's own crowns, because that is where the hairs it is bending can carry the load: of the 10 hairs drawn, 9 reach higher than the foot and are laid over under it, and the rest are untouched. The vertical scale is set by the approach and not by the layer — 5188 pixels to the millimetre off the cloth against 192 along it — because the foot's height above the crowns is tens of micrometres and the layer it stands in is more than a millimetre, so a picture at one scale shows the second and not the first. The thickness reported is 0.432 mm against 0.382 mm for the cloth itself, so 12% of the reading is a population and not a fabric. The hair layer carries up to 0.23 kPa before the foot reaches the crowns at all. A laid-over hair is drawn as two straight segments where a real one is an elastica: the corner is a convenience and the height it turns at is the measurement. What the picture cannot show is that a bent hair leans on its neighbours, which the arithmetic behind it does not know either.

A light touch never reaches the crowns

A plain weave touches at points and every other cloth touches along lines, and 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.

One canopy, two opposite outcomes, decided by a sign. What a canopy does to a drop, for sheeting raised 32-fold. A rough surface multiplies the cosine of the intrinsic contact angle by its roughness ratio, which here is 2.0 — a hair is a cylinder and contributes πd of surface for every d of shadow. So a fibre that wets at all is driven to complete spreading, and one that does not is driven to a Cassie state sitting on 32.4% solid and air. The dashed diagonal is what the bare fibre would do; the canopy pushes every point away from ninety degrees, in whichever direction it already lay. Raising is therefore not a wetting treatment or a repellency treatment — it is an amplifier, and which one it turns out to be was settled by the chemistry before the raising machine was switched on. What the figure cannot show is which state a real drop reaches, because both are available near the hinge and the one it finds depends on how it arrived.

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.

The force at an interlacing, which no longer lies in the fabric. A crossing of a relaxed jersey in section on the left, with the thickness expanded 3×, and on the right the contact force drawn at the angle the solve gives it — which is a true angle, unlike anything in the section beside it. The head of one course and the feet of the next lie one yarn diameter apart through the fabric, 0.167 mm, so the interlacing is not a point in a plane and the force at it is not in one either. It comes out at 38.30 mN a stitch, turned 11.75° out of the fabric: 37.50 mN along the wales, which is what friction has to hold, and 7.81 mN through the thickness, which is what holds the two faces apart. Divided by the area a stitch occupies the second is 15.1 kPa, or 113 mmHg — a pressure, and the quantity a compression measurement reports.

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.

The contact force turns as the climb grows. The two components of the contact force against the climb, for a 20 tex cotton jersey at a 3.5 mm loop. The force along the wales is what friction has to hold and the force through the thickness is what holds the fabric open, and the second is bought at the expense of the first. At a jersey's own climb of one diameter they are 37.50 mN and 7.81 mN; at four diameters, which is a rib on an open gap, they are 22.39 mN and 18.61 mN. The friction balance is the ratio: friction has the whole force to work with and only the along-the-wales part to hold, so the coefficient a relaxed knit would need falls from a half to 0.490.

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.

A knitted interlacing, and the number that makes it a fabric. Two loops idealised to rings, one drawn through the other, which is what a needle does. The Gauss linking integral returns 1. A knitted fabric of n wales has that between every pair of adjacent courses n times over, and it is the whole of why a knitted fabric can be made from one thread and taken apart by pulling it.

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.

Two courses as centre lines, and their closest approach. The solved course of a 20 tex cotton jersey at a 3.5 mm loop, drawn in plan with the course below it, as centre lines, with the closest approach marked. The interlacing is where the model placed them one diameter apart. The closest they come is 0.130 mm — 0.780 of a diameter — and it is not at the interlacing. A round yarn cannot occupy this arrangement; a yarn flattened to 78% of its round diameter can, and flattened is what a yarn in a fabric measurably is.

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 across a 1800-end warp. Four repeat widths laid across the same 1800-end warp, drawn at the warp's own scale. The pale bands at the two ends are the selvedge threading, 24 ends each, which weaves its own firmer weave and is not part of the design. Between them the body is ruled into whole repeats, alternating so they can be counted, and the marked bands at the two sides are the remainder — the part of a repeat that did not fit, split between the two selvedges because the trade centres the pattern. None of these four repeats divides the body exactly, and the leftovers run from 2 to 24 ends. What the drawing cannot show is what the break looks like: a quarter of a repeat at the selvedge reads as a border and half of one reads as a mistake, and where the line between those falls is a judgement.

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.

