Not Just Slow; but ANCIENT Fashion

Fast fashion is a term we use at Montana Fibershed to describe the rapid fire change over in the modern fashion industry. For example, Forever 21 is a model built on fast fashion; sometimes turning over inventory as much as once a week. The trend creates happy consumers, but at a high cost. Fibershed prefers to think about slow fashion. A term that applies to regenerative choices in the industry. Fashion is “slow” not only for the time it takes to create, but also how long it takes to wear out.

These conversations have me thinking of a different term-Ancient fashion. And more specifically in my family, Ancient arts. I would define ancient arts as the use of hands and raw materials to create. When I weave, I am using my hands and a basic tool to create cloth that we then turn into products. My wife, Molly, spins wool using hands and feet to power a wheel. She also knits-again hands and basic tools to create a functional product. It wasn’t until recently,

coincidentally at the loom where I have time to ponder, that I reflected on the idea of hands and simple tools-Ancient arts-and how they run through my family.

My grandfather was a wheat farmer. Yes, at the early points in his life that practice was non-machine based: the literal working of the soil. But by the time I spent part summers on the

farm, most work was done by machine. He never lost that ability to work simply with his hands, however. My grandfather was a towering man; his hands were large, scarred, aged. He would manipulate tools to fix those machines, he would craft household items out of wood, and he and I built a rudimentary gun cabinet for me. All the time his giant hands would work at a slow, gentle pace while he whistled softly.

My grandmother was very much the opposite. While my grandfather was easily six foot four, she was maybe 5 feet tall. She had small, delicate hands. Yet her hands were always in motion, making up for their size with speed. She made all meals on the farm, including extra cookies (sugar for the grandson!), bread, cakes for snacks. Her house was immaculate. When those tasks were done, she would be in her recliner with something in her hands. I’m not sure

there is a handcraft she could not do. I know she knitted, sewed, probably crocheted. The art I remember best: hardanger. Hardanger is a Norwegian (Hardangersøm) embroidery that creates

what looks like lace. It is unbelievably intricate, detailed, and delicate-very much like my grandmother.

I can’t say anyone ever looked at my father and wondered: “Does he knit?”. He was certainly never going to pick up a needle and thread or sit behind a loom. Still, I inherit my need to work with my hands very much from him. My father could make anything run. Almost every car we owned had once been a clunker or wrecked. My father would buy the car, fix it, take out the dents, and give it an amazing paint job. When I was in high school, we renovated our upstairs bathroom. My father drew the plan himself, and step-by-step we crafted wood with hand tools until we had a major upgrade.

What is no secret is that my passion for ancient work is most easily traced to my mother. All through my childhood she made our clothes. Like her mother, she could knit, cross stitch, crochet. But her passion was quilting. In the modern age quilting can be done on large quilting tables with computer programs and designs. My mother sewed the quilts together, sometimes using her basic sewing machine to quilt them, but also as often sitting on the couch hand

quilting. She did not just make functional quilts to cover the bed, wear out and toss. They were works of art, blending patterns, shapes, colors. More importantly, they are durable. My house is

still filled with quilts made by my mother 20-30 years ago. These same quilts will go with my children someday, long after the fast fashion Walmart blankets are turned to dust.

There will probably always be fast fashion. The teens I teach daily will be lured by the pressure to have the latest style. Like me, they may be missing the ancient use of hands and tools going on around them with their parents or grandparents. And maybe, like me, they will someday find themselves behind a floor loom, reflecting.

Jon & Molly Moore, of Hoof and Paw Farm, raise Icelandic, BFL, and Painted Desert sheep on a small farm near Helena, MT. They offer raw fleece and prepared fiber. They are also directors on our Montana Fibershed board.