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Scribes and surgeons, thieves and theologians, philosophers and pallbearers. Here’s what they all have—patron saints. Knotmakers have no saints. There is, however, Our Lady Undoer of Knots—Mary, serenely unkinking a long ribbon while stomping on a knotted serpent. Here’s St. Irenaeus of Lyons, a second-century Christian theologian: “The knot of disobedience of the first woman, Eve, was undone by the obedience of Mary; the knot the virgin Eve had created was undone by the Virgin Mary through her faith.”
Might the tying and the untying be parts of the same whole? A couple thousand years earlier in ancient Egypt, the goddess Isis seemed to be saying so—the one who weaves it is also the one who unweaves the 𓎬 tyet. The knot itself is endless. Da Vinci knew that, as did Dürer. Not Alexander, though.
I’ve been skimming The Ashley Book of Knots, a charmingly eccentric 1944 volume by sailor and artist Clifford W. Ashley. “I hobnobbed with butchers and steeple jacks, cobblers and truck drivers, electric linesmen, Boy Scouts, and with elderly ladies who knit.” A massive “adventure in unlimited space” with 7,000 illustrations, it is spoken of with near-religious fervor by knotmakers. “In Boston, I halted an operation to see how the surgeon made fast his stitches. I have watched oxen slung for the shoeing, I have helped throw pack lashings, I have followed tree surgeons through their acrobatics, and examined poachers’ traps and snares. But I never saw Houdini,” Ashley goes on to confess.
This public domain copy has no cover, and so I’ve downloaded the original cover image by George Giguere. Against an opalescent sky and an algal sea, an old, weathered sailor sits on a cask with a (mandatory) pipe clenched in his (mandatory) square jaw. He’s showing us the Tom Fool knot, also known as the conjuror’s knot. Now that’s an old knot. Heraklas, the Greek physician, called this knot epankylotos brokhos—the interlooped noose—in his list of surgical nooses and knots in the first century AD. Our sailor looks pleased he knows his history.
Philippe Petit, legendary highwire artist and star of the Oscar-winning Man on Wire says, “If at first you don’t succeed, tie, tie again.” A card-carrying member of the International Guild of Knot Tyers, the man does know a thing or two about knotsmanship. An ill-made knot on the wire could mean he may not go home that day.
My own stakes are much lower. I’m just learning how to make knots. I’ve got heavy-knit cotton cords in ivory and crimson that I keep in a pouch. Using two colors helps me tell the twists and turns apart. I’ve also got an app called Grog Knots made by Alan Grogono—anesthesiologist, sailor, and curious knotter. (“Alan planned a career as an engineer or a comedian but father wisely interceded on the basis that a medical career would allow both. He was right!”)
I should be starting with the basics but I’m constantly distracted by more glamorous knots with names like Turk’s Head or Monkey’s Fist. Or Windy Chien’s Dune Creature, a Heaving Line sandworm that reminds me of the exploding palm leaf snakes I made as a kid. I’ll keep at it. Just like in writing, I enjoy working with shape and form, gesture and constraint. As Nick Cave says in The Red Hand Files, “What it takes for me to pursue these freedoms—to feel genuinely free—has paradoxically something to do with order and constraint. . . . Freedom finds itself in captivity.” And someday I’ll get good at this wonderful thing.
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