Reproduction 18th Century English Trim Loom and Muffin Kitty

Toy? Or not? Mmm, probably a toy.

No more than a few minutes after I'd started weaving on this new 18th century style English trim loom, Miss Blueberry Muffin discovered its string. We had a neat couple of minutes together as she explored play possibilities.

Wait, what's this? Is this a tape loom I have here? Why, yes it is. It arrived last Tuesday, during the Big Delightful Snow Storm and the Boys' Endless Week Off from School.

Specifically, the loom is an English trim loom, modeled after one at Colonial Williamsburg. If you look carefully at some of the photos of the mantuamakers at the Margaret Hunter Shop, you will see them working on a quite similar loom, making floss fringe trims. 

Sarah Woodyard of Colonial Williamsburg uses a tape loom to make
floss fringe trim.

Tape and trim looms show up sometimes in art. When John Singleton Copley painted Thomas and Sarah Mifflin in 1773, he pictured her weaving fringe on a trim loom.

By John Singleton Copley, American, 1738 - 1815 (1738 - 1815) (American), via Wikimedia Commons

You can make regular fringe on them too, narrow gimp and other passementerie trims for dress and household. Of course, you can make the ubiquitous tapes that anchored 18th century dress as well as household items: apron strings, cap ties, petticoat ties, bindings, garters, ties for bags, loops for doors, anything that needed a strong tape. 

I first saw a tape loom years ago and was instantly fascinated. There are lots of kinds of tape looms, some of them quite ancient, and the Scandinavians wove gorgeous tapes on them with handsome patterns. They produce a product with a warp face...that is, it's the warp you see, the up-and-down threads, not the side-to-side weft threads. By picking up particular warp threads, you can build the pretty patterns.

This loom is handmade, gorgeously so, by Jonathan K. Seidel. It's made of walnut, and shows all the fine details of a careful craftsman: the tiny wire than helps keep the little drawer closed, the brass rod on the warp reel, the subtle shaping and the fine finish of the walnut case, and even the little shaped felt feet on the loom's underside. It's a work of art and I am glad he signed it, for I hope to pass it down to the next generation.

Getting this loom has been quietly in planning for it for some two years, ever since getting the idea that I wanted to hand sew an 18th century sack gown, complete with homemade floss fringe and gimp trims, and all tapes used inside the gown also homemade. Learning to weave on it is just one more step in the long, multi-year journey that this project is becoming.

Weaving tapes is relaxing, and slow, but it does take practice to make an even tape. Consistency in tension and how the threads are held is key, and I have yet to master it. Mr. Seidel prepared the loom with a partly woven tape to get me started, and provided clear, full directions for both "dressing" the loom and plain weaving. 

If you look at the rows towards the top, you'll see that they're wider than those near my fingers. Why? Because I haven't figured out even weaving yet.

Mmm, play, please?

Got it!

So sorry, didn't mean to snag your tights. You'll forgive and pet, right? (But of course.)

So, forward! Yes, I owe you a post on the cap-seaming process, but also a report on the plans for the entire ensemble, and the steps to take along the way.

Want more kitty cat fun? See Miss Blueberry Muffin's cousin Miss Felicity, the Dreamstress' feline friend in New Zealand as she tests thread in "Thread Inspector".