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.
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.
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.
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.
A thread is gripped where it turns
The arithmetic this site has used 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.
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 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 this site has counted so far is a property of the cloth. This one is a property of the loom — the number of distinct columns in the matrix — and it is very probably the strongest single predictor of which of the twenty-two thousand four-by-four drafts anybody ever wove.
How many twills a repeat admits
Sixty-four ways of writing a twill on eight ends, and twenty-one twills. The difference is two operations that leave the cloth unchanged, and a catalogue that does not quotient by them is counting notations rather than fabrics.
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.
How sharply a weave lets a cloth fold
A fold's length difference is paid for out of crimp, and crimp is not spread evenly along a thread — it is made at the interlacings and nowhere else. So what a fold has to spend is not the weave's average crimp but whatever is inside the few picks the fold crosses, and in an eight-end satin half the warp ends have nothing there at all.
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.
A figure shows by its shine, not its step
A damask is one cloth in one colour and its pattern is plainly visible. This collection attributed that to the step in its surface — fifty micrometres of relief, computed from the interlacing rates. The step is real and returns almost no light. What makes the figure visible is that its crowns run at right angles to the ground's, so the two trade places when the cloth is turned.
Only a plain weave has one size of hole
A weave's holes come in kinds, and the kinds are read off the matrix. Asking which weaves have only one kind looks like a question with an obvious answer and a one-line proof. Every draft at four by four was built and asked instead, and the count came back fourteen — of which twelve turn out to be telling the truth about the sett rather than about the weave.
A 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 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.
What a missing end does to the weave
Every four-by-four draft there is, with each of its four ends taken away in turn: ninety-one thousand cloths, and not one of them falls into layers. What happens instead is worse, and the criterion has never had to report it before.
Hair, nap and pile are one construction
This site now has three surfaces made of fibre standing off a cloth, 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 mispick is one row in the wrong place
Every four-by-four draft, with each of its picks replaced by every shed the loom could have made instead: a million and a third substitutions. Two thirds leave a cloth that still hangs together, a third leave a thread held by nothing, and the same wrong shed is harmless in one draft and fatal in another.
A tone ramp is a valley, and the satin digs it
A shading's tone is exact and its lustre is measured; its thickness is neither, and nobody specifies it. A firmer weave is pressed harder at every crossing and finishes thinner, so an eight-end shading sinks eighty-four micrometres between its ends and its midtone — about a third of the cloth's whole thickness, on every cloth tried. Build the same chain on a twill instead of a satin and the sag is exactly nothing.
Which weave hides a fault
The trade says a busy weave hides a mistake. Every four-by-four draft there is was laid out as cloth and given every wrong lift it could have, and ninety-nine in a hundred hand that single mistake a float of seven — because a reversal does not lengthen a float, it joins two.
A tone step does not need a satin
Every account of shading builds its tone steps out of satin cosets, and at four ends and at six there is no satin to build them from. The construction was never about satins: what a tone step actually needs is that every end and every pick carry the same number of marks, which makes a chain of them a Latin square. A four-end repeat has twenty-four of those and a six-end repeat 1,128,960.
A weave is a halftone screen with n greys
An eight-by-eight cell of dots gives a printer sixty-five levels of grey. The same cell in cloth gives seven. Sixteen of the missing fifty-eight go to the requirement that every thread reach both faces and forty-two go to the requirement that every thread carry the same number of marks — so evenness, not interlacing, is what a weave pays for its tone scale.
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.
A colour order beats the weave it is threaded on
The reed's grouping beats against the weave repeat and the arithmetic is a least common multiple. A colour order is a second grouping of the same warp and the arithmetic is identical — but where the reed's beat is a fault to be dented out of a cloth, the colour order's beat is the pattern the cloth is sold for. Across 472 colour orders on four weaves the divisor bound is the surface's exact repeat in 470 or more, and the handful that beat it have no pattern left at all.