What matching a pattern costs a cutting room. The cloth a matched panel needs beyond its own length, against the pattern repeat, for 6 panels of 70 cm. Every panel of a patterned cloth must start at the same phase of the repeat or the pattern breaks at the seams, so a panel's cut length is rounded up to a whole number of repeats. The bar is the allowance a cutting room budgets — a whole repeat a panel, because a panel's length is not a multiple of anything — and the mark is the waste actually expected, which is half a repeat. The two differ by (L + r)/(2L + r), which is between a half and two thirds and is nearer two thirds the larger the repeat. The rows marked in the second colour are the repeats that happen to divide the panel exactly and waste nothing at all, which is what makes the real cost jagged rather than smooth. What the bars cannot show is nesting: a cutting room lays many panels on one length and a short panel can sometimes be taken from another's waste.

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.

The draft for 2/2 twill, as a loom holds it. The 2/2 twill written the way a weaver writes it: the threading above, saying which shaft each end hangs on; the lifting plan to the right, saying which shafts rise on each pick; and the cloth below, which is not copied from the weave but produced by running those two against one another and then checked against it.

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 matched at the top over a 250 cm drop. Two lengths of the same patterned cloth, woven with the warp at tensions of 0.6 and 0.7, which relax by 6.80% and 7.94% along the length, hung side by side over a 250 cm drop and matched at the top, with a mark at every 32 cm repeat. The whole drop is drawn to scale on the left and the last mark at six times the scale on the right: lot B's repeat is 31.61 cm, and 7 repeats down its mark is 27.3 mm from lot A's. A 3 mm match holds for the first 25 cm. What the drawing cannot show is how large an offset an eye accepts across a seam, which the tolerance stands in for.

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.

3 widths of cloth at 2% skew and 0% bow, hung level. 3 widths of a 140 cm patterned cloth hung side by side and joined at their selvedges, with three of its pattern rows drawn across each. The cloth's weft is skewed by 2% of the width and bowed by 0%. Hung level, every width starts its rows at the same height, so each seam shows the skew's 28 mm step. The rows' displacement is drawn 8 times its true size against the width. What the drawing cannot show is the ceiling, pole and hem a real hanging is seen against, which is what a tilt is read by.

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 four-by-four catalogue's crown line, counted three ways. Every one of the 22,874 interlacing four-by-four drafts, binned by how much horizontal crown line it carries, under three counts: both systems summed, which is what the published census reports; the warp alone; and the weft alone. A bearing curve sees one system, because a plate meets whichever crown stands higher and meets nothing else until it has sunk past the step between them. Under the summed count 2 drafts carry none; under the warp alone 494 do, and under the weft alone 494. What the histogram cannot show is which drafts moved, which is most of them.

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.

The bearing crowns of 2/2 twill and 2/2 hopsack, over 3 repeats. The cells at which the warp is on the face, drawn over 3 repeats of each draft — which is the surface a plate meets, since the other system is a step below it. 2/2 twill has 1 component in its repeat and a path that runs the whole way across the cloth, in both directions; 2/2 hopsack has 2 components in its repeat and no path across the cloth at all. Both carry the same length of crown line by the bearing count, and one is a ridge while the other is a field of islands. What the drawing cannot show is the depth of the gaps between them, which is the step to the second system and is a few micrometres.

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.

A cotton's own water is a twentieth of what a cloth holds

A wet cloth keeps water in three places and only one of them is the fibre. A sheeting saturated holds 113 per cent of its own dry weight: 7.5 per cent of that inside the cotton as regain, 39 per cent in the channels between the fibres of its yarns, and 54 per cent in the holes four threads bound. The same construction in polyester, whose regain is a fortieth of cotton's, holds 105 per cent — an eight-point difference from a fortyfold one, because absorbency is a geometry with a fibre in it rather than a fibre with a geometry round it.

The suction water supplies, against the pressure twist supplies. The pressure pressing a yarn's fibres together, against its twist, with the suction inside the menisci of a damp yarn's own pores drawn as a level. The suction is 0.0624 newtons a square millimetre — 2γ over the pore radius of 2.3 micrometres — and it does not depend on the twist at all. The twist's pressure crosses it at about 186 turns a metre, so water is worth as much as the first 186 turns and nothing more: at 600 turns it is 11 per cent of what the twist already supplies. What the chart cannot show is the saturation, at which the suction vanishes because a full yarn has no meniscus in it.

A wet fibre is stiffer and a wet yarn is not locked

The intuitive reason a damp cloth stiffens is that water pulls the fibres together — a meniscus is curved, the pressure inside it is below atmospheric, and the suction presses the assembly exactly as twist does. Computed, that suction is worth the first 186 turns a metre of twist and nothing after them: six per cent of what an ordinary yarn's twist already supplies, and nowhere near enough to stop the fibres sliding. What wetting actually does is fatten the fibres, and a fibre's bending rigidity goes as the fourth power of its diameter — so a wet cotton fibre is 2.07 times as stiff with no contact in the argument at all.

