The thread: A weave is a matrix
Plain, twill and satin
Three rules, and everything else in weaving is a variation on them. What separates the three is not appearance but one trade — how often a thread changes face against how far it runs when it does not.
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.
Weaves as plane patterns
A draft is a periodic pattern with two states, so its symmetry is two-coloured. Some operations leave warp-up as warp-up and others exchange the two, and only a balanced weave has any of the second kind.
Colour and weave
Thread the same weave with a different order of coloured ends and a pattern appears that is nowhere in the draft. Houndstooth is an ordinary two-and-two twill, and nothing about its interlacement is unusual at all.
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.
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.
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 diagonal is not a thread
A twill's diagonal is the most looked-at feature in weaving and the most misdescribed. No thread in the cloth runs diagonally. What runs diagonally is a pattern of which thread is on top, which is a different sort of object.
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.
There is no satin on six ends
Weavers have known it as a rule for centuries. It is a theorem with a one-line proof about common factors, and it rules out four ends as well.
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.
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.
The seventeen groups a draft can have
Twelve of them, in fact. The five missing ones all need a three-fold rotation, and no grid of warp and weft admits one at any size — which makes it a theorem rather than an artefact of the census.
The third index is not a repeat
The fancy weaves left three-dimensional weaving open as a possible fifth escape from the binary matrix. It is not one. The criterion that decides whether a plain weave is one cloth decides a five-layer preform unchanged — and what a third dimension actually takes away is periodicity, because a thickness has a top and a bottom and a repeat does not.
What the matrix cannot say
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.
Colour and weave as a two-colour problem
Where the two threads crossing are the same colour, the intersection looks identical whichever is on top. Half of them are, so 22,874 drafts collapse onto 256 surfaces — eighty-nine weaves apiece, and no way to tell them apart.
The hole between four threads
A woven cloth's holes are all the same size. That is not an approximation — it is what a repeat means — and it is the whole reason a woven filter is specified by one number while a nonwoven needs a curve. The number is the spacing less the diameter, which this site has been computing since its first questions about setting.
Twill direction, and how it is named
The two twills are mirror images, and every quantity the matrix can produce is identical for both. What separates them is the yarn, which has a handedness of its own — and the angle, which is forty-five degrees only in a square-set cloth.
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.
Broken and herringbone twills
Reversing a twill is the cheapest way to turn a rule into a figure, and there are two ways to do it that look identical on paper. One of them leaves two adjacent ends doing exactly the same thing.
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.
How many cloths are there
Twenty-two thousand eight hundred and seventy-four four-by-four drafts. Four hundred and twenty-six four-by-four cloths. And the site's own separation rate — the fraction of drafts that look like fabric and are not — more than doubles when fabrics are counted instead of notations, which is the opposite of what was expected.
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.
The weave decides the sett, and two models disagree about it
Ashenhurst's rule and Peirce's geometry both answer how densely a cloth can be set, and for a plain weave they are fifteen per cent apart. Only one of them reaches the other weaves at all, and it is the cruder one.
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.
Backed and stitched constructions
A double cloth is two fabrics woven at once, and the check that verifies it says exactly two. Turn one intersection over and it says one — which means one mistake is enough to destroy the construction, and the enumeration says half of them would do it.
Knit, tuck and miss
A weave is a matrix over two symbols and a weft knit is a matrix over three. The site's central question survives the translation intact: a weave falls apart when its above-and-below relation is disconnected, and a knit falls apart when a needle never knits.
A stripe is a partition of the warp
A striped cloth is not a weave with decoration on it — it is one matrix in which different bands of ends obey different rules. The shaft count is a set union rather than a sum, and of forty-five pairs of standard weaves only three share a single column.
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.
A check is two stripes and a tartan is one
A tartan is quoted as one sett of thread counts because the warp and the weft carry the same order. That is said to make it symmetric about its diagonal, and the arithmetic says it cannot be — the ceiling is three quarters, and a 2/2 twill reaches one half.
A figure is not a stripe
Two sound weaves side by side always make sound cloth — that is a theorem, and it was proved here. Put one of them inside a *region* instead of a band and it stops being true, and whether it is true or not turns out to depend on a number that appears nowhere in either draft: where the two weaves start relative to each other.
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.
Does a double jersey hang together
Two beds knitting with nothing passing between them are two fabrics that happen to have been made at once. Of 6,561 two-bed arrays, 1,135 are fabrics and 50 of those are two fabrics — and 28 of the 50 split across the beds rather than along them, so neither half is a layer.
Only a float can be raised
A raising machine drags wire teeth across a cloth and pulls fibre ends up into a nap. The teeth need something to catch, and what they catch is a float — so which fabrics can be napped at all is a question about the matrix, decidable exactly, and the answer over the whole four-by-four census is two.
What a figure costs the loom
A block design's shaft count does not depend on how wide the figure is, or how deep, or how many blocks it has. It depends on how many *different* block-columns it has, and each new one costs exactly one repeat of the ground weave — 8 shafts, then 16, then 24, in a straight line with no slope to fit.
Which satins are worth weaving
Manuals give the moves a satin admits as a list, as though the survivors were interchangeable. They are not. Measure how far apart the interlacings sit and the traditional counter turns out to be the best move at the orders a weaver mostly uses — and to fail first at thirteen, where the square root names four and five scatters further.
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.
