To speak is to thread and the
thread weaves the
world.
*
In the Andes, the language itself,
Quechua, is a
cord of
twisted straw,
two people making love, different
fibers united.
To weave a design is pallay, to
raise the fibers,
to pick
them up.
To read in Latin is legere, to pick
up.
The weaver is both weaving and
writing a text
that the community can read.
An ancient textile is an alphabet
of knots, colors
and
directions
that we can no longer read.
Today the weaving no only
"represent," they
themselves
are
one of the being of the Andean
cosmogony. (E. Zorn)
*
Ponchos, llijllas, aksus, winchas,
chuspas and
chumpis
are beings who feel
and every being who feels walks
covered in signs.
"The body given entirely to the
function of signi-
fying."
René Daumal
A textile is "in the state of
being textile": awaska.
And one word, acnanacuna
designates the clothing,
the
language
and the instruments for sacrifice
(for signifying,
I would
say).
*
And the energy of the movement has
a name and
a
direction: lluq'i,
to the left, paña, to the
right.
A direction is a meaning and the
twisting of the
thread
transmits knowledge and
information.
The last two movements of a fiber
should be in
opposition:
a fiber is made of two strands lluq'i
and paña.
A word is both root and suffix :
two antithetical
meanings
in one.
The word and the thread behave as
processes
in the
cosmos.
The process is a language and a
woven design
is a process
re-
presenting itself.
"An axis of reflection,"
says Mary Frame:
"the serpentine
attributes are images of the fabric
structure,"
The twisted strands become serpents
and the crossing of darkness and
light, a
diamond
star.
"Sprang is a weftless
technique, a reciprocal
action whereby the interworking of
adjacent
elements with the fingers
duplicates itself
above and below the working
area."
The fingers entering the weave
produce in
the fibres
a mirror image of its movement, a
symmetry
that
reiterates "the concept
of complementarity that imbues
Andean
thought."
*
The thread dies when it is
released, but comes
alive in
the loom:
the tension gives it a heart.
Soncco is heart and guts, stomach and conscience,
memory,
judgement and reason, the wood's
core, the stem's
central
fiber.
The word and the thread are the
heart of the
community.
In order to dream, the diviner
sleeps on fabric
made of wik'uña.
To speak is to thread and the thread weaves the world. * In the Andes, the language itself, Quechua, is a cord of twisted straw, two people making love, different fibers united. To weave a design is pallay, to raise the fibers, to pick them up. To read in Latin is legere, to pick up. The weaver is both weaving and writing a text that the community can read. An ancient textile is an alphabet of knots, colors and directions that we can no longer read. Today the weaving no only "represent," they themselves are one of the being of the Andean cosmogony. (E. Zorn) * Ponchos, llijllas, aksus, winchas, chuspas and chumpis are beings who feel and every being who feels walks covered in signs. "The body given entirely to the function of signi- fying." René Daumal A textile is "in the state of being textile": awaska. And one word, acnanacuna designates the clothing, the language and the instruments for sacrifice (for signifying, I would say). * And the energy of the movement has a name and a direction: lluq'i, to the left, paña, to the right. A direction is a meaning and the twisting of the thread transmits knowledge and information. The last two movements of a fiber should be in opposition: a fiber is made of two strands lluq'i and paña. A word is both root and suffix : two antithetical meanings in one. The word and the thread behave as processes in the cosmos. The process is a language and a woven design is a process re- presenting itself. "An axis of reflection," says Mary Frame: "the serpentine attributes are images of the fabric structure," The twisted strands become serpents and the crossing of darkness and light, a diamond star. "Sprang is a weftless technique, a reciprocal action whereby the interworking of adjacent elements with the fingers duplicates itself above and below the working area." The fingers entering the weave produce in the fibres a mirror image of its movement, a symmetry that reiterates "the concept of complementarity that imbues Andean thought." * The thread dies when it is released, but comes alive in the loom: the tension gives it a heart. Soncco is heart and guts, stomach and conscience, memory, judgement and reason, the wood's core, the stem's central fiber. The word and the thread are the heart of the community. In order to dream, the diviner sleeps on fabric made of wik'uña.
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