$Which specifications a 30 tex yarn can be woven into. Warp sett across against weft sett down, in threads a centimetre, for a 30 tex cotton yarn. Each cell is one specification. 220 are left empty because no cloth in the catalogue can be woven at those two setts; 16 are filled and outlined in the warp's colour because every one of the 426 can; and 20 are filled and outlined in the float's colour because some can and some cannot. The admissible region is a rectangle because the warp sett and the weft sett are bounded by two different counts.$

A specification can name a cloth that is not there

The three notations measured so far write drafts, and every draft is a cloth somebody could weave. A mill works from none of them: it works from a count, two setts and a weave quoted together, and that is the first notation whose image has holes in it. Of 2,560 specifications across the trade's own working range, 2,097 name no cloth at all — and in the 240 where the weave field decides anything, both numbers the trade quotes to decide it rank the catalogue wrongly.

What one wrong symbol reaches. Five kinds of symbol, with how many of them a document holds and how many intersections of a 1800-by-1800 piece one of them decides. A threading digit reaches 810,000; a jacquard card's hole reaches one. The product of the two columns is 3,240,000 in every row, because each set of symbols decides every intersection of the piece exactly once.

The shortest notation has the longest mistakes

Four essays of this account have asked what each notation can express. None has asked what happens when one is written down wrong, and the answer is an identity rather than a tendency: a notation's symbols partition the cloth, so the count of symbols times the reach of one is the piece, in every notation, with nothing to trade. One threading digit decides 810,000 intersections of a square metre and one of a jacquard's holes decides one — and only the threading can be wrong while the cloth is right.

One wrong threading digit against two. What becomes of a threading when one digit is wrong and when two are, over every draft in the four-by-four sweep: one digit wrong, 252,968 cases, 45.0 per cent refused by the drawdown, 54.8 per cent a different cloth, 0.228 per cent the same cloth; two digits wrong, 1,074,972 cases, 59.1 per cent refused by the drawdown, 39.6 per cent a different cloth, 1.285 per cent the same cloth.

A second wrong digit is silent only by cancelling the first

One wrong threading digit leaves the cloth exactly as it was 576 times in 252,968, all on three-shaft drafts. The obvious guess about two was that silence would become the rule, since two changed digits can swap two shafts and swapping shafts is the harness's own freedom. Counted over all 1,074,972 pairs, two wrong digits are silent 1.29 per cent of the time — five and a half times as often, on fifteen times as many cloths — and never by adding one silent slip to another. Every silent pair is two audible errors cancelling, and at two errors point paper and lifting plans, which can never be wrong silently by one symbol, are silent almost as often.

What a film 80 µm deep touches on a sheeting. The part of a sheeting that a film reaching 80.3 µm below the crowns touches, in plan over two repeats each way, for a 2/2 twill and a 2/2 hopsack. On the 2/2 twill the film is separate patches, and joins at 161 µm, an add-on of 116 g/m² of the 186 that flattens the face; on the 2/2 hopsack the film is separate patches, and joins at 161 µm, an add-on of 116 g/m² of the 186 that flattens the face. The twill's crowns join edge to edge in its matrix and not on the cloth, because two neighbouring ends are separated by the gap the sett leaves.

A ridge in the matrix is not a ridge in the cloth

A 2/2 twill's crowns join into a ridge across its matrix and a 2/2 hopsack's are islands, so a thin film on the twill should be continuous from the first gram and on the hopsack a scatter of patches. Laid on the cloth's own surface rather than its matrix, both films are patches — the twill's ridge crosses from one end to the next, and between two ends lies the gap the sett leaves. On a sheeting both join at the same depth, 116 grams into the 186 that flatten the face, and the weave's whole influence is a window of up to 27 grams at the setts where it opens at all.

Silent threading errors under three lifting plans. For every four-shaft threading of eight ends, under three lifting plans: 2/2 twill, 36,320 of 40,824 threadings can be mis-threaded silently by two digits, 0.97% of double errors and 0.20% of single errors are silent; 1/3 twill, 29,728 of 40,824 threadings can be mis-threaded silently by two digits, 0.55% of double errors and 0.20% of single errors are silent; unrelated rows, 864 of 40,824 threadings can be mis-threaded silently by two digits, 0.0084% of double errors and 0.0000% of single errors are silent. A twill's plan slides one row a pick at a time, so its shafts are interchangeable by a slide along the picks, which is a writing of the same cloth. What the chart cannot show is a plan with more shafts.

