Compound and figured cloths
The harness does not grow
Nearly every account of a loom says the shaft count limits the repeat. It limits the repeat of a straight draw, and of nothing else — a reversed twill on ninety-six ends weaves on the same four shafts as the twill it was made from, and the ratio grows without bound.
What a dobby stores
A pattern chain does not store picks. It stores lifts — the distinct sets of shafts a draft ever raises — and for most drafts worth weaving that number is very much smaller than the number of picks, which is the second half of the reason a wide repeat is affordable.
A jacquard is every end its own shaft
The machine is usually described as the one that weaves anything. What it actually does is abolish one of the loom's two budgets and make the other proportional to the width of the repeat — which turns a constraint on the design's kind into a constraint on its size, and those are very different things to be short of.
A damask is its own complement
The pattern is carried by direction alone. Figure and ground are the same satin, one warp-face and one weft-face, with the same longest float, the same shaft count and the same threading — so the cloth's most famous effect costs it no structural difference whatever between the two areas.
Pile is a third thread system
Velvet, corduroy, plush and carpet all carry threads that are not woven into the ground in the ordinary sense. Two of the three systems make a perfectly good matrix and the third is not in it — so the encoding this whole site rests on has nothing to say about the part of the fabric a hand actually touches.
How a tuft is held
A V-fastened tuft and a W-fastened tuft are both attached, and the integrity criterion returns the same verdict for both. One of them is specified for hotel corridors and the other sheds. What separates them is not a topological property at all — it is an angle, and it needs a coefficient somebody has to measure.
Corduroy is a cut float
An extra weft floats over some ends, a knife runs along the cloth, and each half of the float stands up. So the pile height is exactly half the float's length — which makes corduroy the one pile fabric whose surface is decided entirely by a quantity this site has been counting since its first essay.
Terry needs two beams
A towel's pile is not woven longer. It is fed longer — from a second warp beam let off several times faster than the first — so the loop height follows from a ratio and a pick spacing, and the float length that decides a corduroy does not appear in it anywhere.
Velvet is cut apart
Two ground cloths are woven face to face with a pile warp shuttling between them, and while it does the whole thing is one cloth — the criterion says so, and the pile is the only reason it is true. Then a knife runs down the middle and the same criterion says two. The manufacture is the deliberate destruction of cloth integrity.
Leno is not a matrix
A doup end crosses under its partner between picks and comes up on the other side, so the end at position three on pick two is a different end on pick three. The entry W[i][j] does not name anything. The encoding is not wrong about leno; it is undefined for it.
What holds a pick in
A plain weave grips its weft by the crimp, and the crimp's wrap angle falls towards nothing as the cloth opens out. A leno crossing is half a turn whatever the sett. So the comparison has an exact answer that does not depend on the friction coefficient at all — and no plain weave can ever reach a leno's grip.
The criterion cannot see friction
This site's central check is exact, decidable in linear time, and structurally incapable of distinguishing a carpet from a fabric that sheds. That is not a defect to be repaired — a separation exists or it does not, and there is no margin in it — and the fancy weaves are precisely the constructions that live in the gap.
Where the heddles go
A draft says how many shafts it needs and says nothing about how the ends divide between them. On a satin stripe over a plain ground the two ground shafts carry twenty times what the stripe shafts do — and the only cure is to spend shafts, which turns the threading into an allocation problem with an exact answer.
A tube and two cloths are the same draft
Two separate fabrics, a cloth twice the width of the loom and a seamless tube are the same draft to the last square. The check this site is built on reports two layers for all three and is right every time — because the thing that separates them is four free selvedges, or two, or none, and a repeat has no selvedges in it.
Where a stitch can hide
One reversed intersection turns two cloths into one, and half the intersections in the repeat would do it. Almost none of them may be used — a plain-faced double cloth has nowhere at all to put a stitch, a five-end satin has fifteen places or none depending on which rule is asked, and two satins of the same order differ by a factor of two.
The harness has a depth
Why does a dobby carry sixteen or twenty-four shafts rather than two hundred? The usual answers are about the mechanism — how many jacks a box can drive, how many hooks a dobby has — and they are real limits that are not the binding one. A stated tolerance on warp strain is a stated distance from the fell, and a stated distance is a whole number of shafts. One per cent buys thirteen.
What holds a tuft in, in newtons
The pile ladder computed a tuft's anchorage as a capstan ratio and said, correctly, that a ratio was all it could offer. A ratio multiplies a tension and there was no tension anywhere on this site. There is one now — and the answer, put beside what a carpet is actually specified at, falls short by a factor of three.
