Linen

I didn't understand Egyptian cotton, the true appeal of the world's most desired textile, until I was on assignment in New York and had a free Friday to spend at the Met.

There, in the exhibit that created that trip's strongest impression, an intact Egyptian tomb, over 5,000 years old, was recreated. The exhibit stood alone in a glass-encased, air sealed column in the center of the room, and featured all of the original objects found in the tomb, as neatly stacked and arranged as they were when first discovered in the room. All of the funerary objects, from the jars to the figurines to the trunks and chair, were in impeccable (with a little help from the restoration department, though the museum claims not much) condition despite being 5,000 years old. The recreated space was peaceful, clean, orderly, not the least bit morbid or forbidding. The recreated walls were whitewashed, one would assume like the original.

The most amazing part of the exhibit were the linens, stacked exactly as they were found: professionally, neatly folded and--this was the most surprising part--the linens were perfectly preserved, as new-looking and usable as the bright rows of pashminas that lined the tables of the street vendors outside of the museum. The weaving was still completely intact, and the fabrics were barely discolored, still a natural ivory color. The craftsmanship was genius. The linen all served different purposes for the dead, as they had for the living, from clothing to towels to bed coverings. To stand in the presence of these ancient fabrics was one of the more profound experiences of my life. The museum write-up for the linen talked of the experience of the conservationists who handled the linen: each piece is still as light and soft to the touch as a cloud. Excellent craftsmanship still lives and breathes thousands of years later. A bit of the artisan remains in the linen. It's how the dead remain alive.