A woven outline is a staircase
A jacquard's resolution is quoted as its hook count, and on a 1,200-hook machine 140 cm wide that is a step of 1.17 mm. The cloth cannot use it. A figure's smallest feature is one repeat of the ground weave, which on an eight-end satin is 3.33 mm — so the machine resolves nearly three times finer than the fabric can hold, and a finer machine buys nothing at all.
How many shafts a draft needs
Every quantity counted so far is a property of the cloth. This one is a property of the loom — the number of distinct columns in the matrix — and it is very probably the strongest single predictor of which of the twenty-two thousand four-by-four drafts anybody ever wove.
How many twills a repeat admits
Sixty-four ways of writing a twill on eight ends, and twenty-one twills. The difference is two operations that leave the cloth unchanged, and a catalogue that does not quotient by them is counting notations rather than fabrics.
The back shaft works hardest
How hard the loom is on a warp end is the product of two numbers from different worlds — how often its column changes sides, which is a property of a binary matrix with no millimetre in it, and the strain of the shaft it happens to be on, which is a property of a machine with no weave in it. Neither knows about the other, and the threading that joins them is a decision nobody makes on structural grounds.
A figure is harder on its warp
Every basic weave flexes all its ends exactly as often as each other — plain, twill, satin and sateen alike, and it is a one-line theorem. Figure one of them on another and that evenness goes, or does not, depending on where the ground weave was started relative to the figure. The same invisible offset that decides whether a fine figure holds together decides, at a coarse one, how unevenly the loom works the warp.
A crepe cannot be structureless
A crepe weave is designed to have no line in it anywhere. The correlations of a draft with itself sum to a number fixed by the repeat alone, so structure can be spread and never removed — and on eight ends the floor turns out to be half the repeat, set by a fact about binary words with nothing textile in it.
A dimension without a state
Every essay in this field turned on the same omission, and collecting them produces a result none of them had on its own — the quantities a cloth's geometry determines divide cleanly into those a finishing works can move and those it cannot, and the division is not the one the vocabulary suggests.
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.
The setts a loom can reach
Transposing a draft gives a perfectly good draft, and every count this site takes off a matrix either is symmetric under exchanging warp and weft or has a mirror twin. The loom is not symmetric at all: over the range ordinary cloth is woven in, it can choose a pick density 99 times more finely than a warp sett — and the warp sett cannot be changed once the warp is drawn in, at any granularity whatever.
What else the relative origin decides
Where two weaves start relative to each other decides whether the cloth holds together, and it has a second consequence beside that. Two is what a search finds when it looks twice. Sweeping every origin against every measure of the cloth turns up a third — the longest float, which is the one property a weaver actually looks at — and turns up an earlier figure caption that says the opposite.
A figured cloth has a step in its surface
A damask is one cloth in one set of threads at one sett, and it is not flat. A thread presses on the thread it crosses only where it turns, so a region that turns less often is pressed less often, flattens less and stands thicker — and the step is a ratio of interlacing rates, read off the matrix with no yarn property in it.
A cord is a stripe with no colour in it
Warp rib, weft rib and hopsack are plain weave with its threads doubled, in the warp, the weft, or both. Six of the nine measures this site takes off a matrix cannot tell a 2/2 hopsack from a 2/2 twill, and the three that can are not the ones a weaver quotes.
A loop has no closure condition
A woven cloth can run out of room: its two systems must supply its whole thickness between them, and past a certain swelling they cannot. A knit has no such equation, so no critical swelling and no pressure. The obvious explanation — that a knit is open and has somewhere to put the swelling — is false, and the arithmetic refuses it.
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 motif is drawn at the wrong shape on purpose
Point paper has one cell per end and per pick, so a design's proportions on the cloth are the ratio of the two setts. Both setts move in the finishing and they move in opposite directions, so a circle drawn as a circle comes back out of round — by three per cent on a balanced cloth and by sixteen on a warp-dense one.
The three basic weaves do not generate the rest
Every weaving manual opens with the same sentence: there are three basic weaves, and everything else is derived from them. The complete catalogue of the smallest interesting repeat is in hand, so the claim can be checked instead of repeated. Starting from plain weave, every twill and every satin, and applying every derivation the manuals name, reaches nine of the 426 cloths that exist there.
What combining two weaves reaches
The account before it found that the manuals' own operations on their own basic weaves reach nine of the 426 four-by-four cloths, and recorded one exclusion honestly: combination — striping, checking and figuring — was left out, because a combination of two four-end weaves is eight ends wide and so is not a four-by-four cloth at all. Admitting it triples the reach and leaves ninety-three per cent of the catalogue outside.
The cloth that was called impossible
This site's own table of fabrics carries a note saying a real 44-end poplin has no solution in its geometry at all, and that the poplin row was therefore set at 32 ends. The cloth solves. What had no solution was the search — a bisection that treated a state it could not reach as evidence of having gone too far, and walked away from the answer every time.
The six-end satin that does exist
There is no six-end satin, and this collection proved it in its founding essays. The proof is about satins with a move number. Drop that word — keep one mark per end and no two marks touching — and six ends has exactly one satin, unique up to where the repeat is started, and four ends still has none at all.
A 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.
A filter is rated by the hole it does not show
A woven filter cloth is sold on two numbers pulling opposite ways: an opening small enough to hold the soil and an open area large enough to pass the water. Both are computed from the same holes, and they are not computed from the same statistic of them. One reads the maximum and the other reads the mean, so a change that improves either can worsen the other without moving a single measurable property of the cloth.
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.
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.