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C. L. Moreno Biec
By way of example, these three cultures put their knowledge and heritage into the
making, feeling the language through senses. As Maria G. Cattel and Jacob J. Climo
mention in their book Social Memory and History [4], “Memory is the foundation of
self and society”. Textiles, like humans, have memories; they tell us about what they
went through. We can see examples of this in the dying during the Mudcloth process,
which at first is invisible and then starts to slowly reveal the design that holds the
meaning of the trace left by the mud, or in the felt that can be re-shaped according
to need.
Felt also engages memory as it is a tactile material that impacts on our body,
consciousness, and environment. During felting, everything that was in the air at that
moment (like dust or hair) gets absorbed into the final piece, making every felted
cloth unique. When a fabric impacts memory it engages the social life of things, thus
transforming material items into objects that have an active life as people engage
with them in multiple meaningful ways [11, p. 163].
When we experience surfaces through our senses we perform a “memory backup” because bodily memories, which leave marks on our skin, can guide us when
conscious memory fails. Those memories are kept through the story and culture that
the skin already carries. That means that the same haptic experience will not have
the same impact on two different individuals.
Memory is not just an intellectual action, it is also shaped by imagination. Through
time, we are transmuting our memories following our imagination and perceptions.
That is why engaging our whole body in what we do is a more effective way to preserve meanings and to imprint a long-lasting perception. The richer the engagement,
the more holistic and faithful the memory.
However, textile languages do not need to be fixed in order to generate such
powerful memories; they can be movable, “unknotted”, re-shaped or re-signified.
It is specifically their tactility which produces the deep engagement between the
“author” of the piece and the end user, and using this sense to “read” creates a personal
engagement with the material. The felting process also brings an understanding of
versatility and malleability. Using the fibres in their natural state generates a good
channel of interaction with nature, and there resides the simplicity of this language.
It is an almost magical process to see the fibres coming together to create a new,
strong, unwoven surface that can be re-shaped and adapted.
With the right stimuli, humans reveal their identities and allow themselves to be
re-signified as well. The materials that act as the conduit for these languages engage
human senses, producing internal well-being, which can later be passed on to the
external world. As Neil Harbisson has said, “Knowledge comes from our senses, so
if we extend our senses, we will consequently extend our knowledge” [18]. However,
it is important to acknowledge that this is not necessarily intellectual knowledge that
is being developed and later engaged.
Ernesto Neto, who develops interactive installations, has given us an example
of how this can work practically. He said that his work is an experience of smell,
colour, emotion, and sensory language, and that we “Receive information, but I
want to stop thinking (…) I think that not thinking is healthy; it’s like breathing
life itself” [15]. As humans, we often have this need to stop thinking because our
C. L. Moreno Biec
By way of example, these three cultures put their knowledge and heritage into the
making, feeling the language through senses. As Maria G. Cattel and Jacob J. Climo
mention in their book Social Memory and History [4], “Memory is the foundation of
self and society”. Textiles, like humans, have memories; they tell us about what they
went through. We can see examples of this in the dying during the Mudcloth process,
which at first is invisible and then starts to slowly reveal the design that holds the
meaning of the trace left by the mud, or in the felt that can be re-shaped according
to need.
Felt also engages memory as it is a tactile material that impacts on our body,
consciousness, and environment. During felting, everything that was in the air at that
moment (like dust or hair) gets absorbed into the final piece, making every felted
cloth unique. When a fabric impacts memory it engages the social life of things, thus
transforming material items into objects that have an active life as people engage
with them in multiple meaningful ways [11, p. 163].
When we experience surfaces through our senses we perform a “memory backup” because bodily memories, which leave marks on our skin, can guide us when
conscious memory fails. Those memories are kept through the story and culture that
the skin already carries. That means that the same haptic experience will not have
the same impact on two different individuals.
Memory is not just an intellectual action, it is also shaped by imagination. Through
time, we are transmuting our memories following our imagination and perceptions.
That is why engaging our whole body in what we do is a more effective way to preserve meanings and to imprint a long-lasting perception. The richer the engagement,
the more holistic and faithful the memory.
However, textile languages do not need to be fixed in order to generate such
powerful memories; they can be movable, “unknotted”, re-shaped or re-signified.
It is specifically their tactility which produces the deep engagement between the
“author” of the piece and the end user, and using this sense to “read” creates a personal
engagement with the material. The felting process also brings an understanding of
versatility and malleability. Using the fibres in their natural state generates a good
channel of interaction with nature, and there resides the simplicity of this language.
It is an almost magical process to see the fibres coming together to create a new,
strong, unwoven surface that can be re-shaped and adapted.
With the right stimuli, humans reveal their identities and allow themselves to be
re-signified as well. The materials that act as the conduit for these languages engage
human senses, producing internal well-being, which can later be passed on to the
external world. As Neil Harbisson has said, “Knowledge comes from our senses, so
if we extend our senses, we will consequently extend our knowledge” [18]. However,
it is important to acknowledge that this is not necessarily intellectual knowledge that
is being developed and later engaged.
Ernesto Neto, who develops interactive installations, has given us an example
of how this can work practically. He said that his work is an experience of smell,
colour, emotion, and sensory language, and that we “Receive information, but I
want to stop thinking (…) I think that not thinking is healthy; it’s like breathing
life itself” [15]. As humans, we often have this need to stop thinking because our