How long has she been at this? At first glance, the beams are rough, the mat she sits on looks uncomfortable, and it’s an odd place for a loom. Afternoon light sneaks across the stone walls, giving indirect illumination for the undoubtedly slow process. And yet, she doesn’t look tired.
Upright
Then again, her fingers move with an uncommon confidence. A machine has no goal but finishing, but her fibers move into place with a quiet serenity, like cooking a meal or tending to a plant. A factory would have been done by now, but no one would be watching, or feeling the threads as they’re pushed into place. The shelves might get stocked, but would the rows upon rows of carbon copies ever be repaired?
Reversed
In the far distance, thunder rumbles through the unseen valley. She hesitates, but persists. Over the next minutes, she slows, glancing again and again to the mouth of her shelter. After an extended gaze away from the loom, the rumble approaching with a heightened wind, she turns back to the vertical warp. Her rows are increasingly skewed, uneven, with gaps and skips. She takes a moment and a long sigh, before un-weaving her work. Though less at ease, as the storm rolls in, she continues the weave, taking longer pauses between lengths.
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