Disaster Strikes. Plans for the Future of the Project.

Changes to the model I want to make in the future. For the moment, it is pinned together, until I have entirely finished the decoration, when I will glue and sew it.

Today, I am putting everything together to submit it to my tutor, but there's something missing. I had hoped to be able to put the dome together, and have the structure covered when it went into the box, but I was too hasty. My plan was to make a dome from clear vinyl, and to decorate it with a retreating city skyline made from several layers of organza, so as to give the effect of mist or smog over a city. However, to make sure that the organza was durable enough, I decided to draw out paper patterns of the skyline I hoped to cut out, complete with windows, etc., and to glue down the organza to a piece of vinyl a few centimetres larger than the pattern. This technique I had already proved could work by making the weeds for the riverbed in the same way. Once it had entirely dried, I could unobtrusively pin the paper to it and cut it out with a scalpel. However, I then made my mistake. To construct the seams of the dome, I plan to use some invisible mending thread to machine the layers down - this thread is made in a kind of clear plastic, and not meant for use with a machine, but through some perseverance, I got a bobbinful to wind, and by putting down the feed teeth and changing the tension, I could move the material myself to get a fairly regular stitch. The mistake came when I decided that I wanted to keep the skyline free of such obtrusive stitching, and merely glue again. I prepared a large section of the floor in a back room with folded draping calico, and glued everything to the body of the dome. I covered it carefully with tinfoil, thinking it less likely to stick to leaking glue than clingfilm, and stacked up some encyclopaedias on top. A few days later, I picked up the books, and what do you know? The vinyl had made the centre of the shapes entirely airtight - and I had somehow completely dismissed that as a possibility. I sadly peeled them away, and in less than an hour after pegging them up to dry, they were finished. I cleaned the dome as best I could, but it has taken on a mottled appearance over the whole shape, and is, I fear, un-salvageable. The organza shapes, meanwhile, having been glued and dried twice, have shrunk away from their vinyl backing, making the surface crumpled, and full of air pockets. Luckily, both of these materials are relatively cheap, and most of the templates have survived. Unluckily, this will have to wait until after my assignment submission to go ahead, as the materials must be ordered. An A2 plan of the layout accompanies my submission.


Other things I want to include in time for assessment:

1. Add some more diverse colours - with leftover grey felt scraps applied to flints, 
2. a fine wire weathervane for the top of the spire, hopefully in a pretty jewellery wire gauge,
3. add a path, maybe gravestones, and a gate to the church courtyard,  the gate hopefully made in a scrolling ironwork style, as long as it is possible to source a narrow enough wire-edged ribbon.
4. A touch of the Baroque by adding some quarter-circle shaped crochet fans to stepped house front, as many houses in Amsterdam seem to have.
5. Make some railings for the waterside edge of the courtyard, 
6. Add some street level arches to the front of the townhouse, which currently has no official door!
7. And add a final all-round 'wrapper' to bottom of base, on the outside of the dome, to mimic the traditional wooden base to a Victorian dome display.

To sum up.
My motives in making this piece are not very complex. I made it because it combined some of my interests - Victoriana, the Low Countries, and textiles. I made it because it would allow me to build on some earlier sketchbook work I felt shouldn't be wasted, because it was an opportunity to have a clear goal, and challenges to replicate items that would test ingenuity. I made it because it presented a project that combined 3D and 2D decorative techniques, modelling, pattern cutting, and would give me a chance to practice all of them. It was more exploration than expression, which I don't think is a bad thing. It doesn't have anything particularly profound about it, and it doesn't have a great deal of deep thought behind it, but as a textile object, I think it's helped me to think about new techniques, ways to make new shapes, and well, ideas to build on in the future. Once the dome is complete, and stitched into place, I'll be reposting final pictures.

Part One of Design of Piece & Techniques Used.