Silence lives in the lifting plan

Two wrong threading digits leave a four-end cloth exactly as it was 1.3 times in a hundred, and the question left was whether a longer repeat makes that rarer or commoner. At eight ends the answer depends on something the question did not name. With a lifting plan of unrelated rows, silence all but vanishes; with a twill's plan — one row slid a pick at a time — nine four-shaft threadings in ten can be silently mis-threaded, and even single errors are silent one time in five hundred. The repeat hardly matters. The plan's symmetry does.

A proof plan has no slide in it

A threading error that a 2/2 twill hides is invisible in the cloth and still wrong on the loom, and it shows only when the loom is re-pegged. Re-weaving every silent error under eight other plans says which do the showing. The twill run the other way and plain weave never expose one. A 1/3 twill exposes 44 per cent, a broken twill 70, and a plan of eight unrelated rows all but 864 — and those 864 are not errors at all, because each is the right threading started at another end. So the plans nest: whatever a broken or a point twill hides, the 2/2 hides too, and a threading proved under a 2/2 twill has passed the weakest test there is.

A spin leaves the water a fibre swelled by

A washing machine's spin is a centrifuge, and it drains a cloth in the order its pores give up water: the holes between the yarns at a few g, the channels inside the yarns only far enough from the drum's wall, and the water inside the fibre never. That last reservoir is not the regain. A soaked cotton fibre holds the volume it swelled by — 30 per cent of its dry weight, three and a half times the regain — and it is the floor under every spin speed there is.

An eight-shaft error hides in the row's mirror

At four shafts the lifting plans nest, with the 2/2 twill hiding every threading error the others hide. An eight-shaft loom has satins as well as twills, and their slides are different slides, so the order was expected to break. It does not. Over every threading that puts one end on each of eight shafts, the 4/4 twill hides every double error any of eleven other plans hides, and a satin hides exactly what a 1/7 twill hides, error for error. What decides it is not the slide. Every silent error is an exchange that turns the threading into a copy of itself, the slide accounts for one in six of them, and the rest hide in the row's mirror.

A spun cloth dries by its weight

Every plain cotton of 150 grams a square metre contains the same fibre, and the count only arranges it: the coarsest is three times as thick as the finest. Laid out wet without a spin, the thick one holds four and a half times as much water, all of it in its holes. Spun, every one of them keeps 40.9 per cent of its weight and dries in the same time — because a spin empties the holes, and what it leaves in the yarns is not their volume but the fibres' surface, which the weight has already fixed.

4 drops of 250 cm cut from one roll of a 64 cm repeat, three ways. 4 matched drops of 250 cm cut one after another from one roll of a cloth with a 64 cm repeat, drawn along the roll at its own scale, with the cloth lost between drops shaded and its length written below. A straight match has one place in the repeat where every drop must start, ticked above the roll, so each gap is 6 cm and 18 cm is lost. A half-drop's alternate widths start half a repeat lower, ticked below. Cut in the order the widths hang, A B A B, every gap goes from one class to the other and costs 38 cm, 114 cm in all; cut A A B B, the like gaps cost 6 cm and the job loses 50 cm. What the strip cannot show is the pattern itself, which is the same cloth in every row.

A half-drop wastes less, cut in the right order

A straight match has one place in the repeat where every drop may start, so a cutting room loses half a repeat between drops on average and a whole one at worst, in any order. A half-drop has two, because alternate widths start half a repeat lower — and that gives the cutter a choice the straight match never offers. Cut in the order the widths hang, a half-drop loses exactly what a straight match loses. Cut with like drops together when the remainder favours it and alternated when it does not, four drops of a pair of curtains lose a third less, and a long run half as much: (r/4)·n/(n − 1) a gap, against r/2. The rule needs one subtraction before the first cut.

A bay window's drops cut from one roll, three ways. Four drops of 250 cm and two of 140 cm cut from one roll of a 64 cm repeat, drawn along the roll to scale with the cloth lost between drops shaded. A straight match loses 76 cm at best. A half-drop cut in hanging order loses 154 cm. The same half-drop in its best order loses 44 cm, by keeping the long drops together, where each loses 6 cm, and changing class only after a short drop, which prefers to.

A bay window wastes less than a wall

When a job's drops are all one length, a half-drop's best cutting order has one forced move, because the cutter has to change class once whatever the drops would prefer. Mix the lengths, as a bay window or a window over a radiator does, and each length sets its own price for what follows it. Six drops then lose a quarter of a repeat a gap instead of three tenths. Whether every drop can have its way is the bridges of Königsberg on two islands, and for a straight match mixing the lengths does almost nothing: its order can only choose which drop is cut last.

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