Jessica Mordine Young

Name: Jessica Mordine Young

Studio location: Brooklyn, NY

Website / social links: jessiemordineyoung.com, @jessiemordine

Loom type or tool preference: Frame loom

Years weaving: Over a decade, increasingly rooted in ritual and repetition.

Fiber inclination: I primarily work with natural fibers—cotton, hemp, — and often incorporate hand-dyed or foraged materials that reflect seasonal change.

Current Favorite Weaving Book: Sheila Hicks Material as Metaphor

Favorite Weaving Book for Theory: Bauhaus Weaving Theory by T’ai Smith. I’m also revisiting Glenn Adamson’s Fewer, Better Things.

This interview was originally published in 2020 and has been updated as of May 2025.

 

1. How did you discover weaving and was what your greatest resource as a beginner?

My discovery of weaving was layered—it began with early exposure to handwoven textiles in India, where I spent formative years. While I had observed various textile making processes during my travels, my first tactile memory of weaving was on a multi-shaft pit loom in India. I was about eighteen, and I was invited to try passing the shuttle on a fly shuttle loom operated by a master weaver in Varanasi, where they mainly create Brocade saris. I also remember the first time I encountered a Jacquard loom with punch card technology—watching how each card precisely lifted threads felt like witnessing an early form of coding.

I deepened my technical and conceptual understanding of the process during my studies at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. Learning the mechanics of warping a loom was both empowering and intimidating, but I was drawn in by the quiet complexity of the process. Weaving felt like a language I had been trying to speak for years without knowing it.I entered art school as a pretty natural painter - weaving honestly did not come easily to me - it was challenging, and the rules felt rigid. But I became fascinated with the problem solving aspect of the process. I also found peace in the meditative process.

I took a long pause from weaving to pursue a career in textile research and conservation in museums. But it wasn’t until picking up my frame loom daily during my durational weaving practices of the 100 day series in 2021 and A Woven Year in 2023 that I began to feel fluent in the medium.

2. How do you define your practice – do you consider yourself an artist / craftsperson / weaver / designer / general creative or a combination of those? Is this definition important to you?

My practice is multifaceted. I consider myself primarily a textile artist, but also a researcher, educator, and creative collaborator. I don’t see those roles as separate; they speak to each other constantly. As an artist, I use weaving as a means to process and respond to the world. As an educator, I share those tools with others, fostering awareness of slowness and care. My research investigates the sociocultural histories embedded in cloth and fiber practices across time and geography.

I resist the urge to define myself by any single category because my work is rooted in permeability. The woven structure itself is a metaphor: threads crossing, intersecting, making meaning in their union. Similarly, my roles intersect, each strengthening the integrity of the others.

I don’t see myself as a designer really - my work is fluid, and the planned aspect of design feels too intimidating for me.

3. Describe your first experience with weaving.

Upon stepping onto the loom for the first time, I was immediately excited for the possibilities of materials. In one of my first weavings, I incorporated coffee filters, and shards of glass in another. I cut strips of painted canvas into strips and wove with that too. Now over a 

Even then, I felt how time and body settle into rhythm. That embodied memory shaped the way I now approach weaving—not as production, but as ritual.

4. What is your creative process, from the initial idea to the finished piece? Are there specific weave structures, looms, or fibers that are important to your process?

My creative process is grounded in observation and intuition. I often begin not with a fixed outcome in mind, but with a felt impulse—a color I can’t stop thinking about, a texture I encountered while walking, or an emotional undercurrent I need to explore. Sometimes I know exactly what a piece will look like before I even set the loom in my lap. Other times, things only come into focus once I start warping. My process is pretty fluid—it builds up, shifts, breaks down, and builds again. I add and subtract as I go, often unweaving parts that felt right at first but don’t quite sit well later. It’s all part of figuring things out through making.

During A Woven Year, I committed to creating a woven sketch every single day for 365 days. That practice was about showing up more than it was about completion. I worked on a frame loom, which allowed for spontaneity and flexibility. I chose my materials intuitively, often responding to seasonal shifts or emotional states. Some days were heavy and dark, others light and expansive. Over time, the accumulation of daily sketches became an archive—not of events, but of presence. Each small weaving held the imprint of its day.