As time became very short to complete this piece and meet my deadline, I began to write less and less - so here, by way of compensation, is part one of a combination piece - an exploration of what I have finished for my assignment completion date, how it was achieved, using which materials, and my plans for additions/polishing for it before it's assessment. My major disappointment during this section was my lack of time to create a nice folder of sketches and thoughts whilst the piece was in construction, as well as some more experimentation with it's composition. However, I challenged myself to meet my deadline without lowering my ambitions for a stand-out piece at the start of this section, and to some degree, I think I've achieved that aim. I went about this section in my own working way, and unfortunately that is using a very one-track mind. I make a decision, and stick to it - I don't question myself enough. This is why I often produce one-sided work, where I have been very keen to move from one technique to the next, from the sheer thrill of creating. I give myself little allotted time to reflect on work in progress, and plough onwards. So, let's analyse the piece, and the decisions behind it, without dwelling on the personality that makes it what it is.

Composition.
The arrangement of this piece was very much dictated by the scale - I had a set of techniques in mind, and wanted to make a more naturalistic scene than a study of a single building. I started off my design on A2 paper, thinking that a base any larger than the one I drew would be bordering on ludicrous. I drew a few views of the street, trying to imagine it in 3D space - I think it came together well, the only hiccup being when I measured and cut the holes for the tunnel/courtyard entrance and found they didn't make for a straight view through the building.

I had to make the base of the composition very thick, as well as wide, to be able to include a water layer and a suitable gap from the waterline to the pavement. I was also keen to make the tower of the church a little taller, to have about twice the height between the spire and pitched roof, but as it is already more than 40cm high, and the structure would become weaker with the addition of details not glued and slotted into the original skeleton, I decided to decorate as planned, and add a little cap to tidy things up at the top of the spire, hopefully drawing the eye up, and extending it's height. 

The Church Walls.
The walls of the church are very much based on some work from an earlier section of the course, where I machine stitched a series of architectural details over repeating paper designs, then tore away the paper, leaving (hopefully) a regular pattern quilted into felt-backed fabric. Though I had to hand-baste the edges of the windows back (these stitches later removed), and carefully edge them without shattering the beads with my machine's foot, the rest of the stitching went surprisingly smoothly. I left some parts unstitched, in order not to interfere with three decorative features. In the picture above, you can see a window section with a brick repair. This repair was made from the same fabric as is used for the house next to it - I again basted the fabric to the right shape, then carefully unravelled the weave to match. I took a sharp yarn needle and pulled the individual strands through the felt, then stitched them as flat as possible at the back. See next photo for detail.

I also wanted some pebble repairs - and reused the seed beads from the windows (taking out the brighter colours) to stitch an impression of a primitive fix. There are some 'flint' sections as well, which are simple appliqué of felt scraps. Also, in a couple of places, I've included some simply embroidered features like doors and shuttered windows. Notably, there is a clock face - more photos of this side further on - featuring seed beads as numbers, and bugles as hands.

Bricks.
Back of two brick sections - the loose ends neatly stitched back to reduce bulk. I resisted gluing these back, as though they have more than a tendency to fray, what with the very loose weave of the fabric, if I want to add more detail later, in the way of embroidery, extra beading, coloured mortar, etc, the glue would be quite a hindrance to smooth stitching.

 

Courtyard.
This part of the scene is probably the one I'm least happy with in it's current condition. It has plenty more features I'd like to include (I'm doing a separate post on improvements straight after this one), so for the moment, all I can say is that though it is small, it definitely draws the eye, thanks to it's bright-as-anything grass. My original plan to use soumac style embroidery on some high-count cross-stitch fabric didn't succeed, as the yarn needle necessary to hold the eyelash/fur effect wool was too thick to easily pass through the fabric, and required a lot of manhandling. The same was true of the scrap of fur fabric seen here, so I have couched the wool with a matching thread, and left it as a kind of impression of foliage. I'll be improving on this in the next few weeks, including adding some more foliage features along the edge nearest the water, where the tree roots are sticking out a little. Speaking of which...

Tree.
The tree wasn't initially going to be so bright, when I realised it's great potential for getting rid of the ends of my strands of silk floss! It's built up by winding embroidery floss around strands of wire, which are hooked through the fur fabric, adding the occasional extra wire strand for realism, keeping it simple for strength. In order to work with the materials that I had, I decided to wrap the initial colour for each branch closely, covering it twice. Then I could cover it again with a different colour, wrapping either at random, or in a cross pattern, to break up the colour, and create a deeper bark texture. 

