Hi, I’m Erin. I traded twenty years in fashion for a life of slow craft. A dialogue between the past and present, my studio Underwater Weaving honors the techniques I learned from my mother growing up in Maine. Explore our handmade world of baskets, weaving kits, and creative gatherings here.
I recently saw The Testament of Ann Lee, directed by Mona Fastvold.
As it pertains to our work at the studio, I am a fan of the Shaker aesthetic and was excited to see the film for this reason, as well as to learn about Ann Lee, whom I simply thought to be an early feminist. Because our studio in Maine is part farmhouse and barn built in 1789, just 10 minutes from The Sabbathday Lake Shaker Village, established in the same decade, the style’s influence on our work has been a consistent presence.
The Testament of Ann Lee is an otherworldly genre-bending film about a woman who rejected a patriarchal society, believed in utopia, and brought a movement to America that celebrated dance, song, and the creation of useful things in the late 18th century.
Through beautiful, dramatic postmodern choreography by Celia Rowlson-Hall and melodic reinterpretations of Shaker hymns by Daniel Blumberg, the film depicts work as nothing short of ecstasy, reached through washing, gardening, weaving, building, making, and craft.
Of course, I left longing for a craft and community-led daily life. Bond, substance, and discovery through the work of our hands? I’m in. I openly suspect the disintegration of these skills over the centuries has left us disconnected from the world and ourselves. But seeing the film also hit another nerve I’ve been trying to name.
I find myself desperate for “good” stories about our history.
So many of the stories of our past are heavy. Patriarchal— timelines of conquest and division. I carry the weight of these stories in daily interactions. I think we’re feeling the negative effects of these stories on our culture. I long to find narratives where we were gentler. I’m on a desperate search for a kinder story.
While I don’t subscribe to a particular religion, Ann Lee and the Shakers have some redeeming qualities. It is easy to be drawn in by their chairs and baskets, but perhaps it is possible to feel okay with the intention behind them.
The era when the Shakers arrived in America was defined by slavery and hierarchy, yet they were inclusive. They opened their doors to everyone—Indigenous, Black, white, orphans, and the destitute—declaring them equal. Ann Lee also equalized women. It’s worth noting that at the time, childbirth was the leading cause of death, and she had lost four children before the age of one (it is horrifically shown in the film). It is not out of the realm of possibility that celibacy was a form of gener preservation. That said, the film implies that Mother Ann considered herself the female version of God, but according to practicing Shaker Brother Arnold, she saw herself as a disciple, not the female version of Him, which feels a bit more digestable.
So, while others were writing pamphlets about equality, Ann Lee practiced a world where women were actually equal. If I am to be in a constant dialogue between the past and the present, this is chat I’m receptive to.
Perhaps the most comforting part is the living connection to this history through our local village. It’s bucolic landscape intact, the sheep, gardens, structures, and humans living and working there. It’s a real place I can visit.
In Winter 01, I shared a shift I’m feeling toward a narrative of dominance to one of care. I guess these are the themes that tether me now. The idea that maybe when we weave, we are doing more than making an object; that maybe we can participate and preserve a lineage of kind history. We can use our hands to create something that holds, gathers, and generously offers. Objects with a kind soul.
What I’m Eating
