Sprang

Day 42: I have to thank a friend for reminding me of this particular fiber art a few days ago. I had not done any of it for...well, for at least sixty years. As soon as Ruth mentioned sprang, synapses snapped closed one after another, lighting up memories of twisting warp with my fingers, making it slant one way and then the other, working both ends toward a center of ever-increasing narrowness and weaving together the gap to form a solid bottom. I remembered the name: sprang (pronounced correctly, it is said "sprong," but Americans and some Brits insist on saying "sprang" as if no other language is as official as English). Could I have told you its origins or its history? No. I don't think we ever discussed those subjects when I was in grade school, but it is known from many cultures and dates back as far as the Bronze Age. What is unique about sprang is that it is made almost entirely of warp threads, the exception occurring where the two halves of the weaving meet in the middle. Here, the fiber artist has to choose a means to close and secure the stitches, and one of those options is to weave them together with three passes of a weft thread. This creates an inelastic turning point, i.e., a good bottom for a little soap bag like this one. Elasticity is one of sprang's chief characteristics. While on the frame, the weaving is packed tightly, and when taken off and opened out, its width may easily double. Vertical stretch is minimal. When warping for sprang, the threads must be kept fairly loose to allow for take-up as the piece progresses. It was this point I had forgotten from the weaving of my childhood days, and I had to cut several pieces off my makeshift frame before I struck a happy medium between too tight and too loose. My frame is not ideal (a needlepoint stretcher) nor are the shish-kebab skewers I'm using to hold the sheds, but I was anxious to "sprang forth" into rediscovery of a needlework technique I'd forgotten I'd ever learned.