It’s unsettling to stand in those mills, looking at the historic equipment and the worn floorboards and the diffuse light over workstations that probably looked much the same 150 years ago. The workers themselves, with sneakers and tattoos, prevent the place from feeling as if you might step outside into the Civil War era, but you do get the sense of having eddied out of time. The past, we keep relearning, does not necessarily look like the darkened oil paintings for which we mistake it. Textile factories, on certain days, make you remember that Matisse came from a textile town. Fuchsia hanks of yarn contrast brightly with the faded wood of a loom, and even basic white threads take on a glow in spooled array.