Bridge and cobblestones.
This part of the project was inspired by a free knitting pattern I saw online - here's a link. Though the pattern itself was made on circular knitting needles, and therefore was entirely made in knit stitch, I made mine flat, and converted it to use stockinette. I decided to make my cobblestones a plain grey, but with a nice green filling to suggest moss, and add to the damp atmosphere. As for the bridge, it was made in the same way as all other features - a cardboard shell, measured, traced, a felt copy of each side made, covered and stitched, then glued into place.

River.
This was one of the trickiest elements - it would be, of course - it's clear! My plan at the start was to set pre-made textile elements in resin, to allow for my purchased fish beads to float, and weeds to rise and wave naturally. However, in measuring for the amount of resin necessary to fill the space I had in mind, I realised I would need up to a litre - and not only that, but reading about how much heat is generated by the chemicals in resin whilst it dries, it seemed like a very bad idea to use such a large amount of it on fabric. What we actually have here is a base, made from, again, felt and fashion fabrics bought from a charity shop, this time a lace skirt and a metallic scarf (the lace is the top layer, then two folded layers of the scarf, and then the felt). The cut of the skirt actually came in very useful with it's scalloped edging, making perfect background weeds to climb the brickwork behind. The base was machine stitched at random, and the clear vinyl shell attached. Next, I took a scalpel and cut long tears through all layers, poking through strips of fronds. These strips are made from another bought fabric, glued to some vinyl, and cut to shape (avoiding the question of fraying). I stitched by hand through the fabric and it's base, trying to even out my stitches, and pleating it in places, to keep it standing upright. To cover up the stitches that needed to be larger, I glued in some more leftover seed beads, combined with some iridescent bugles that were to have been fish. Finally, I cut the vinyl, inserted the bridge and stairs, and took one last piece of thread to sew them, a few fish, and some tufts (made from the de-woven strands left over from the brick walls made earlier) into place.

The Flat Roof.
Not too much to say about this one - I didn't have much of the right colour felt, and was a little nervous about cutting out the shapes. I estimated them straight from the model, cut paper copies, tried them on the model, cut the felt. I machined a ridge into the centre of the upper layer whilst the glue dried on the lower, then glued that too.

The Back View.
Here's a view from the other side, and again, the composition here is due to the footprint. The flat part nearest the camera is meant to be a potholed road, and here I used the metallic scarf from the riverbed to try and create some puddles. The real feature this side is the clock.

Church Roof, Door and Clock.
I had envisioned the roof to be more appliqué in the form of tiles, but once I realised how small the surface of a roof quarter was going to be, I decided to go the more secure route of cutting rows of scallops that were joined. As it was being joined directly to the cardboard, it again had to be glued. I used some scrap upholstery trim to neaten the edges, and cut a small cap to fit on top of the spire. For the moment, this is still removable, as I have a few changes left to make. The recessed doorway was a challenge to cut a good pattern for, and at the moment, I'm not satisfied with it. Something about the pattern I made for it has resulted in the walls bowing out, which would be a problem if it wasn't for, again, the argument that it is an old building, and this, it could be said, adds realism. The clock is one of my favourite parts of the model, being bright and decorative. I hand-stitched this in two passes, evening out the tension around the edges of the disc.

Stained Glass, and Tunnel.
As detailed in my previous post, the windows have been made with an adapted bead weaving technique. I'd originally hoped to make pictures with the beads, but for the sake of my schedule, I reasoned that as these were being viewed from the outside, the pictures might well be unclear, and only show blocks of colour. Whilst they were a little tricky to stitch in, they held their shape well when removed from the frame. The tunnel/walkway also pictured had to be made separately, and will eventually be stitched onto the outer panels. It keeps it's shape well currently without support, due to the snug fit and springy felt.

