An Old Soul
Having decided to go ahead with my scheduled weaving course despite Emily and Cassidy’s decision to continue moving South, I began to experience that familiar old feeling of social anxiety I associate with the night before the first day of summer camp, middle school, high-school, college and every single new job.
Tasara Weaving Center is located 8km outside of Calicut in Kerala State (the first Communist State in India and boasting over 90% literacy). Details being impossible to attain in this country, I had little idea of what to expect from the course. I knew it was a working weaving studio, making handmade textiles and block prints and hand spun silk using a Jain technique that never harms the worms. I knew that people could do one month or week-long residencies and that a man named Vasevudan was in charge of the program. Beyond this, I would be taking a leap of faith. Indian men wear meters of fabric tightly wrapped in turbans on their heads, white cloth tied like a diaper around their bottoms and shawls draped around their shoulders. Women are swathed in brightly colored silks, cottons and organzas tucked in that perfect way that makes a
sari what it is, with fabric covering their heads and tucked snuggly
around their bare wastes or bellies, whatever it may be. An Indian can
look their best given just a flat piece of cloth and a moment to wrap
themselves up just so. Even if you have no interest in textiles, it is
impossible not to notice the importance they play in Indian customs
and daily life.
Today, I arrived at the Center for Weaving, and was beckoned into the
kitchen to have cup of tea with my peers, 6 ladies with varying shades
of white hair and British accents. Vasudevan gave me a bowl of
something that looked like dry cereal baked with honey, and a cup of
milky tea. I subtly probed about the possibility of other students
besides the present company only to find out that there were none.
After my tea, Vasudevan showed me to the weaving studio, which was
under a thatched roof, and housed 8 floor-to-ceiling sized wooden
looms, all with hundreds of fine thread spanning the warp. Two Indian
ladies sat spinning yarn and making thread, while the older British
women wove 2 meter wide tapestry out of raw silk and hand-dyed cotton
threads at a leisurely pace. One woman had been here last year and
would be staying for 3 months, another for two months. So, tomorrow I
will dive in and see what I can make of my short stay here, already
thinking about when I will have the time to come back for an extended
period of time.