Lustre is a length times a width
The specular area of a cloth factors exactly: a length of crown line, which the draft supplies, times a width of section within the tolerance, which the yarn and the finish supply. Neither factor knows anything about the other, and over the four-by-four catalogue the first alone spans a factor of sixty.
Where a two-bed fabric's yarn is
Thirteen named structures, and for each of them the share of its yarn that crosses between the beds — read off its own traverse rather than quoted. It separates the fabrics into three groups, and one of the groups turns out not to be a fabric at all.
A damask's edge floats further than its figure
Figure and ground in a damask carry the same longest float, which is true of both areas and false along the line between them. A float can cross the edge where two tones meet, and when one tone's marks lie inside the other's it can never be longer than a float either tone already has. A damask built as an exact complement is the one place in n that its ground can start which breaks this, and it floats n picks at its edge against n − 1 inside.
A crepe is flat in its draft and not in its surface
A crepe weave is chosen by pushing the draft's correlations as flat as they will go. That criterion turns out to tie: on the base this collection uses, 4,416 of the 5,040 rearrangements reach the floor. Sixteen of them additionally spread their crown line perfectly evenly — and the crepe actually drawn is not one of the sixteen.
Which knitted fabrics lie flat
Curl was explained here by counting face changes between courses, which works for stockinette and garter and reaches nothing else. The same question turns out to be a signed sum over a structure's own grid — and it answers for every fabric a two-bed machine can make, including the ones nobody has a rule for.
A tube and an interlock balance for different reasons
Two structures come out identically flat on a signed count and are as unalike as two knitted fabrics get. One is two jerseys that curl in opposite directions and are joined at the edges; the other is a fabric whose every course crosses. Telling them apart needs a different question asked of the same grid.
A weft stripe is counted in pairs of picks
A warp's colour order is laid out once at warping and the loom never has to think about it. A weft's is thrown, one pick at a time, by shuttles that cross the cloth and stay where they land. On a loom with boxes at one side that makes every coloured band an even number of picks; with boxes at both sides it admits odd bands and pays for them in shuttles; and a tartan, which uses one order in both directions, is designed for its weft whether its designer knew it or not.
A woven cloth is not linked at all
Every thread in every woven cloth passes over its neighbours and comes back. None of them passes through. So the linking number of any two threads in any weave is zero, at any crimp, permanently — and almost everything a cloth does that a knitted fabric does not follows from that one number being nought.
No weave draws an unbroken line one thread wide
A pinstripe is drawn on point paper as a single coloured column, and in cloth a single end is on the face only where it is up — so in every weave that interlaces, a line one thread wide has gaps in it. Neighbours of the same colour fill each other's gaps, and the fewest that leave no gap is a property of the weave: two in a plain weave, three in a 2/2 twill, and in a warp-faced sateen two across the warp and eight across the weft. Unbroken is not solid either — an eight-pick bar in that sateen has no gap and is an eighth light.
A woven cloth asked the same question
A knitted fabric's two adjacent courses occupy the same space by a fifth of a diameter. A woven cloth's two systems overlap by nothing at all in an open cloth and by four and a half per cent in a dense one — and the difference is that they cross rather than run alongside.
A repeat has to fit the width
A repeat tiles the plane and a warp has two edges, so somewhere between them a repeat is cut through. The set of repeat widths that divide a warp exactly is the set of divisors of its body, and a body of a few thousand ends has a few dozen — two to eight per cent of the candidates. So a designer choosing a repeat for any reason except the width chooses one that does not fit, and the leftover averages half a repeat, split between the two selvedges.
A group is one thread for cover and two for bending
The rung below leaves a limitation standing: two ends with nothing between them lie touching, and whether they behave as one thread of twice the diameter was said to depend on twist, hairiness and finish. Three of the four measures have exact answers with no friction in them and no two agree. A pair covers exactly what a double-diameter thread covers, with half its yarn, and bends at between an eighth and five eighths of its rigidity — and at equal yarn it covers forty per cent more and bends half as stiffly.