Diagonal Windows.
The first windows I tried to weave, these were very experimental indeed, and none too successful. This is for a number of reasons: 1, it is difficult to accurately mark out the starting point of lines that control diagonal width - in my first attempt, I made them too close together, and the beads didn't fit in the gaps. 2, The felt frames have remarkably little width between them, and begin to warp as soon as the card frame is removed. 3, as the beads are positioned corner to corner, they really want to slip down their strands. I think that this could be a part to take out and retry, depending on a survey of the loose threads from the brick covering. Also note that, trying to imitate candlelight, I have placed some of the golden lace from the riverbed behind the windows.

Special Roof Pleating. 
For this tiled roof, I wanted to do something clever, and imitate a terracotta roof with curved tiles. The plan I came up with do this was to take a pattern of the cardboard I wanted to cover, and to draw on it the approximate number of finished tiles. Then I copied it lengthways, adding depth between each tile to be pleated up. I folded the paper to see it still fit, then copied it again, adding a little more depth widthways. I doubled this, and cut it in red satin, covered with orange organza. I added staystitching, and began to pleat it. In the end, I wish I had added more seam allowance, because it only just makes the edges of the roof, and it is a little disappointing that it isn't more uniform, but it's a nice, bright feature, and when properly stitched in, I'm sure won't detract from the whole.

Flat Windows & Braiding.
Lastly, we have the front of the townhouse. It's made with many different layers of material, and there's an obvious join in the colour blocks - the upper half is made with the leopard print fabric that decorates the brickwork around the base, covered in some more orange organza. This was very difficult indeed to make fit the steps at the top of the building, and I think a little attention will need to be paid to the roof side, where it may well fray. The windows in the upper half are made from the same fabric as the road outside, covered with vinyl. The lower half is made from more of the metallic scarf used in the riverbed, some grey organza, and some more vinyl. Finally, to edge the windows, I made a selection of brick-coloured braids and stitched them on, separating the frames by a strand of floss.

A New Technique in Progress.

The first part of Christmas is over, and I've some more time to work on my special technique for windows - it's a kind of bead weaving, like the technique used for jewellery making - only instead of pulling the warp threads up to make an item, I'm stitching them into my felt frame to make a permanently strung loom. It's backed up by being stitched to a frame made with some leftover card, just to ensure the threads are kept taut. 

By spacing the warp threads at the correct width for the beads, then crossing them with a weft that is already strung, I can create a row of evenly placed beads. I then stitch through the felt, and keeping the needle the same height as the previous row, pass through the beads on the other side of the warps, keeping them held in position. This particular window has beads of two sizes, and was tricky to warp up evenly. Luckily, when I cover this piece with the outer fabric, I can have as many loose ends as I like!

Update on Construction of Mainframe.

It's a few days later, and here are some views of my buildings, set on their bases (which took a good while to dry together), filled in and with their windows cut. It's going just fine, but the curved part of the street, seen nearest in the photo above, bows upwards a little where the glue has dried. This was unfortunate, and a mistake I hope I won't be repeating - stacks of heavy books on everything for me!

Mini Update - Shell in Place.

Here's a preliminary shell of my composition, made in card. The base has yet to be made, of course, which will elevate the buildings, and give space for the road level and the riverbed. I feel I've lost a certain amount of realism, and that the layout isn't the most authentic - but for reasons of scale, and the view I hope you'll get of the dome, I'm only including the two buildings of similar heights - they should finish (excepting the spire) just below the curve at the top of the dome, with the spire finishing a few centimetres below the apex.

Setup for Final Project - influences, dismissed ideas, and gathering materials.

I've been gathering ideas and fabrics for my final project. I had a few ideas that I thought about taking forward for the end of the course, among them most notably was a plan to design a doll, and make her a set of clothes from clear vinyl, covering a wide range of fashion eras, and constructing the relevant undergarments (also from sheer/clear materials) in order to show how the fashions of the time changed the shape of the body, though the people themselves were essentially the same. I got up to the stage of wondering how to stuff her torso so that it could be cinched up or left free, when a thought struck me - this is a piece that should be personal, rather than something I think would be novel and therefore appeal to an audience. I should make something that I like, and that I would be pleased to have around and see often in the house. One category came to mind. If there's one major influence on my visual life, it is the Victorians. I thought to myself, they are people that loved to collect and to create 'things', which were often textiles. My favourite of their household items is the domed curiosity. In the field of textiles, these were most often silk flowers, or objects made from wound yarns. A prime example of a flower dome may be seen here:

As this trend developed, a popular commercial arm was in domed automata. This example was the one that really inspired me, though it's only a picture, and sadly, I can't see it in action. Apparently, the sea is only painted tissue paper! When I wanted to design a dome of interesting fabric objects, I thought immediately of one of my sketchbooks, where I took time in doing a little self-devised exercise to work out methods of manufacture for architectural details. As I often work on my projects over a long period of time, adopting a somewhat autonomous approach (I often have long periods of time where I feel very low, and the standard of my work suffers, so I tend to try and work as much as I can when I feel well), this was a very ambitious project to decide on - however, I want to try my best to bring in many of techniques I have learned/practised during the course, and think about the ways they will come in useful here. I'm effectively setting myself a puzzle with it, to ensure I remember as much as possible from the course term.

This dome features a very unusual approach to it's little landscape. Rather than being a rocky formation, a hill, etc, a piece of painted card has been inserted to form a background, and allows a bay to be shown. It also gives me an opportunity. I could take this piece as a starting point to design my own dome. Hopefully I can make a fully 3D object, and have a fabric painted background as a feature. However, if this is not possible, either for reasons of technique or time, an opaque backing presents another opportunity to prettily frame a smaller piece.

I have already begun to design the piece on paper, and to gather materials for it. The rough design so far is going to be based on my memories of a family trip to Bruges, and on my impressions of the beautifully stepped and tiled buildings there. My enduring impression of the city was of it's churches, and luckily my sketchbook features a good few techniques applicable to such a building. I'm also fortunate in that the textiles approach means a certain degree of irregularity - seam bumps, knot lumps, the occasional loose bobbin thread - and all these features apply both to the homemade domes of my initial inspiration and the worn nature of old buildings. This realisation is why I've decided to go ahead with my very large scale (thus far, it has all been mapped out on A2 paper) design.

Here are a few of the items I hope will come in useful for the piece. Some fabrics are plain enough to be ordered by the metre, but I'm doing my best to find more interesting fabrics in old clothing in charity shops, clearance sales, etc, in order to recycle them.

 

A few examples of my charity shop finds so far. Top left, you'll see a sheer dress with multicoloured palm leaves printed on it - I'm hoping to use this for foliage, or a riverbed, if I can work out a technique to create some water - my initial thought for model making was to use resin, though I fear this would make the piece very heavy indeed. Bottom row, from left: a sheer powder blue top, that I hope can be used to create a mist around the base of the dome, or in the painted background; a skirt with irregular metallic patches - good for making a cobbled road look wet with rain, I hope; a leopard print dress that I hope I can machine embroider to imitate the colours of a worn brick/stone wall; and a skirt with a wide, multicoloured weave that brilliantly reproduces a fine brick wall, albeit cut on the bias, which may cause some problems. 

A few of the notions I've also purchased include a large bag of 3mm seed beads, which I hope to use a very special technique on to make some stained glass windows for my church; some green crochet cotton (and matching eyelash/fur effect yarn, not shown here) which I hope to use on the green Aida to make some realistic grass for the church's grave/courtyard, using the soumac weaving I learnt about last section. I also bought some novelty beads - iridescent bugles for small fish in the river, or maybe leadwork for the windows, some silver charm bracelet beads in the form of fish, also for the possible river, and some leaves/acorns to fall in the grass or water. My first challenge, once my initial drawings are done, will be to find a way to create a tough, firm skeleton, so that I can cut my fabrics to fit it - one way would be to use buckram and wire, of course, and keep the whole structure fabric, but I would like to think I could make something a little more hard-wearing.

Assignment 4 Commentary and Thoughts.

Over the past few months, I’ve been asking myself some pretty tough questions. I’ve mostly been using my study time to investigate myself and my goals, and to find out what it is I really want. I’ve carried on costuming and I’ve been coming up with lots of ideas both for clothing and for large scale textile art pieces.

