Spinning the sea into silk, the last woman to know the secret
by Georgia Gibson
Georgia is a linguist, finishing her year abroad, which she spent living in Seville, Havana and most recently, Sardinia. She is forever bimbling and uncovering great little places along the way.
It is a smouldering Sunday on the island of Sant’Antioco, just off Sardinia’s southern coast, and I have come to see the sole guardian of the sacred secret of sea silk. Stepping into her studio, unsigned and unassuming, but open to all, you are met by a sense of serenity and silence that simultaneously soaks and sucks you in. And there in the corner: the sight of Chiara herself at her sewing station, singing as she spins the shimmering threads.
Such sibilance may seem superfluous, but much like the last surviving maestro of this ancient art, serendipity, strategy, and sound are all central to the story.
The small studio doubles as a micro-museum and intricate examples of her craft hang off pieces of furniture, whilst the artist herself sits in the centre, eager to explain the process. This is probably the most immersive artistic experience you could ever hope to get.
This rare form of sea silk, called byssus, is made from the solidified saliva of a large clam, known in Latin as Pinna Nobilis. Chiara, following in the flippersplashes of her grandmother, who in turn followed in hers before her and so on, for 28 generations, free dives into the island’s crystalline waters to retrieve the silky-smooth threads which she will then subject to a secret process culminating in glistening gold silk. Chiara explains how “the most important thread” that she spins from the soul of the Sardinian sea is “that of history, of my ancestors, of their tradition.”
Growing up in what she calls a “magic house” amongst a family of maestros in ancient languages and fabrics, Chiara explains that her grandmother became her sole carer and imparted onto her the wisdom of the waters, “weaving within me a tapestry that was impossible to unwind”. Diving into the lagoons and returning home together to distil dyes from herbs and shells, sharing the secrets learned by heart and never written down, became a defining part of her childhood.
Today, I watch as she uses the same secret formula to soak the thread, singing to it as she does so to activate the mixture and make it shine. “There is no other fabric that sleeps in the dark and in the light turns into gold” she tells me with a smile.
And the next generation? I can’t help but ask with a tremor in my voice, fearing for the endurance of an oral tradition in an increasingly fast paced and forgetful world. Her granddaughter has already expressed enthusiasm to be the next vessel and voice of the skill, she reassures me, before going on to say it is the most important gift she can give to her, and that her grandchild will give to the modern world. Vigo talks about the tradition as if it were her master and not the other way round, explaining how it bestowed unto her the “power of patience and the importance of living and feeling the moment”. Confronted by covid, Chiara tells me she loved the traffic-less streets of lockdown and how it all only served to substantiate lessons already learnt: We cannot compete with nature. Take joy in small gestures, be critical and curious, love and live with others and the world as it is and not how you wish it could be.
If you are the kind of Bimbler that likes to mark the moment with purchase, then this is not the place for you. Chiara’s sense of calm is only broken once, and it is when this subject is breached. “The byssus is the soul of the sea. It is sacred. It is not for sale”, her voice is raised and her eyes are stern, “it would be like commercialising the flight of an eagle”. All of Chiara’s creations are gifts, much like the thread and the book she gave me, encouraging me to read on and spread my curiosity. It is a passion, a pleasure and never a profession or a production line. And in a mysterious manner, all who have sought to make money from, or to produce the silk on a large scale, have suffered great failures and sometimes even tragedies.
Conversing with Chiara, which I urge all Italian speaking visitors to do, feels like weaving a canvas: there is a structured serenity to her stream of thought, and you feel part of some bigger design, caught in the very ebb and flow of her pauses and poetic phrases. For those of you who do not speak Italian, I still think this is a must-see, as there is a surreal strength in her stature and power in the place that envelopes you like a cloth and leaves you feeling refreshed, and dare I say, somewhat glistening like gold.
And in a parallel world where your life never intertwined with that of sea silk, what would you have become? “A pianist, my child, but to play well you need short nails and to sew silk you need long nails, so naturally I chose the latter” and a mischievous smile spreads across her face. Manicures and morals are the method to her madness. We topple off the transcendental talk into laughter, as at the soul of Signora Vigo is a woman wanting to share moments and memories with all who step foot in the studio.
Find Chiara Vigo and other places I love in and around Sardinia, in my Bimbles.
If you have a story you’d like to share about a great little place or other bimbling experiences, get in touch with us at hello@bimble.com.