The criterion gets a force
This site's integrity criterion decides exactly whether a draft describes one cloth, and has one standing limitation: it says a tuft bound under one pick and a tuft bound under three are both attached, and it is right, and one of those is a carpet while the other sheds. What separates them needs a normal force in a fabric that is not under tension — the number the rung that computed it recorded as unavailable, and the one a thickness gauge now supplies.
A wetting supplies the force the criterion needs
This collection's criterion decides whether a cloth is one cloth, exactly, and cannot see friction — so pricing what it misses needed a contact force, and the only one available had a measured fabric thickness inside it. A wetted close cloth generates one from geometry alone, and it lands within seven per cent of the measured route's answer.
A crushed pile is not held down by its fibres
A carpet flattened under a foot has bent its tufts through a right angle, which sounds severe and is not: the fibres in a five-millimetre pile are strained under two tenths of a per cent, an order of magnitude below the smallest strain anybody has measured a recovery at. What holds a pile down is the tufts leaning on one another.
A leno's hole cannot drift
A filter cloth is rated by its largest hole, and the largest hole grows one micrometre for every micrometre an end moves sideways. What holds an end in place in an ordinary weave is friction at its crossings, and that friction falls smoothly to nothing as a cloth opens — with no threshold to warn anybody. A leno's crossing does not: its ends are wrapped through half a turn by construction, so the grip has no sett in it, and at an open cloth it holds eighteen times what a plain weave manages.
Three mistakes and the shape each one leaves
A loom holds a design in three separate objects, and one error in each of them is the same size of error. What they cost differs by a factor of seventeen hundred — and the largest of the three is the one nobody can see happening, because every thread is exactly where it should be.
A tuft is set so it cannot untwist
A cut pile tuft has a free end, and at a free end the pressure holding the twist is zero. So the twist runs out over a computable length, the tuft opens, and a carpet loses its appearance long before it loses any material.
A chenille is a yarn that is already a fabric
A chenille yarn is a woven gauze cut into strips. Every structural question this collection asks about cloth can be asked about it — does it hang together, how many systems has it, what holds the pile in — and the answers are the same answers one level down.
A pile is the only surface with no crowns
Every other fabric touches on the tops of curved threads, so its contact vanishes as the load goes to zero and the pressure on what is touching rises without limit. A cut pile touches on flat ends left in one plane by a blade — so its contact is finite at no load at all, its pressure concentration is bounded, and it is the only fabric whose abrasion mass loss is an honest measure of its damage.
Hair, nap and pile are one construction
There are three surfaces made of fibre standing off a cloth, and they have been arrived at from three different directions and in three different fields. They are the same object at three settings, and what separates them is not what they are but how much of them anybody decided.
A leno twists what a weave only crosses
Every woven cloth's threads have a linking number of zero, and that is why an open cloth slips. A leno is the one woven structure whose warp ends wind about one another, so it is the one whose threads are linked — and it is famously the structure that holds at setts where nothing else does.
A braid is a third way to hold threads
Weaving holds by friction and knitting holds by linking. A braid does neither: its strands travel across the structure and back, so no pair of them is linked and no pair of them returns to where it started — and it holds without a reed, a beat-up or a sett.
An interchange joins what a stitch would have had to
The rung below spent a whole essay on where a stitch may be put in a double cloth, and found face weaves with nowhere to put one at all. A design in which the two layers change places from block to block needs no stitch anywhere: the boundary is the join. Two blocks side by side make one cloth with not a single intersection reversed, and the same two blocks with no boundary between them make two.
Two layers need two beams
A layer weaving a metre of cloth eats one plus its crimp metres of warp, and a beam delivers one rate. A plain face over a five-end satin back differs by twelve percentage points of crimp, which is twelve metres of warp over a hundred-metre piece and one pick spacing of slack after four millimetres of weaving. The difference has nowhere to go and does not settle — so the only double cloth that can share a beam is two layers of the same weave at the same sett.
The repeat allows four layers and the loom allows two
A repeat of eight ends can hold four separable cloths, and there is a witness that reaches the bound exactly. No loom weaves four. The harness's strain budget buys thirteen shafts and a layer costs its own weave's shaft count, so five-end satin layers stop at two and eight-end satin layers cannot be doubled on a dobby at all — and two differing layers already want a beam each. The notation's ceiling is the only one of the three that is never binding.
A designed thin place is kinder than an accidental one
A slub yarn and a badly spun one can carry exactly the same coefficient of variation, and the number tells a mill nothing about which it has. The designed variation has a floor — its base count, and it never goes below it — while the accidental one has a tail that falls further the more yarn is tested. At 36% CV the slub bottoms at 89% of its mean and the random yarn reaches 24%, and the gap widens from 1.6 to 3.7 times as the test grows from ten gauge lengths to ten thousand.