In the meantime, I’ve found myself unable to sign off on my assignment, as I am dissatisfied with the results of the last section. I get very anxious, and things lose their sense of proportion. So I’ve decided to admit some ugly truths about myself. I find almost all aspects of textiles interesting, but I try to persuade myself that I don’t, because somewhere in the back of my mind, I hate that I’m not challenging gender stereotypes by doing so. I love costume, but because of the mainstream interpretation of fashion, I don’t want to admit I do for fear of being labelled shallow. But I love the way you can modify it to give other people messages. It says a lot about you, and I like to switch between different perceptions, and sometimes I encourage some of them – especially people who obviously belong to some kinds of musical group (not the bands themselves, but the fans who recognisably belong to a single genre). There’s a sense of camaraderie that is very enjoyable.

In particular, I love the idea behind the concept of 'metalheads', and the way that they build up a shield around themselves. Instead of hiding their faces, they create such an atmosphere of unapproachability that people are sometimes scornful, sometimes frightened. But it's a psychological barrier, rather than a physical one. Though a lot of the genre's outfits include large metal components, for the most part, it's what is printed on the shirts, how many pounds of chains can you clip to your belt, how much eyeliner can you really apply - that's what makes people hesitant. It's a little like the pen being mightier than the sword! Strangely, on a first impression, or a glance, I find myself more drawn to people the more extreme they look - whether it's something about them as a person (like tattoos or piercings), or something they can apply, add to and change (like their clothing style). 

I love people who really take it to the next level, like body modifications or built in height. In many ways I’m more impressed with the efforts of the cosplayers than the movie industry’s costumiers and special effects makeup artists. The professionals have more of a budget, help from green screens, lighting, and if it’s a really intricate costume it’s unlikely to get involved in too much action – if it did, it’d be more likely to be CGI! So it might actually be less durable than a costume a fan would make to walk around for days at an event – I've heard that sometimes, in film, multiple versions of a costume are made in case of accidents.

One of the things that cosplayers seem to be very good at, and one of the most interesting build features I’ve seen, are the amazing four-point stilts. This extra pair of stilts – often made from crutches – extend from the arms, and give you an amazing array of fantasy creatures to imitate.

It’s probably my longest-enduring interest – people being hidden behind a costume. Once upon a time, I made whole books full of mysterious shapes that people could conceivably hide inside. It’s the introvert in me that wants to go out and explore, and be around people, but never to be surprised by spontaneous conversation that I might not be able to handle! Contrast that with how incredibly attention-grabbing actually doing that would be, even if it was clear (as hopefully it always would be) that it was a costume made for fun, and with no actual intention of hiding the face of a wrong-doer. You’d have to be an excellent actor to react to people through the costume, as the video shows. As I get older, I am a little less afraid of meeting new people, and I begin to feel more positively about the consequences of getting the attention of a crowd. It’s still not the best way to feel about yourself, to go from one extreme to the other, but it’s an improvement over how it was before! Being more eager to show other people your work is strange. It makes you speed up your life – suddenly, you want to know everything, and you’re convinced that if you try hard enough you will succeed. But it also makes you arrogant, and if you can’t see the immediate reward in something, you’ll put off doing it.

Finding a good compromise in working method is difficult - it's notoriously difficult. I've found that the best way to keep coming up with ideas is convincing yourself that you want to be as good as *insert name here* - let me explain. You might well think - as, when I'm in a gloomy mood, I do myself - that in order to come up with ideas for textiles, you must look at other textiles. But I've found that to be untrue. What's always stunned me about textiles is the range of techniques and their uses. Why wouldn't they be useful? They're good for so many more practical applications because they are flexible, easy to combine with other materials, and come in many different strengths, shapes and sizes. Throughout their history, I think they've diversified more than any other tool. And I've found that this realisation is more important as a first step towards a design approach than almost anything you could learn about yourself. Because it unlocks two more tools - important and lifelong tools. The first, that looking at any art field, any design, any object, any day or person could mean inspiration for your own field; it's so vast, and has so much innovation yet to be discovered. Anything, or parts of anything, could hold the key to an idea, fully formed in your practical mind, because you understand what can be done. The second, that by comparing yourself to that *insert name here* figure, no matter what it was they did, you keep yourself excited and interested in your subject, as you aspire to success on a level with theirs. It doesn't matter that their work doesn't teach you a practical tip, or it is as far from your work as anything could be. In fact, it might be better if it is - constant comparison over a sustained period, especially to someone else's work that you pretty much want to copy leads to very low self-esteem. It's best to do it in bursts, when you're feeling content, but not creative enough. They seem like simple things - and you've probably heard people say them to motivate you many times - but here's something else that's true and oft repeated: you don't learn it unless it's by experiencing it yourself. Therefore, when I'm feeling confused about direction, I just look up something interesting on a whim. For instance...

