Gatekeepers of the Soul

 Story and Photos by Linda Cortright

Editor, Wild Fibers Magazine

In 1989, Susan Bartlett Merrill was attending a university in Barcelona, Spain. On the morning she was scheduled to take an exam she deliberately walked past several rows of tables scattered with blue books and nerve-ridden students and descended a hill into a meadow of wildflowers and towering oaks.

As if drawn by some mystical force, Merrill kept walking until she came upon an old bullock cart sitting unhitched by the side of the road. The back of the cart was full of masks – hundreds of them all beautifully woven and adorned with jewels and elaborate headdresses. The sight instantly enchanted her.

But for the record, in 1989 Merrill was in fact not attending a university in Barcelona, nor anyplace else for that matter. She was living in Brunswick, Maine, when the aforementioned adventure came to her in a dream. For several years she had been working at Spindleworks, a nonprofit art center whose mission is to “help people with disabilities achieve full and inclusive lives.” Sharing her knowledge as a spinner and weaver within the community, Merrill had developed a loyal following.

What happened next (in the dream), however, has ultimately provided the framework for understanding her own lifelong quest to discover: “Who am I? What am I doing here?  And how can we learn to love each other?”

From behind the cart a woman appeared wearing a long red skirt covered by an apron. She began walking toward Merrill with her arms outstretched and holding one of the masks in front of her. “This one is for you,” she said. “This mask will teach you something very important about yourself. When you find out what that is, share it with others.”

As Merrill retells the story, which she has undoubtedly done hundreds of times over the years, her warm blue eyes begin to sparkle as if she has just had the dream the night before. The woman then proceeded to tell Merrill the unique manner in which the masks are made. Ultimately, they have proven to be every bit as important as the messenger portended.

The Zati masks, a name Merrill chose from the Urdu word meaning “intrinsic” or “from the inside out,” represent not only a unique art form but also a valuable tool for self-discovery. Although the role of the mask has been homogenized in American culture to serve as a child’s playful disguise for one night of the year, masks have played both a vital and varied role in ancient cultures for centuries. They are used for resolving conflicts, and invoking good spirits and warding off evil ones. They are part of a ceremonial passage into adulthood, and even a safe journey to the afterlife. They have the unique ability to provide anonymity and inner identity simultaneously. Merrill believes that the cathartic process of creating the masks is just as valuable as the finished product. For her, that process starts with a trip she makes every year to a special flock of island sheep off the coast of Maine.

By the middle of June, when temperatures finally warm to where flannel shirts and heavy sweaters can be safely stowed until the first signs of autumn, Merrill joins a small flotilla of sheep wranglers, fiber junkies, herding dogs, and community helpers for a two-day roundup of shearing several hundred Lincoln/Romney cross sheep. From this annual sojourn, Merrill acquires enough fleece to last through a year of spinning, dyeing, and ultimately weaving perhaps a half dozen masks until the following year’s gathering. “I always look forward to the trip,” she says, her warm blue eyes sparkling once again. “The island is where it all begins.”

The sheep on Nash Island are a wily bunch. They live (very nicely, thank you) virtually unattended for most of the year except during shearing and lambing seasons. Otherwise, it is only the occasional lobsterman passing by who checks on them. Their fleece is kept wondrously and almost perfectly clean by the continuous cleansing of the salt-laden air. There seems little doubt that the largely “untampered” nature of their existence provides just the right energy for the Zati mask.

At the risk of stating the obvious, Merrill is not a typical weaver and so it should come as no surprise that she is not a typical spinner either. Although it is possible to create yarn using anything from an old detergent cap impaled with a hickory stick to a finally hewn spindle adorned with mastodon bone, Merrill enjoys the simplicity of spinning with a rock.

“We are all spinning on a rock,” she says with humble poignancy as she gently bends over to pick up a rock from a collection that is piled at the base of her wood stove. Using a long strand of yarn she makes several wraps around the smooth stone before weaving a three-inch stick through the wooly lattice. The stick serves as both a balance and handle with which to launch the rock into a rapid circular motion. Think of a child’s old-fashioned top that one zips across the floor using a quick flick of the thumb and index finger. Somehow the imbalanced rock glides with equal perfection as the yarn rapidly appears in its wake.

For many, the process of creating yarn from such rudimentary tools might seem a bit daunting – even for the truth seeking soul searcher. But for Merrill, it is just another step in using the endless bounties of the earth.

With rock in one hand, Merrill tosses the untamed greasy fleece in a single motion over her left shoulder and it cascades down her backside like some wooly white Rapunzel, the locks quickly plunk on the ground behind her.

From this position, Merrill easily joins the threaded rock with a random tuft of fleece, giving the stick a good zing with her fingertips to set the rock in motion as a long, beautiful strand of yarn begins to miraculously appear. 