A fancy yarn has its crimp in the wrong thread
A bouclé is made by feeding an effect thread eighty per cent faster than the core it wraps, so the yarn contains more thread than it is long — which is crimp by this collection's own definition. A cloth's crimp is in the thread that carries the load, so removing it is the cloth's first extension. A bouclé's surplus is in a thread that carries nothing, so pulling the yarn stretches the core at once and the loops never straighten. Thirty-nine per cent of the yarn's mass is on the load path, and the other sixty-one is decoration.
A point tie nearly doubles the float at the turn
A point tie halves the hooks a symmetrical figure needs by driving every hook's end twice, out and back. It mirrors the ground as well, and a satin is symmetrical about no end: across the turn its weft floats 2n − 3 ends, or 2n − 2 between ends, at every hook count and wherever the satin starts. At eight ends that is thirteen or fourteen against seven — and the turn's other promise, more repeats that fit the width, is not kept either.
A brocade weft floats as far as the next figure
A brocade's pattern weft is a third thread, laid on the face only where the figure wants it. Thrown from selvedge to selvedge it floats on the back across the whole gap to the next figure, unless an end is dropped under it — and on a satin ground a dropped end hides only where the ground already interlaces. That fixes the shortest float that shows nothing, at the larger of the move and its complement less one, and puts the smoothest satin ground at odds with the best-bound brocade.
A jacquard harness needs three half-spans of height
A jacquard has no front shaft and no back one, so every end takes the same shed — as long as every cord hangs straight. Across the width they cannot: the hooks sit in a machine a few tens of centimetres wide and the comber board is as wide as the cloth, so an edge cord leans and its mail rises by the difference of two hypotenuses rather than by the hook's lift. Holding the edge shed within five per cent of the centre's takes a fall of about three times the edge cord's sideways reach, and that is a height a room has to have.
A double cloth is only softer if its yarn is set
A double cloth is sold as weight without stiffness: two light cloths in place of one heavy one. Divide the same yarn into two layers and the cloth is √2 or twice as thick, but at the free end of a yarn's stiffness bracket — where an unset yarn sits — its bending rigidity does not move at all, because it is the number of fibres across the width times the stiffness of one. Only a set yarn makes the double cloth the softer, and stitching the layers together pushes it the other way.
The doup end pays for the crossing
A leno holds its picks because its doup end crosses under its partner and comes up on the other side — half a turn at every crossing, whatever the sett. That half turn is also a length. When 0.25 mm ends cross every millimetre, the doup end travels 22.5 per cent further than its partner: twenty-two metres of extra warp over a hundred-metre piece, and a shared beam a pick short within four and a half millimetres of cloth. The extra falls with the square of the crossing interval, which is why a leno is woven from two beams and its crossings are spaced as far apart as the cloth allows.
A bouclé is set by its loops and weighed by its count
A bouclé yarn has two diameters: the one its count implies, a third of a millimetre, and the one its loops occupy, over four millimetres. A cloth jams where its yarns touch, and a bouclé's yarns can touch at either — so its jamming sett is a bracket twelve and a half times wide, from 1.1 to 14 ends a centimetre. The weight follows the count wherever in that bracket the cloth is set, which puts the open end at a twelfth of the close end's weight with four per cent of its area covered by yarn.
An easer gives back the kink the crossed shed puts in
A leno loom gives its crossing ends slack at every crossed shed, and the obvious reason — the doup carrying its end sideways — is worth a hundredth of an ordinary shed. The length is one heddle further back. In the crossed shed the doup lifts the end on the far side of its partner while the end's own back heddle, a few shafts behind, holds it down, and between those two eyes the end climbs eleven centimetres in six and a half. On a loom that stretches an ordinary end 0.46 per cent, that is 5.85 per cent — nearly thirteen times as much — and no position of the back heddle takes it below four.
A bouclé loop is an elastica, not a semicircle
A bouclé's loop was taken to be a semicircle, and the semicircle cannot be right: it meets the core at a right angle, and at eighty per cent overfeed it is wider than the gap it stands in. Solved as what it is — a length of thread leaving the core along the core at two binder points — the loop is taller than the semicircle below an overfeed of two thirds and shorter above it, overhangs at 119 per cent and closes its neck at 559. Nothing of the fibre is in its shape, and the bouclé's jamming bracket at eighty per cent is 11.7 wide rather than 12.6.
