TĀNA means the warp: the lengthwise thread held taut on the loom while the weaver works across it. Everything a cloth becomes is settled by that thread.
We make one thing. Handwoven cloth from India, in natural fibre, kept plain.
Some of the world's finest cloth is woven in India. Pashmina and cashmere in Kashmir. Wool on the high looms of Himachal. The lightest silk and cotton in Chanderi. Wild silk and embroidery in the Kutch desert. For centuries this was made by families who did nothing else, and for much of that time it was worn plainly, because the cloth was enough.
Somewhere in the last hundred years the thread between the person who wears cloth and the hands that make it was cut. Machines made most of what we wear, and the makers went quiet. We are trying to tie that thread back.
So we work the old way. Everything is spun and woven by hand, by named weavers, in the places the craft belongs to. And we ask them for less than tradition asks. One colour in place of twenty. A single quiet line where there was a crowd of pattern. The ornament left off, so the fibre and the light are the whole of it. It sounds simple. It is the hardest thing to get from a loom.
We make few pieces, and we number the rarest. We do not hold sales. A shawl is meant to be kept a long time, and then handed to someone. That is the oldest thing cloth has done, and still the best reason to make it well.