“When I spin, I am forced to stay in the present,” Merrill says. “This part is the past,” she adds, quickly reaching down to the newly spun yarn that has been twisted but a few moments earlier. “And this,” she says while squeezing a handful of fleece from behind her shoulders, “is the future.” Then turning her attention to a small strip of wool in the middle that is not more than an inch or two in length and has just begun to twist, she concludes, “and this is the present! This is the only thing I can do anything about.” Then whoosh, she gives the rock another flick with her fingertips and more yarn begins traveling from the present into the past.

A Zati mask is relatively simple to make, requiring only a few ounces of yarn and a simple loom. In the beginning, Merrill wove the masks on a loom she created from an old trunk lid. “The trunk was in my room when I was a child,” she says. “It’s where I kept all of my special treasures when I was growing up.”

But the wooden lid was heavy and not terribly practical for carrying long distances – something Merrill has had a passion for even before her auspicious “trip” to Barcelona. As a result, she has developed the Journey Loom, a seven-piece flat loom that is both portable and easy to assemble. It fits comfortably on one’s lap and provides all the tools necessary for weaving. It’s very basic, just like the rock.

The magic of the technique that was shown to Merrill is not in the actual weaving of the mask, which follows a simple under-over technique leaving the necessary slits for the eyeholes, the nose, and the mouth, but in how the flatly woven cloth is transformed once it’s removed from the loom. Imagine snagging a sweater or a scarf on some sharp, hidden object. A thread is pulled and immediately there is a pucker in the cloth. Gently one tries to pull the thread loose again, tugging a little here, pulling it there, all in an effort to get the fabric to return to its original smooth shape. Sometimes the “pull” can be seamlessly repaired with just the right tug; other times it remains permanently puckered. Zati masks are all about the pucker.

When Merrill removes the woven piece from the loom, she then begins gently pulling at the warp threads, causing little bulges in the mask that soon begin to shape the face. A single pull can create a chubby little cheek or a deeply furrowed brow. Imagine that every single thread controls a different facial expression. It is during this gentle “tug of warp” that a new person begins to appear. Is it friend? Is it foe? Is it man, woman, or child? Is it me? Is it you? Or are we all really woven from the same cloth and just simply pulled in different directions?

Once the new face has been born, Merrill heads for the kitchen sink armed with more raw fleece and a rubber ball. Placing the ball in the sink she covers it with a layer of wool and then carefully pulls the mask over the top of it. With a firm kneading motion, and plenty of soapy warm water, she then felts the mask to the fleece, giving it a stable, orbital shape.

Only then, when the final layer has been completed and allowed to dry (just like a newborn), does Merrill decide on a name. Seeing a pair of eyes looking back at her, a mouth opened in awe, or a jaw hung low with sadness, Merrill begins to understand what part of her now resides in the “person” she has just created.

“Sometimes it’s easy to identify who a mask is, based on what’s happening in my life,” Merrill says, as if discussing these inner identities is common fodder for polite conversation. And that, perhaps, is also one of the great beauties of the Zati mask. It can be appreciated solely for its artistic merit, or it can become a gatekeeper to the soul.

Merrill’s studio lies just a few quick steps beyond the back door of her house in Brooksville, Maine. “You should only put things that you love in your workspace,” she says with conviction. “It must be a place where you can comfortably work, but it must also have a place where you can lie down and cry – sometimes that’s what we all just need to do.” Sure enough, inside her studio, an inner sanctum of sorts scattered with the faces of “relatives” both near and far, Merrill has a day bed covered with thick island fleeces and soft, woven blankets. There is also a large box of Kleenex resting on the table beside it.

After twenty years of an intensely mindful journey, and more than a hundred masks later, Merrill is now inviting others to explore their own path of truth with the publication of her first book, Weaving a Life. “The book was really the most logical next step,” she says. “I hope it will be a tool for others to help them understand some of the very same questions I have wondered about in my own life.”

It would not be appropriate to characterize Merrill’s book as just another “how to” guide about weaving anymore than it would be fair to call it just another New Age book about unlocking the secrets of one’s higher self. Weaving a Life is more accurately described as a long walk with a dear friend, stopping to rest and weave along the way, creating different art forms (which Merrill calls keyforms) that represent the sequential stages of life everyone must travel through. The Zati mask represents only one of those keyforms, the one that helps us identify our coming of age. “Show me your face before you were born” reads the Zen koan that begins the chapter on creating the Zati mask. And for most people, the mask will reveal a face they have never seen before.  

Weaving a Life is unquestionably the gift Merrill was instructed to share with others, and infinitely more accessible than a bullock cart in Barcelona – although its powers are every bit as real. With a simple loom, a bit of fiber, and an unfettered quest for truth, Merrill successfully articulates the unspoken language of the loom, gently uniting the heart and the hand in a tapestry of life. 

It is really that simple … or is it?

This article originally apeared in Wild Fibers Magazine.  All images are copyrighted by Grumble Goat Productions.

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