The thread: The float decides
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.
The crimp is the price of being cloth
A woven reinforcement is bought for stiffness along its fibres, and the usual explanation of what it gives up — fibre content, lost to the crimp — has the sign wrong. At a given thickness a woven fabric holds slightly more fibre than two flat plies of the same tows. What the crimp costs is stiffness, and the float length is the knob.
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 float decides
How far a thread runs on the face before it goes under is one number, and it sits behind lustre, drape, snagging, abrasion, tear strength and how densely the cloth can be set. Almost nothing else in the subject has that reach.
A cloth cannot shrink past its own crimp
However hard a loom held the warp, there is a limit to what relaxation can take back, and it is not a fitted constant or a measured one. It is the crimp itself, read as c over one plus c, and it is the only result in this field with nothing empirical in it at all.
Interlacings and firmness
Every time a thread changes face it has to bend, and a bend takes room. That one sentence decides how densely a cloth can be set, how firm it feels, and why the two run in opposite directions.
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.
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.
Why satin shines
Lustre is usually filed under fibre, and silk gets the credit. It is a property of the weave: a cylinder reflects a line rather than a point, so the highlight a cloth returns is exactly as long as its longest float.
Floats and abrasion
A satin is said to wear badly. It does not wear quickly — its flat face spreads the rubbing over more thread than a plain weave's crowns do. What it does is fail badly, and those are different quantities moving in opposite directions.
Does a loose weave tear better
The trade says a twill tears stronger than a plain weave of the same yarn, because fewer interlacings let the threads group. The geometry of that grouping has no weave in it at all — and where the geometry does speak, it predicts the opposite.
The float in a knit
Five rungs of this anchor have taken the float to be a length of thread on the surface with nothing holding it down. A knit has one too, and it behaves the same way in the light and the opposite way in the hand — because a woven float lengthens its thread and a knitted one shortens its fabric.
A second bed changes what a float is
Every float so far has been on a surface, because every knit so far has had one needle bed. Put a bed behind it and the yarn runs in the gap between them — and over the whole enumeration of two-bed structures, 1,248 floats of 1,272 lie inside the cloth, on no surface at all.
Designing to a float limit
Every jacquard designer works to a rule of the form nothing longer than four. It reads as a constraint on a drawing. It is really a statement about how much of the catalogue exists, and the catalogue shrinks as the repeat grows.
Twist and the twill line
The oldest rule of thumb in weaving says to weave a Z twill from S-twist warp for a bold line and from Z-twist warp for a subdued one. Both halves of it are geometry: the twill's angle comes from the two setts, the fibres' angle comes from the twist factor, and the rule is their difference.
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 holds a thread in a seam
A seam fails in two quite different ways, and the one the trade worries about is not the stitches breaking. It is the cloth's own threads sliding out of the weave beside the seam — and what resists that is friction at the crossings, accumulating multiplicatively, so a satin gives a seam a thousandth of the grip a plain weave gives it.
Raising spends the cloth's strength
Fibre standing up on the surface is fibre no longer in the load path. A nap is warmth bought with tensile strength, and the exchange rate runs along the same axis as everything else the float decides — which means a fabric cannot be optimised for both ends of it.
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 honeycomb gets its cells in the wash
The obvious mechanism is take-up on the loom, and the arithmetic says it is wrong: every end of a diamond passes through the long floats and the tight ones alike. What is left is finishing, and a cell is a region that wanted to shrink less than the cloth around 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.
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 shading changes two things at once
The tone steps of a shaded damask are exactly even — each adds one satin coset, so the fraction of warp on the face is k over n with no averaging in it. The lustre steps are not even at all: on eight ends the longest float runs 7, 3, 3, 1, 3, 3, 7, so a series that grades smoothly in tone is at its most matt exactly in the middle.
A float presses on nothing
The rung below expected the float correction to change how a satin's hold compares with a plain weave's, by something like the ratio of their interlacing rates. It does not change the comparison at all — the interlacing rate leaves the answer outside the logarithm and divides straight out of any ratio. What it changes is the absolute answer, by a factor of four, for every weave alike.
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.
A satin's hole is a slot
Two cloths at the same cover have the same open area, exactly, and do not pass the same air. A float lays parallel threads side by side and the hole beside them is long rather than square, and drawing a hole out at constant area cuts what it passes to two fifths — because the hydraulic diameter falls and the shape factor climbs, and both of them move the same way.
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.
Raising moves the surface onto the hairs
A raising machine pulls fibre ends up out of the floats, and what a finger or a light then meets is not the cloth's surface at all but a layer of loose fibre standing above it. The criterion for which cloths can be raised is the same criterion, exactly, that decides which cloths have crown line — so raising spends the surface that would have made the fabric shine.
A cloth loses its strength before its mass
Rub a fabric and it sheds material from all over its surface, but it sheds it from every thread at the same place — and a thread breaks at its thinnest place. So the strength gone is always several times the mass gone, the ratio is computable from the bearing curve, and it is worst for the weave whose crowns are points.
A float reflects into a line
A cylinder cannot return a beam to a point. Its normals sweep the whole half-turn across it and nothing at all along it, so a straight thread throws light into a fan — seen as a highlight lying along the thread, exactly as long as the length of thread that is straight. The lobe of a satin is twice as narrow along the thread as across it; the lobe of a plain weave is exactly round.
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.
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 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 cord's height has a ceiling and its width has none
A warp rib's cord is a wave, and its two dimensions come from two different places. The height is the weft's own crimp amplitude, and Peirce's closure condition caps it at the two yarn diameters together — 500 µm for a quarter-millimetre yarn, of which a 2/2 rib reaches 304 and a 6/6 rib 391. The pitch is the doubling times the pick spacing and has no cap at all. So a bolder rib is taller and wider, and wider faster: the aspect falls from 0.41 to 0.22.
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.
What nothing separates comes out together
The doubled family's interlacing rate has a closed form — half the sum of the two groupings' reciprocals — so a seam's grip on its own threads is the exponential of a harmonic mean, and it saturates in each grouping separately. At a ten-millimetre allowance a 2/2 hopsack holds a thread at seventy-four times the applied tension and a 1/4 warp rib at two hundred and eighteen, on cloths whose firmness differs by an eighth.
A cloth slips at its least-interlaced thread
A weave's firmness is quoted as one number, the interlacings per crossing averaged over the whole repeat. A cloth does not fail on average. A thread pulled through a seam or out of a cut edge is held by its own crossings, the grip is exponential in them, and the thread with fewest goes first. In every four-by-four draft but plain weave some thread interlaces twice a repeat — the fewest possible — whatever the average says, and a satin stripe on a plain ground averages 0.87 while its satin ends grip at a seventh of the average thread.