A Mercifully Brief History of Gnarl Weaving
by Lord Carlo GallucciGnarl weaving is an art once intentionally practiced throughout many parts of Medieval Europe. As an unintentional practice, primitive forms of it have probably always existed everywhere that strands of any material have been created and worked into anything by human hands. It is uncertain exactly when or where gnarl weaving began, though there are those who would uncharitably blame it on the Scandinavians.1 By most researchers, it is considered to have been developed somewhere around the early Middle Ages, if not a bit before then. There have been some discoveries made of what appear to be much older samples using different materials, but it is unclear if these are true examples of intentional practice of the art or simply items such as clumps of hair removed from brushes after several years of use.2
One possible origin of gnarl weaving is the ancient practice of attempting to free accidentally trapped sharks from impossibly tangled and frayed nets underneath fishing boats.3 It is known that many ill-fated fishermen drowned or were eaten while executing this maneuver. Captain and crew alike normally considered it better to claim sea monsters had attacked the vessel than to reveal the stupidity of their crewmate. Still, some men returned intrigued by the strange beauty of the mangled nets. Go figure. Anyway, the complicated knots found in gnarl weaving may be the result of these reckless pioneers’ observations. It may also explain the few songs we know of concerning practitioners and their art, such as the once popular “The Woe of the Gnarl Weaver”, which contains the line, “So, weep, ye gnarl weavers, weep,” and the sad, romantic “I Lost My Love to the Gnarl Weaver’s Trade”.4 These were most commonly sung so off-key and out-of-rhythm that the original tune was quickly lost. Because of this, there are those who claim that gnarl weaving songs are an early predecessor to discordant jazz. The name of the art is thought to have come from the oft-made comment of those seeing it for the first time: “Dude, it be most gnarly!”5
Gnarl weaving is usually performed by either wool, flax, or some combination of the two being held in a basin or bucket of water and tied into single, double, and triple knots called fumbles. Three strands (the foibles) are used both together and independently throughout to create fumble after fumble of varying degrees of tension in a pattern of two, seven, or eleven rows of uneven sizes of loops. Then a fourth strand (the slip) is threaded, by hand, through all the previous loops and anchored to nothing. The more fibers get lost along the way, the better, but at least some part of the strand should reach all the way through. Finally, a fifth strand (the nubbler or “sacrificial” strand) is held under and cut with a dull knife into bits both long and short that are tied randomly to the loops. Then the whole thing is sliced here and there with the knife so that some loops are partly severed and others completely (a process affectionately referred to as “trying not to hurt oneself too badly”). When the piece is ready for removal from the water, it is chewed vigorously and laid out to dry in a crumpled heap. Purists chew in a “bobbing for apples” fashion; the more practical remove the piece from the water first, then chew. The result is a mess. It can be left as it is or bound with separately soaked, chewed, and dried ties to another piece processed in the same way (preferably one with a different number of rows and different length of chewing time). Gnarling circles were not popular, as this was considered kind of gross.6
Gnarl weaving has been spectacularly useless throughout the centuries. In a mildly interesting, if extraordinarily lengthy, footnote in An Unfortunate Guide to Gnarl Weaving, 60 of the book’s 62 pages are taken up with a foray into the historic and utterly fruitless search for any serviceable purpose for gnarl weaving.7 To the dismay of a few and the delight of many, many more, none whatsoever has been found. This is not to say that some unusual attempts have not been made. Perhaps the most interesting story about gnarl weaving concerns the Duchess of Plum, imprisoned in the little known Tower of Pudding. As the Duchess was known to have an obsession with two things, gnarl weaving and fruited treats, no guards were ever posted at her door, and it was never locked. Instead, she was given a steady supply of yarn, water in a deep basin, and the confections of her choice. She was then left to herself. It was assumed she would be too preoccupied to escape. Little did they suspect how they had made her attempt possible. After many years, she cast from the lone window of her prison what is said to have been the longest …um… thing(!) of gnarl weaving ever created. The upper end was fastened to her bed, and the lower end reached almost to the ground. It would be but a short drop to the earth below once she reached it. Alas, her escape was cut short, as it is the nature of gnarl weaving to be weak in many places and completely unattached in others. The full weight of her body proved sufficient to unravel her entire plan almost immediately. Her captors considered her to have received her just dessert. However, so loved by her people was she, and so dramatic her attempt at escape, that it has been speculated ( though this is, as yet, unconfirmed) that the story of Rapunzel was perhaps based upon her adventure by her more romantically inclined admirers.8
As you may have guessed by now, gnarl weavers of old were a well-loved lot. Their work was terrible. Nevertheless, they were known to have hearts of gold. Their motto was: “We have to do better than this!” Needless to say, they were not so welcome among the ranks in times of war. For one thing, theirs was a rather disconcerting cry to hear at the opening of a battle. For another, they were almost never trusted to make proper repairs to anything. Said one anonymous soldier in his day on the battlefield, “Entire wars can be won or lost by the numbers of gnarl weavers on each side.” For whatever reason, this saying is almost completely unknown today.9
To the relief of many, the art of gnarl weaving gradually faded in and out of relative obscurity over time, almost completely dying out for good a few hundred years after it leapt up from the salty seas of its birth.10 Perhaps it could not survive in the fresh stream and rain waters brought into the homes of those who saw to its care and development. There are almost no intentional gnarl weavers today, though there have always been those who have accidentally stumbled upon it. It is said in our time that gnarl weaving is what happens when you’re sewing other plans or, to put it another way, the best spun plans of binders and stitchers often turn to gnarl weaving. But if you find you are a gnarl weaver, by accident or by intent, hold your head up high. Your work is terrible. But you are likely known to have a heart of gold.
Notes:
1 My sincerest apologies.
2 Jesterday, Bjorn. “The Sink and Fall of Medieval Gnarl Weaving”. The Exuberant Librarian, January 30, 1979: 8-11.
3 Hertz, Mosley. Foolish Catastrophes in the World of Fiber Arts. San Francisco, CA: Popawheelie Press, 2001.
4 Kerchief, Hans. For Pity’s Sake: A Gnarl Weaving Songbook. Morgantown, WV: Cicada Morning Press, 1983.
5 Jesterday, Bjorn. “The Sink and Fall of Medieval Gnarl Weaving”. The Exuberant Librarian, January 30, 1979: 8-11.
6 Holden, Roland. An Unfortunate Guide to Gnarl Weaving. Bethlehem, PA: Little Bitty Press, 1968.
7 This is the sole footnote in An Unfortunate Guide to Gnarl Weaving.
8 Hertz, Mosley. Foolish Catastrophes in the World of Fiber Arts. San Francisco, CA: Popawheelie Press, 2001.
9 Whetstone, Anita. “Of Fiber and War: The Overlooked Importance of Textiles on the Battlefields of Old”. Slaughterhouse Weekly, August 12, 1992: 32-33, 47.
10 Jesterday, Bjorn. “The Sink and Fall of Medieval Gnarl Weaving”. The Exuberant Librarian, January 30, 1979: 8-11.
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