Vernacular Science

An indigo vat, with someone tracing the word "indigo" into the surface of the dark blue substance.
Emily Theus

Early this fall, members of the new Textile Working Group joined staff and volunteers at the Yale Farm to harvest Japanese indigo, gathering about fifty pounds of unassuming green plant matter. Over the following weeks, under the experienced care of Kathleen Quaintance, a third-year graduate student in history of art and the group’s coordinator, the harvested indigo yielded its namesake blue pigment, reminiscent of the University’s own “Yale Blue.” 

Some might call it chemistry, others alchemy. Kathleen prefers the phrase “vernacular science” to describe the embodied process of coaxing blue out of green. “Textiles,” Kathleen explained, “involve a lot of vernacular science and math”—artisanal knowledge that comes from patient, hands-on experience in community with other textile practitioners. 

The close relationship between textiles and communal pedagogy lies at the heart of the textile working group, which is sponsored by the Whitney Humanities Center. Kathleen loves to stitch during lectures, a practice that has occasionally earned her sidelong glances from some who assume she is not paying attention. She envisions the working group as a space for all in the Yale community who similarly love textiles and learn best with their hands busy.

As people trickled into a basement classroom in Loria for the working group’s second meeting, conversation gravitated to the relative merits of crocheting versus knitting—a topic that would resurface throughout the evening. Kathleen’s hunch that there are talented lovers of textiles all across the University was borne out by a mix of enthusiastic undergrads, faculty, and staff who gathered to work in community. Irina Neacsu, a Fulbright Fellow and botanical artist, stitched sixteenth-century floral patterns onto paper as part of a research project. Across the table, a senior in environmental engineering worked on a cable knit sweater based on a pattern she had sketched for herself, while another participant used a single strand of thread to paint a portrait of a beloved family dog.

As projects progressed and discussion deepened, group members reflected on the paradoxical history of textiles, which is marked by both gendered marginalization and proximity to power. Professor Katie Trumpener emphasized that New England’s textile industries played a central role in nineteenth-century political turmoil, and in response, Cristyn Filla, of the Yale Center for British Art, wondered, “How do we get from that central role to me, a twenty-something who feels like knitting is a guilty pleasure?” 

Similar questions of politics and power drive Kathleen’s interest in indigo. Its history is inseparable from colonialism and plantation slavery—and interwoven with Yale’s own. While working for the British East India Company, Elihu Yale made his fortune from textiles, some of which were dyed with indigo. Fine textiles were among the donations he sent in the 1710s to the Collegiate School of Connecticut. To honor his contribution and entice him to donate more, the school constructed a building that bore his name: Yale College. 

The textile working group invites its members to deepen their relationship with textiles—to engage in the vernacular science of this rich and varied craft form while unraveling complex social histories and making new meaning in community. 


If you’re interested in joining the Textile Working Group, please fill out this interest form.


Emily Theus  is a Ph.D. candidate in religious studies. Her research traces the formative role an idea of revelation plays in public and scholarly conversations about ecological crises. She is particularly interested in how the challenges and promises of this revelation are articulated in terms of narrative.