Weaving a thread of tradition

The Baltimore Sun

Deb May leaned back to survey her work, a neat row of orange and brown wool tightly wrapped around a piece of wood.

Did it look right? Would there be enough to make a knot and then warp the other side of the loom?

"You have to just trust," said one of her classmates in the Navajo -- or Din? -- weaving class at Common Ground on the Hill.

"I'm not that trusting," May said.

An experienced weaver, May's uncertainty came from tackling a loom unlike her own -- and an equally unfamiliar technique.

Some trust, and a healthy helping of patience, seemed to go along with learning the art of Navajo weaving, a long-standing tradition that has served as a spiritual and financial aid to Native Americans.

At McDaniel College last week, a handful of intrepid individuals, hailing from various parts of Maryland and beyond, perched on stools before vertical wood looms and sought to create their own woven patterns using wool from the sheep raised by their instructor, Roy Kady, a Navajo master male weaver.

"Weaving is ceremonial. It's not just a hobby or a pastime," Kady said. "This is the place where we're going to lose track of time and keep all the negative energy out ... If you don't have patience, it's going to teach you patience."

Navajo creation stories say Spider Man taught Spider Woman how to weave, then instructed her to share the techniques with the rest of the world, Kady said.

The master weaver, who lives in Arizona, has been weaving since childhood, guided and inspired in the making of traditional dresses, horse cinches and saddle blankets by his mother and grandparents.

Now Kady creates commissioned pieces, such as contemporary wall hangings, while also raising his own Navajo-Churro sheep, which provide wool that he can dye using such natural elements as plants, roots or indigo. He looks to the creation stories, his surroundings, and even travel for inspiration in his designs.

And when he can, Kady said, he brings the sacred art of his people to others, in part because many from the younger generations are disconnected from the lessons of Spider Man in today's MTV culture.

"I'm really here as an ambassador for my people," Kady said, in hopes of inspiring appreciation for his culture and continuing its traditions.

Practically every facet of the weaving process reflects Navajo cultural beliefs, Kady said, with its creation stories woven into the rows, the warp and weft.

The wood comb used to firmly pack each newly woven line of wool evokes the sound of falling rain, a soothing rhythm, Kady said.

The bottom wooden beams of the loom represent Mother Earth; the upper ones, Father Sky. And Spider Man is believed to have taken the horizon from all four directions to make the main posts of the loom's frame, he said.

"There's life in these," Kady said. "They're not just tools."

The traditional meanings and references have drawn students such as Mary Bare, of Westminster, to the art. Bare brought in a project she had begun at last year's Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival, but which had been stored in her basement since then.

"There's the spirituality and the story of creation and the teachings," Bare said. "That's what makes it different from other weaving."

Kady's class wasn't a first for Reyne Salacain, of Virginia, either. Salacain said she had tried the Navajo technique on a floor loom. Now in her fourth class using the Navajo vertical loom, Salacain said, she was working on a modified, smaller version of a rug she'd like to weave for her parents' home.

"You don't get more authentic... than this," Salacain said, as she methodically wove row after row of red wool.

Kady said he hopes his class will teach students to "learn and connect with their inner soul."

"A lot of them are in tune with the time ... . I'm telling them, 'no, we can't rush this. We have a different time frame now,'" Kady said. Time to find their rhythm, and slip into the slower pace at which the reservation usually runs. "That's the time I want them to reflect on."

Helen Nash, who has worked in Big Mountain, Ariz., and designed tepees for about 30 years, seemed to slip into that slacker pace with ease. One of Nash's tepees was erected on the campus throughout the second and final session of the two-week event that celebrates the traditional arts. Kady's class was one of several with a Native American theme.

"It's kind of relaxing," said Nash, as she warped her loom in preparation for the striped weaving she planned to make. "You just keep repeating what you're doing, so it doesn't strain you too much."

Still, May was already thinking about the future.

"I assume that when class is over this week, that you go home with each of us for an additional week," she said to Kady.

As laughter erupted in the classroom, Kady calmly said, "Sure."

arin.gencer@baltsun.com

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