Back in La Croix-Rousse, I booked two visits in one afternoon, both workshops kept alive by the association Soierie Vivante. They were not far apart, and each offered its own view of the craft.
The first sat on the same street as the Atelier de Tissage Mattelon. It belonged to Henriette Létourneau, who was born there in 1912 and wove trims on its looms for more than half a century, often in gold and silver thread. When she retired in 1978, according to Soierie Vivante, only five trimmers remained in La Croix-Rousse. Fifty years earlier, there had been 1,500.
Operating it was almost a dance, human and machine.
Our guide shared the story of the building, the looms and silk in Lyon. The tour was in French, yet she made sure those of us who were not native speakers could follow and enjoy it. As she ran the machines for the demonstration, I found myself imagining a time when looms whirred across this hill and silk was a way of life for so much of the city. Near the looms, samples of the military braids once woven there remained, a reminder of a life that once was.
On the way to the next workshop, we were each given a map. The short walk, roughly 10 minutes, was marked with moments from Lyon’s silk history. This hill was once alive with silk makers.
The second workshop brought that life closer still. Beneath its high ceilings stood the looms and a small kitchen, and above the kitchen, a narrow loft with a bed. Work and family shared every meter. I remember standing in the loft, looking onto the looms. The demonstrations were done on a 19th-century handloom and a mechanical loom. The handloom stays with me. Operating it was almost a dance, human and machine.
That day, I gained a new appreciation for the workers: their daily lives, and the reality of the craft. It was humbling.
Lyon is celebrated for its gastronomy. Its silk, too, has shaped the city, in ways still visible today.
— Aimée