The Weavers Of Mexico
By Mildred Boyd
January 2007 Guadalajara-Lakeside Volume 23, Number 5

     In Mexico, as elsewhere, clothes have long made the man—or woman. Though the custom of wearing regional costumes is fast dying out, in many out-of-the-way corners of the land a knowledgeable visitor can still tell at a glance not only the general area from which a person hails, but the particular village and, often, their family name and status in the community. All this information is conveyed through subtle variations in style, cut, color and decoration of their garments. A woman would no more copy another woman’s huipil than a Campbell would wear the McGregor’s plaid.
     No one knows exactly when the first woman took that vital first step from basket weaving and net tying to produce the first true textile. Virtually every archaeological dig in the world has turned up evidence of woven cloth, either as impressions in the soil or, rarely, as surviving scraps of fabric.
     The earliest example of loom-woven cloth in Mexico was found in Tamaulipas and dates from 1800-1400 BC but all the necessary elements were in place long before that,  possibly as early as 5000 BC. The twisting of long reeds or tough vines into ropes soon led to producing cords from animal hair, shaggy bark or maguey fiber. From there it was only a step to spinning the wild cotton which grew abundantly in the lowlands into fine threads suitable for weaving. Spindle whorls, usually of clay but sometimes made of bone, wood or gourd, have been found in virtually every pre-Columbian excavation.
     Vegetable dyes abounded to give color to the spun thread. Indigo for a rich blue-black, Brazilian wood for reds, lichens for rusty yellow, blackberries for purple and chamomile leaves for a greenish gold were easily obtained. Minerals like iron oxides, gypsum and red and yellow ochre produced stable dyes. A sea snail was found to exude a colorless liquid which, when squeezed on cloth, turned yellow, then green and finally a vibrant purple which faded with repeated washings to a soft lavender.
     The most valuable dye, however, was derived from a lowly insect. The cochineal is a tiny parasite that feeds on the broad leaves of certain cacti. Colonies of cochineal appear as fuzzy white patches on the host plant but, when crushed, turn a brilliant, indelible red. European demand for this vivid new dye made post-conquest shipments of the dried insects second only to precious metals as desirable imports.
     With such an array of fibers and materials to produce a rainbow of colors, all that was needed was the loom. The technique for weaving crude mats was adapted and refined to produce the back-strap loom which, with only minor improvements, is still seen all over Mexico. When not in use, such a loom looked like nothing more than a string-tied bundle of variously sized sticks, which is essentially exactly what it was. A backstop, usually of leather, was attached to the front loom bar with cords while the back loom bar also had cords for tying to a tree or some other stationary object.
     A rolling stick for the finished cloth, a tenter to control fabric width, a stick heddle for lifting selected warp threads, a shed stick for separating alternating warp threads and a slightly larger batten for beating down the weft make the loom. Another stick, flat and with notched end for holding wound weaving, serves as a shuttle. Even with waving in progress, the entire loom can be rolled up and carried comfortably beneath the arm to wherever its owner chooses to work. That is usually where other women are plying their own looms and laughing and gossiping as they work.
     With the warp threads already in place, the back loom bar is tied to a handy tree or post just high enough to achieve a comfortable working angle and the leather strap is passed around the lower back of the kneeling weaver so that, by leaning slightly forward or back, she can control the tension on the warp. This allows her to loosen the warp to allow free movement of the shuttle and tighten the work for battening the weft into place with very little effort.
     Each woman weaves clothing as well as household linens for herself and her family. The more skilled do hangings and altar cloths for the church and elaborate pieces for sale and to enter the weaving competitions which are designed to encourage and preserve the ancient art. Considering that it can take as much as a month to weave a skirt and three months to embroider it, it is not surprising that such encouragement is necessary.
     Though each woman’s work is unique, there are common elements that have been in use for time immemorial and that reflect the entire cosmos. The familiar diamond shape present in most designs, for instance, represents the earth with east at the top and the sun in the center. Each culture had its own special motifs, legends and gods.
     The Maya credited the moon goddess, Ixchel, with the invention of spinning and weaving while the Aztecs gave that honor to Xochiquetzal, goddess of flowers, in whose honor several women and their looms and weavings were burned each year. In Chiapas it is believed that the moon herself taught the first women spinning and weaving while the Chamula Indians thank Santa Rosa, the Virgin and, for some obscure reason, John the Baptist for the knowledge. The Chamulas hold sheep as almost sacred and keep them only for their fleece, never for food. In Zincantan, newborn girl babies are still placed in cradles surrounded by the tools she will use in later life, including, of course, spindles and a loom.
     When you see a group of women dressed in native costume and swaying forward and back as they work their back-strap looms, you are catching a glimpse of the past. It is a scene that has been endlessly repeated for thousands of years.