Tessitura…mi amour or weaving my love


The year 2018 has been very rich in terms of the things learned, of the awareness acquired in fields that at that time were unknown for us.  I marvel when I think of how many things there are to learn or just be aware of and time never seems to enough.  That’s life!  The thing that has most marked my path towards self-sufficiency as a woman has certainly been to take my first steps into the traditional weaving techniques of Isili, my native village.  Coming from a family of weavers, the loom is certainly not something I am unfamiliar with.  My family had several looms and thanks to the familiar BAM, the sound of the striking of the heddle as it fixes the weft to the warp, that sound has been with me since I was a little girl and it’s the sound that filled the homes of all weavers in my village.  Today, I can proudly say that I too am learning to weave.  When I am seated at my loom, a generous gift from my aunts, I feel full of confidence, in front of a destiny still unwritten represented by a myriad of tight strings that make up the warp.  Here everything is possible.  You can decide the colors and the patterns and enter into a rich journey of daring attempts and objectives to reach.  There fantasy finds a just and dignified home and the fingers count and know by memory all the strings of the warp like a good pianist knows the keys of his piano and the rug begins to wrap itself around the front of the warp.  It’s a hidden treasure, that of the finished rug, it’s something that doesn’t reveal itself immediately, that of the loom, only after it has been finished does one have the honor to see the finished product in all its harmony, its meaning.  Just as life goes, only at the end of the road is it revealed how beautiful and meaningful all this is for our personal growth.

Sardinian rugs from the village of Nule

I believe that thanks to weaving my vision of life has in some way changed.  The rug is the story that I am writing now, something that I would like to pass on.  Weaving is like a song, the epic song made up of symbols, of motifs that remake themselves on our fabrics that represent for the most part our natural world, be it plant, animal or human.  Elegant dancers of “su ballu tundu”, gentle doves, stalks of wheat that rise up, pheasants that dare to show off with great admiration their colored feathers and sensuous necks.   What can I pass on with symbols such as these, only the night of the times know with certainty.

Geometric designs and motifs in the rug of my teacher, Ms. Dolores Ghiani

In my mind such symbols send the message of a world in balance, where human beings find themselves inspired by nature, in a beneficial exchange with other humans, in the air of volatiles, in the magic of rhombus and triangles, leaves, lemons, grape vines etc..and with these she soared and offered to the gods for a serene life and sufficient harvest to feed a family.

When one weaves, it’s hard to have bad thoughts.  Each weft is inserted with skill into the warp is a prayer in itself, it’s a positive thought that the weaver cultivates inside of themselves to give it to whoever will know how to recognize and appreciate the colors and the design.  Weaving helps to relieve the mind, it’s a sort of meditation.  For this reason often I lose sense of time behind my loom, a backache wakes me up occasionally but the desire to continue triumphs until at least I hear someone call….”Mommy”  then I know that I have to go!





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