The thread: A weave is a matrix — page 2
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
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 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.
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.
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.
The colour order that hides least
A caption on this account's top essay left a question: whether a warp of long runs against a weft of short ones hides less than either would against itself, and called it a lever nobody uses. Sweeping all sixteen orders against all sixteen says the lever is real and the caption named the wrong variable. Run length has nothing to do with it — the blind count, the separation and the largest confused class all depend on the two orders' colour counts and on nothing else, and what a mixed pair saves is exactly the square of the difference between them.
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.
An eight-end shading is pinned at three everywhere but its centre
At six ends every even shading holds its middle tones to a float of two, and every one sinks to the same depth. The question left was whether eight ends does the same. It cannot even start: at eight ends no shading can hold its second tone to two, a float of three there needs the second mark of every pick exactly opposite the first, and then the third mark cannot undo it. Tones two, three, five and six are pinned at a float of three, only the centre is free, and a family with a free centre does not sink to one depth — it sinks to at least six.
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.
A blind set hides less the thinner it is spread
Two colours showed that where a cloth's threads match in colour the draft underneath is invisible, and that how many intersections match is not what decides how much is hidden. More colours say what does. A third colour lets the blind count take every value from nought to ten; a fourth lets the blind intersections sit one to a thread. At a fixed count, the catalogue keeps more of its cloths apart the more threads the blind set is spread across — 3,632 surfaces for four scattered blind cells, 2,402 for the same four in a square.
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 crease along the twill fades as one line
A crease along the warp of a ring-dyed 3/1 twill fades as broken lines a float long, and across it as dashes one end wide. Turn the crease to the twill's own diagonal and it fades as a single white line with no break in it at all: the fold meets the crown of one end's float, then the next end's one pick along, then the next, and every crown it meets is at the same place in its float. It is the one direction in which the weave and the crease line up — and two degrees off it the line breaks into strokes whose length is a vernier's.
Only one start in six can reach the shallowest shading
The even eight-end shadings — middle tones floating three, centre floating two — were too many to walk, and a walk stopped at a hundred thousand chains found six depths. Split at the centre, the family can be counted whole: 1,001,574,400 chains in fourteen depths, every one of them decided by the centre alone. Only 816 of the 5,040 ways to begin a shading can still reach the shallowest ramp, and a designer who wants it has to choose the first two parts before anything else.