By Holly Hildebrandt
I drive up the shore eagerly, forgetting one of my favorite things weaving has taught me: to slow down. Luckily the lake helps; every opening in the trees with a view to Superior correlates with the speed of single lane traffic. We slow in tandem from 68 to 47 miles per hour.
I grew up next to Lake Superior. She has inspired much play, art, and rest throughout my life. A return to her is to home. For years I dreamt of studying a craft at the North House Folk School, a school specializing in traditional crafts, situated on the water, in the charming town of Grand Marais. In April, I was told about a class where we would learn to build our own warp-weighted loom and weave on it. Overcome with urgency and delight, I signed up immediately, excited for a weaving adventure up north.
I arrive to town the night before class begins. I have booked myself a small cabin with a view to the lake. The almost full moon rises as the sky darkens from a lilac pink to royal blue. The moon sparkles on the still water as I settle into the new pace of my life for the next five days. I have left the frantic energy of the city behind me and hope to leave it there so I can fully immerse myself in this trip.
Photo: Holly Hildebrandt
In the morning, I head to the school. The first two days of class – building the warp weighted loom with David Susag. There are only four of us students and we range in comfortability with power tools from never having touched one to regular weekend use. I worked some construction in college, but besides using my husband’s drill as a bobbin winder now, it has been some time for me. David is an avid woodworker and Scandinavian folk craft enthusiast. He can often be found teaching or taking Scandinavian folk art classes. He also demonstrates at Viking reenactments, showcasing one of his many crafts such as spring-pole lathe and woodcarving. He also has an affinity for traditional fiber arts including bunad sewing and crafting skinfell ornaments. He is thorough and patient in his instruction to us, and laces our work-time with tales of his travels and incredible teachers. We use table, miter, and band saws, drill presses, chisels, and mallets. By the end of our second day, we each completed a tabletop version of a 9000 year old style warp weighted loom.
Photo: Holly Hildebrandt
Warp weighted looms are some of the world’s earliest discovered technology and can be found globally in different prehistoric cultures. The earliest found warp weighted loom is from Palestine, dating back to about 7,000 BCE. This particular style of loom is an upright loom, in that the warp runs perpendicular to the ground, much like a tapestry loom. The warp is then bundled and tied to stones that pull the strings down, providing the necessary tension. Coverlets, rugs, and other textiles are typical pieces that can be created on this style of loom. The versions we built are smaller than what would have typically been used – they are about 20” by 24”, excellent for tabletop work, are easily deconstructable, and are able to be packed flat. This portion of the five-day long class is timely for me – I am currently reading Women’s Work: The First 20,000 Years by Elizabeth Wayland Barber, and have been marveling at the “courtyard sisterhood” culture that correlated with the work on original warp weighted looms. I feel a similar camaraderie as depicted in the book as we work in the shop. In between the roars of the sawdust collector, we all visit with each other, chatting about our projects at hand and lives back home.
My evenings after classes are filled with smoked herring, a local beer on the beach, agate hunting, reading, and long calls home to my husband. In the early mornings, I sip hot coffee at the lake as I watch the sun paint the sky pinks, purples, and periwinkles.
Lakeside coffee. Photo: Holly Hildebrandt
The third day of class, our looms are assembled and ready for dressing. Melba has arrived. She begins the morning by turning out three IKEA bags of wool yarn onto tables–a glorious, fluffy mountain. We pick our color schemes, plan our weavings, dress our looms. The room fluctuates in volume as we shift from laughter and chatter to intense focus.
The warp threads on the warp weighted loom are under tension with rocks. Photo: Holly Hildebrandt
I met Melba Granlund a year and a half ago. She was weaving on the most impressive loom when I wandered into the Weavers Guild of Minnesota to do some shopping for an upcoming project. She detected my peeking from afar and invited me over to come watch her. She was welcoming, and informative, and I adored her. Melba walked me through the mechanics of a Glimarka loom and explained the beautiful design she was weaving was called Telemarksteppe. I thought the pattern looked like geometric waves. It seemed intricate to me, but she was serene. It must have been apparent that I was enthralled. She invited me to an open house for the group she was weaving this project with: the Scandinavian Weavers Study Group. I attended the following week, signed up, and have been a member of the group ever since. I joke with her now that she’s responsible for my obsession with Scandinavian weaving. I know the draw has always been there, but I am forever grateful to her for opening the door to this world.
Melba Granlund and the author. Photo: Holly Hildebrandt
Melba is a Scandinavian folk artist and long-time weaver. Over the years she has studied under master weavers and fiber artists in Norway, Sweden, and Finland and teaches her own classes here in the Midwest. She often participates in Viking reenactments with her full size warp weighted loom, measuring nearly 6 feet tall and wide. On it, she is currently working on a traditional style coverlet, true of its time in color and pattern. Coverlets were traditionally used as the decorative top side of a thick blanket in the cooler-climate Scandinavian countries. The decorative blanket was woven in bright colors and intricate patterns to offset the long, dark, and grey winters. Then the coverlet would be attached to a sheepskin or woven rya (a high-pile textile made to imitate sheep’s wool), and used wool-side-down as a thick blanket to trap in the heat on a cold night. Melba’s in-depth understanding of these ancient crafts is inspiring and not limited to weaving. She is also an avid crafter of nålbinding, felting, sewing, and spinning, to name a few. The world is blessed that Melba enjoys sharing her abundance of knowledge and expertise with us.
A bag woven by Melba Granlund in pick-and-pick technique. Photo: Holly Hildebrandt
The project I originally choose to create on my warp-weighted loom starts with the intention of becoming a bag. I decide on an earthy color scheme with unexpected pops of highly saturated lime greens, teals, scarlet, and the occasional contrast of black. The pattern is a pick-and-pick array of stripes, blocky teeth, and squares. The blips of color are nestled into a geometric sea of creamy whites, warm greys, and chocolatey browns. For the flap of the bag, I decide on peeling apart the plys of a white wool yarn for rya knots. However, I fell so madly in love with the rya, that I have since completely changed my mind on the finished end product – something that never happens to artists, I’m sure. Since returning home, I have shifted direction and will make a tapestry that celebrates these squiggly white ryas. The color scheme will remain the same, but will mostly be visible from the backside. The front will now be filled with these rya poms, with little peeks from the background visible in between the clusters.
Rya on the new warp weighted loom. Photo: Holly Hildebrandt
On the last day of class, none of us have finished our projects, but are tickled that we get to continue them from home–-one of the greatest benefits of building our own looms. For that, it was a low pressure class, knowing we did not need to rush to complete everything in our allotted time. I’m happy to say we have all made new friends and connections. One woman has invited me to her home this winter where she will teach me to spin wool. The other two women have decided to get together the next day in Duluth for a swim.
I make the long drive home that evening. I feel full having gotten this sweet time connecting with Melba and my classmates, and also having connected with some long-lost roots of my heritage. I savor the last views of Lake Superior out my window and as she disappears in my rearview mirror. I don’t even touch my radio on the five hour drive–my mind is swimming with all of the things I want to learn next and the places I’ll go.
Holly Hildebrandt lives in Minnesota where she is a commercial interior designer by day, and weaver by night. She taught herself how to weave on a frame loom in 2018, and was gifted a floor loom in 2019. This led to many classes, lectures, joining the Scandinavian Weavers Study Group, participating in makers’ markets, and an inevitable lifelong passion for weaving. Holly is inspired by natural surroundings, uncovering family history, and studying global design history. With her craft, she hopes to excite an appreciation for functional art, connection to the past, and an intentional way of living in the world today.
October 2024