They gave us lashings for the lean-to, bindings for the stone axe, packages with handles and ways of hanging stuff from belts. From knots we got the bracelet, ways to tie the hair up, snares to snatch the rabbit, the basket and the bow. But that was long ago. The technologies of tying are fading all around us. The knot has gone obsolete.

Children can barely tie their shoes now. Their sneakers close with Velcro. The clerk, when you went shopping, used to tie your parcels up with string. Now they come in plastic.

Surgeons laser-fuse and staple where they used to stitch.

Multiple facets

Each distinctive trade (the stevedore, the dressmaker, the carter, the hangman) once had its own distinctive knottings. Now, except for hobbyists (knitters, sailors, rock climbers), who ties knots at all?

Think of what we owe the technologies of tying. Without knots we would be naked. Pelts slide off the shoulder unless laced together. Knots led us to the needle, and after that to weaving and every kind of cloth. Without mooring lines and nets, the bowline and the clove hitch, we would have never gone to sea.

Or high into the mountains. The iceman with the copper axe found frozen in the Alps knew nothing of weaving but much of knots. He had tied eight different kinds of them. He carried spare rope and spare yarn. His shoelaces were long. His stone arrowheads were bundled with a string.

T knot, you have to comprehend, remember and repeat — as you do in ritual, as you do in art. Knots are tied to memory. The first rosaries were knotted. To retrieve their long songs, the bards of ancient Ireland fingered knotted strings.

Knots in painting are a presence. The most beautiful of all may be those on the pages of the Book of Kells, a book produced twelve-hundred years ago on an island off Scotland, when few people could read. In it the spiral interlacings with their leavings and returns were reminders of teachings, now hidden, now apparent, woven in the word.

Leonardo drew knots. So did Albrecht Durer. Their ingenious intertwinings demand your full attention. Today few viewers bother. They are in too much of a rush.

On museum displays

Old knots of many kinds are found throughout museums. The snowshoes of wood and knotted thong in the National Museum of the American Indian are intricately tied, as are the 400-piece collection of Belgian, Parisian and old Venetian lace at the Baltimore Museum of Art. Medieval manuscripts at the Walters Art Museum include intertwined knots from a Carolingian Bible from France, from the 10th century.

The Library of Congress owns all 25 volumes of the series Knots & Everything. The Inca of Peru used tied-together groups of coloured knotted cords for recalling sacred numbers and calculating sums. To decipher their knotted mathematics, consult the Code of the Quipu by Marcia and Robert Ascher.

Also on the shelves is the greatest knot book of them all, The Ashley Book of Knots, published in 1944 and still in print. Its thousands of line drawings are so clear in execution, so mentally demanding, so full of lore and learning and intricate ideas that they qualify as a major piece of early American conceptual art.

Onboard lessons

Clifford Ashley, born in 1881 in New Bedford, Massachussets, US, served what he would call his "apprenticeship in knots" aboard the whaling bark Sunbeam, "probably the last merchant square-rigger to put to sea with hemp standing rigging". Then he turned to art. He went to school with N.C. Wyeth and studied with Howard Pyle. Then he got consumed by knots.

In his book each knot gets a paragraph, a number and a how-to drawing. Some specialists contend his book has duplications, but I have yet to find them. His black-and-white line drawings number 3,854.

Lots of knots have lots of names. This was always confusing.

By Paul Richard, Los Angeles Times-Washington Post

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