For larger works, I usually begin with sketches, material experiments, and research. I might look into a specific place or tradition, and then let that inform my dye choices, yarns, and weave structures. I rarely plan out a piece entirely; I trust the process to reveal what it needs.

5. Does your work have a conceptual purpose or greater meaning? If so, do you center your making around these concepts?

Yes, my work is very much about the passage of time and how we record it through the body and through material. With A Woven Year, I was interested in the notion of weaving as a daily ritual—how repetitive labor can become a way of marking time, like the rings of a tree or sediment in rock.

My work also explores the idea of protection and containment. I see textiles as both porous and protective: they shield, carry, bind, and hold. This duality fascinates me. I often weave with natural materials that are impermanent—plant-dyed yarns that fade with light, organic textures that fray. These qualities remind me that memory, like cloth, is something we care for, but cannot control.

6. What is your favorite part of the weaving process and why? What’s your least favorite?

The rhythm of weaving—its repetition, its resistance to speed—is what I love most. There’s a trust that forms when you return to something daily. My least favorite part is the necessity of documentation; archiving the work digitally can feel disconnected from the embodied slowness of the weaving itself. Particularly when we live in a time where content creation feels both ever-present (and consequently) essential. While I can appreciate the storytelling aspect of it, I have to catch myself being too performative as it can strip the authenticity from my practice and stifle my creativity.

7. Do you sell your work or make a living from weaving? If so, what does that look like and how has that affected your studio practice?

I do sell my work, but I don’t rely solely on sales for my livelihood. My income is more diversely rooted in teaching, writing, client work, and collaborative projects. This structure allows me to approach weaving without the pressure to constantly produce and sell. I also that each of the facets of my practice inform one another. 

When I do offer pieces for sale, they are often the result of long periods of research and making. I want each work to carry the weight of the time and care it requires. I also occasionally teach workshops or give talks, which allows me to share my process more intimately and build community around these practices.

8. Where do you find inspiration?

My inspiration comes from paying attention. I find it in the light shifting on my studio wall, in the pattern of branches against the sky, in the rhythm of walking familiar paths. Travel has also deeply influenced me—particularly time spent in Oaxaca, Ireland, and the American Southwest. Each place brings a different palette, material, and history into my work.

I also draw inspiration from women in my family and the quiet labor of care I witnessed growing up. I think about the unspoken languages of cloth—the blanket knitted by a grandmother, the curtain hand-sewn by a mother—and how textiles carry love, grief, memory.

9. What other creatives do you admire – weavers, artists, entrepreneurs – and why?

Sheila Hicks’s smaller works have had a big impact on how I think about scale and play in my own weaving. There’s so much energy and honesty in the way she experiments with materials—her pieces feel spontaneous but intentional. Seeing how she lets process lead in those small formats reminds me that my daily weavings can hold just as much meaning and presence as larger pieces.

While I am constantly seeking inspiration in the textile vernacular, I also look to inspiration from other artforms - namely clay and painting. I love the expressiveness of Cy Twombly large format, color-filled paintings. I’m also drawn to the rigor and stillness of Agnes Martin, whose work shares an ethos of repetition and restraint that speaks deeply to weaving.

10. If you could no longer weave, what would you do instead?

If I couldn’t weave anymore, I think I’d dive deeper into clay. I’ve always been drawn to how it holds the memory of touch—like textiles, it responds to the hand, the pressure, the gesture. I’ve been working with clay slab looms recently, as a way to step away from traditional frame and floor looms. That shift opened up a whole new way of thinking for me. The process has been humbling—there’s so much unpredictability, especially with the kiln. Things can crack, shrink, surprise you entirely. But honestly, I find that kind of uncertainty exciting.

Do you have any upcoming exhibits, talks, or events the community should know about?

I just put on my very first solo show in New York City, where I exhibited all 365 weavings from A Woven Year. This daily weaving project was both a personal and artistic commitment—one that explored presence, memory, and material intuition through a year of making. Seeing the entire body of work displayed together felt like a woven visual diary, where the pages were splayed out. You can read more about the show here.