A loop has a maximum force in it
A bouclé loop pressed by its neighbour is the same elastica the free one is, with one condition added — at its apex the tangent lies along the core again, so a pressed loop is two half-loops with their rise prescribed and needs no contact solve at all. Solved, the eighty-per-cent loop pushes back with nothing at its free height, twelve millinewtons at four fifths of it, and two and a half at a tenth. A curve with a maximum in it is a softening spring, and the promise this account made — a cloth's position read from its beat-up — cannot be kept, because the whole bracket sits at one pressure.
A bouclé wears from the loops down
A cloth loses its strength before its mass, because a woven cloth's crowns are the very threads that carry the tension. A bouclé inverts it exactly. Its surface is its loops, its loops hang off a core that carries everything, and 61 per cent of its yarn is on no load path at all — so a rub takes three tenths of a millimetre of thread that does nothing before it reaches anything that does, and the cloth is ruined to look at while it is still as strong as it was woven.
A jacquard's harness has a depth after all
A jacquard was said to escape the shaft loom's depth entirely, because every mail hangs at the same distance from the fell. Every mail does, if the comber board has one row of holes — and it cannot. At sixty ends a centimetre the ends are a sixth of a millimetre apart and a cord with a mail on it wants most of one, so the holes are ruled in six rows thirty millimetres deep. The escape is real and it is a factor of eight rather than a release, and it closes as the cloth is set finer.
A damask is the only figure that costs its beam nothing
Figure and ground consume warp at different rates, and the difference accumulates down the length of the figure. An eight-end satin figure on a plain ground puts its two regions fourteen per cent apart, which on a loom absorbing a millimetre of slack bounds the figure at eight and a half millimetres. A damask's two regions are the same satin used two ways, so complementation leaves both float lengths where they were — and their crimps are identical rather than close, to the last bit of a double.
A heddle eye lets the kink through
A leno's crossing end is pulled up at its doup and held down at its back standard, and the length that costs was priced as if both heddle eyes were frictionless. They grip, and gripping ought to trap the kink between them at nearly a hundred per cent strain. It does not come close. A capstan bounds a ratio of tensions, not a difference, and the spans either side are already stretched, so at a coefficient of 0.3 the span between the eyes takes 9.48 newtons against 7.08 with no friction at all — a third more, not fifteen times more — and an easer has to give back 67.9 millimetres rather than 64.4. What friction changes more is when the length is wanted.
A figured warp needs a beam for every share of its figure
Figure and ground take up warp at different rates, so a figured cloth on one beam is bounded in how long its figure may run, and a second beam is the obvious escape. It escapes only for ends that live wholly in one region. An end that crosses the figure for part of the repeat consumes warp at its own rate, and two ends can share a beam only if they spend the same share of the repeat in the figure and never drift a slack apart inside it. So a round figure twelve blocks across needs four beams, ninety-six blocks across needs twenty-nine, and any crimp difference at all — a third of a per cent will do — costs every one of them over a piece.
The second binder buys half of everything
A bouclé's loops are held by their binder, and a snag drags thread from one loop to the next until the thread breaks. The essay before it left that reach at seven binder points on one binder and said a second would square the grip. It does — and because the grip is exponential in the wrap and the reach is a logarithm of it, the reach is exactly inverse in the binder count: 7.43 points, then 3.72, then 2.48. Half of everything any number of binders can buy is bought by the second one, which is how many the trade uses.
Two layers are warmer than they are thick
Six essays have taken a double cloth apart from the draft's side. None has asked what the reader gets. Divide one cloth's yarn into two layers and the fabric is 41 per cent thicker — √2, which is the account's own law — and about 70 per cent warmer, because dividing the yarn also divides the fibre fraction and the mixture conducts less. The gap widens with every further layer and never closes, and a shaft loom stops at two.
A cam easer gives its slack too early
The essay before it left the crossing end with fifteen millimetres it could not use at half the shed, and three things it might do with them. All three are decidable. It cannot reach the shuttle, because the same eyes that trapped the kink keep the slack behind the harness — and the margin is negative, so that friction is not a nuisance here but the reason a leno weaves at all. It cannot snarl, because the span is under half this account's own threshold. It sags seventy-two millimetres where the easer gives it, and the repair is a cam cut to the demand rather than to the shed.
A stitch takes back what the parallel rule cannot see
Dividing a cloth's yarn into two layers makes it warmer than its thickness, and the essay that found it computed the warmth by the one mixing rule that cannot see a stitch — the one that treats every fibre as though it ran straight through the cloth. That rule gives the largest bonus there is. Yarn in a cloth lies in its plane, and by the rule for fibres lying across the heat's path a double muslin's bonus is 8.4 per cent, not 18.8. A stitch is the one fibre that does run through the cloth, and at half the intersections it takes the whole bonus back.
