I first learned to weave during a two week workshop at Penland School of Crafts.  During that time, I sat at a weaving bench for at least eight hours a day, likely longer, and I remember looking around the studio thinking, why are there no cushions in this place?  

 

Turns out it's not just Penland; weaver’s butt is an actual thing.  Most weaving benches I’ve seen do not come with a cushion, built in or otherwise, so naturally I began to wonder if weavers have some masochistic tendencies, or why are we putting up with this?  I’m still not sure. 

 

My weaving bench was the first tool that I made, and the satisfaction from this spurred further fabrications.  My process gains a certain elegance when using a tool specifically designed for my own needs, proportions and tastes.  The more I attune my own sensitivities, the more my own capacity to feel seems to expand.  

 

I come to a deeper understanding of myself, cultivating romance in the careful attention to a fluid sensory experience. These small acts of problem-solving acknowledge comfort, movement and desire.  There is an intimacy that develops between a maker and the things they use, and a better tool can change not only how we work, but how we experience the work itself.

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