A profile draft is a notation whose alphabet is weaves
The rung below measured four notations for a single weave and left open the notations for something larger. A profile draft is the first of them: a grid of blocks, each carrying a figure weave or a ground weave. Its image is enumerable and it is tiny — every pair of two-by-two weaves against every assignment of two-by-two blocks reaches 306 of the 22,874 interlacing four-by-four drafts, which is 1.34 per cent. And the 306 are the ones anybody weaves.
A six-end shading can be even or have a plain centre, not both
A six-end repeat can be split into the parts a shading is built from in 1,128,960 ways, and every one of them has now been walked. Only 2,816 — sixty-four distinct shadings — hold every tone between the extremes to a float of two, and seven in ten cannot do better than four. Five hundred and seventy-six can put a plain weave at the midtone, and not one of those can keep twos beside it: taking a part out of a plain weave, or adding one, always leaves a float of three.
The four named weaves are corners of a family
Plain, warp rib, weft rib and hopsack are one construction with two knobs, and the trade turns both together or neither. Group the ends by two and the picks by three and the result is an ordinary cloth with a name, no literature and a fundamental domain of twelve intersections on two shafts — and the family's three quantities all have closed forms: two shafts everywhere, a unit of exactly 2ab, and a longest float of the larger grouping.
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.
Most satins still have a diagonal
A satin is chosen so that no diagonal forms, and its move is ranked by how far apart its interlacings sit. But the interlacings of a regular satin lie on a lattice, every lattice has a shortest step, and the marks line up along it. Only when two shortest steps tie is there no row to follow — and between five and forty ends the best move manages that at twelve of the thirty-five orders.
An unbroken line is not a clean one
A line of colour has two boundaries and neither is straight, in any weave there is. The thread at the edge must go under somewhere, and where it does the edge retreats to its neighbour — so the boundary steps, and by exactly one thread less than the narrowest unbroken line the weave draws. Over 22,874 drafts there are three widths and three swings and no draft anywhere else, and widening the line past its narrowest unbroken width leaves the edge precisely where it was.
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.
A selvedge holds only where its edge end changes face
A shuttle weft goes out on one pick and back on the next, and between them it turns round the end at the edge. The turn is caught only if that end is on the other face on the second pick; otherwise the loop has nothing to wrap and slides off. Plain weave catches every turn at every width. A 2/2 twill catches them at half its widths, and only if the first pick is thrown from the right side. A 3/1 twill, a hopsack and every satin catch them nowhere, and of the 22,874 four-by-four drafts, 9,636 cannot hold a selvedge at any width at all.
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.
No cloth derives into more than three others
Every weaving manual opens by saying the three basic weaves generate the rest. This collection counted the reach and found nine of 426, and left the nine as a count. It is not a count: every derivation the manuals name is a relabelling of the grid or a complementation of it, both invertible, so they generate a group — and that group cuts the 426 cloths into 157 closed pieces of which the largest holds four. The claim is not merely wrong about how much derivation reaches; derivation cannot reach more than four cloths from anywhere, by any sequence of operations, however long.
A float limit leaves one row-free satin
A satin is chosen so that no diagonal forms, and an earlier essay found that most of them fail: the interlacings lie on a lattice, every lattice has a shortest step, and the marks line up along it unless two steps tie — which happens at twelve of the thirty-five orders from five to forty. The other constraint was named and not applied. An n-end satin floats over n − 1, so a yarn that will not carry a float longer than eight admits four orders in all, and exactly one of them is row-free: the five-end satin, which is the one everybody already weaves.
An irregular satin scatters where a regular one lines up
A regular satin's marks lie on a lattice, so its closest pairs all run along one vector and make a row. An irregular satin has no lattice at all, so its closest pairs may point several ways at once — and at seven and nine ends, where every regular satin at the best spread has a row, an irregular one reaches the same spread with its closest pairs scattered over four directions and no more than a third in any one. At eight and eleven ends there is no such satin: the best spread is reached by regular satins alone, and irregularity has nothing to offer.