A blade leaves loose fibre in every tuft
The account of hair, nap and pile ended on a clean claim: a blade collapses a population's length to one value, so a cut pile has no tail and nothing in it reaches past the rest. The tips are one length. The fibres are not. A tuft cut from staple yarn is a length of yarn with fibre ends scattered along it, and every fibre end that lands in a leg leaves a piece between it and the blade that nothing in the draft holds — a fifth of the pieces in an ordinary wool carpet, none in a filament one.
A figured warp pays in tension before it needs a beam
Figure and ground take up warp at different rates, and counted against a fixed slack, any difference at all — a third of a per cent — made a round figure need four beams. A real let-off holds tension, not length. Ends that consume more pull harder, and an end pulled harder gives up crimp, until every end consumes alike. For an eight-end satin figure on a five-end satin ground that costs a hundredth of a newton an end, and one beam serves. For a satin on plain it costs more crimp than the ground has, and no tension will do.
A leno easer should be a light weight
A spring easer gives length when the crossing end pulls, so it cannot give it too early, which was the fault in a cam driven off the shed. The question left was its rate. The answer is that it hardly has one. Behind the harness the easer feels the back span, and two gripping eyes keep that span within fifteen per cent of its resting tension while the kink carries its load. So the spring must hold its span almost constant over a sixty-eight-millimetre stroke: at most 1.1 newtons a metre per end, a dead weight in all but name. At speed the bar's own mass is what limits it, and it falls with the square of the loom's speed: 2.3 grams an end at a hundred picks a minute, 0.6 at two hundred.
A cut pile sheds in two stages
Every cut tuft of staple yarn holds loose fibre pieces that nothing anchors but the twist, and at the tip the twist holds nothing: it runs out over a length the grip arithmetic already gives, five and a half millimetres in a wool carpet yarn. A loose piece lying wholly inside that run-out is free the day the carpet is laid; one reaching below it is held until walking opens the tip's twist. So the reservoir drains in two stages, and the pile height decides the split. A velvet sheds everything it will ever shed at once. A twelve-millimetre wool carpet sheds a fifth of its reservoir at once and four fifths later. A shag sheds almost nothing at first and fourteen per cent of its fibre eventually.
A figure woven on one beam shows its columns off the mirror
A figured warp shares one beam by letting the columns that want more yarn pull tighter until every column consumes alike. With the figure allowed to give crimp as well as the ground, the tightest column of a satin disc on a twill needs 0.013 to 0.042 newtons, under a tenth of the working tension. Its warp lies tens of micrometres lower, a relief too small to see. At the mirror it shines exactly as a slack column does. A few degrees off the mirror, along the warp, its crossings stop reflecting before a slack column's do, and the figure's own columns appear as bands in the ground. Only a damask has none.
One weight under a leno pair ends on one end
A leno's crossing end wants about seventy millimetres eased to it at every crossed shed; its partner lies in the bottom of the shed as an ordinary end and wants none. One weighted bar under both is set where the closed shed shares its weight between them, but the partner can take only eleven millimetres before it hangs, and it is slack by three eighths of the shed. From there the crossing end carries the whole weight, twice the rest its own bar would hold it at, and its tightest span ends forty per cent over the working tension while the partner hangs thirteen centimetres behind the harness. No weight serves both, because a bar gives every end it carries one length.
A leno's slackener eases the partner, not the doup
In a bottom-doup leno the doup's loop passes beneath the partner, and if it lifts the partner on its way up it puts a second turn six millimetres in front of the partner's heddle. A four-millimetre lift bends the partner through 74 degrees in two places, and its front span goes from 1.07 newtons to 1.48 — a tenth of that from the bend and the rest from grip. The back span, which is all an easing bar can feel, does not move. A slackener that drops the doup's standard four millimetres clears the partner exactly, gives the crossing end six per cent of its easing, and costs the shuttle nothing.
A leno's slackener only has to arrive
A slackener that lets the doup down in step with the loop keeps a leno's partner clear at every moment of the shed, and it looked as though a real one would have to track that closely. It does not. A partner's tension only rises as the shed opens, so a slackener can leave its whole drop until three quarters of the way up and the peak does not move at all. Lateness is paid for elsewhere: starting later than 0.58 of the shed rubs the loop more than having no slackener, and above 234 picks a minute a falling weight cannot start as late as the partner would let it.