Water Crepe

An Introduction to Shui Hu

This is a collection of essays about rivers, time, and textiles.

Shui Hu refers both to the fine ripples that wind ruffles across the surface of water and to an old term for crepe silk, a fabric so light and delicate you might almost hear it breathe. The writing in this book explores the state of being caught between the tangible and intangible.

With a delicate, almost transparent touch, the author writes of mist in distant mountains, the scent of camphor in an old wardrobe, the paths ants take before the rainy season, and dusks soaked through with rain. She writes of a length of plain crepe silk left deep in an attic, its surface fading from moon white to ivory, its warp and weft coming loose one thread at a time, like memories releasing the past they once clung to so tightly. She writes of the marks left by river water flowing over stone steps, the sound of silkworms biting through mulberry leaves, and a copper button slowly turning green with verdigris in the dark.

This is not a story about any one person, but about the glimmer that all things on the verge of passing away give off at the moment they vanish: like a dragonfly skimming the water, glaze flowing in the heat of a kiln, or a length of fabric, never cut, breathing alone in the darkness.