Another field of textiles/costume that inspired me to think about making some of the odd costumes I’d been drawing for years was the ‘folk costume'. Reading into these and collecting a long board of ‘pins’ featuring them from all around the world made me realise that they are actually quite common! My only trouble with them is that at no time do they look organic. They are made as costumes, they’re not ashamed to admit it, and if that’s what you’re going for as a designer, great. But if you want to be seen as a spirit of the forest, you shouldn’t first be seen as a man in a costume. Some of the best examples of these are Bulgarian Kukeri, as seen here. 

Many of the European folk costumes that are as extreme as this feature these thick coats of fur, almost entirely hiding the outline of the body. The only problem being that in order for them to play music, their hands must be uncovered, which is quite a shame. It all comes back to being unseen - wanting to be so. It's been a constant theme through my life, and the reason I originally began in costume. It's so contradictory: hiding behind a mask will always attract more attention than a confident face.

I think that's why the other side of my personality wants to stay inside, and work on complex projects inspired by past works of art. It tells me that the idea of ‘wearable art’ is a nonsense, and to use and hone skills in static pieces is the way to earn respect, and is a much more enduring pursuit, one that you will be able to work on long after the novelty of meeting people dressed in a creative way has worn off. It feels like the sensible option of the two, and I certainly like the imagined creations of both fields equally. It’s a difficult choice to make, and unfortunately I’m very much a person that has to focus on one thing at a time. The textile art field still speaks to me as a place with no limits – that’s very appealing indeed. I don’t think I would be very good at tailoring my rather headstrong ways into something marketable. So perhaps rather than trying to change people into creatures, it would be better to make creatures of my own. I looked into the sculptural side of textiles whilst thinking about writing this piece, and came across two interesting studies; one of which makes figurative pieces, and the other makes, well, creatures.

Textile Sculpture by Lisa Lichtenfels.

I was interested primarily in the techniques of Lisa Lichtenfels, not least because she has apparently released a few books on the subject. She works, as she kindly explained on her website, with batting around wire skeletons (her work is almost solely figures), which are then wrapped in stretchy nylon, sometimes several layers thick, so create a realistic skin tone. Then the figure is further shaped with needle and thread. Some of her figures are life-size, and all of them are certainly interesting character studies in their own right. It's an unusual medium, and her creations are obviously well-executed. At first, on discovering this artist, I was a little disappointed that someone had obviously cornered a market in interesting, figurative textile art. But as I looked through her work, I changed my mind a little. Her figures, though well-made and full of character, were all a little sleazy. I could respect them as good objects, but I couldn't find them beautiful. So I took heart, and looked into the second sculptor.

 

Fantasy creature by Wood-Splitter-Lee.

Alaskan Textile artist Lee Cross makes similar pieces in the animal kingdom, though over the poseable skeletons of plush toys. The main innovation is her use of paints to create eye-catching coats and pick out facial detail. Of course it helps that her photography is stunning, and that she has lovely scaled landscapes in which to pose her creations. It looks as though they are in great demand, too. Her work appears to be split into two main categories - those creatures that mimic wolves, deer, etc., and those that are closer to bushbabies or dormice. These latter are much more cartoonish, and again, they have a charm of their own, one which might well make up for the slight drop in realism between the series. If I was to have a complaint about them, it's that for fantasy creatures (and bearing in mind, these are calculated to be both easily poseable and cute enough to be marketable) they are quite 'safe' designs. Both of these artists have techniques to learn from, points where they are off-puttingly skilled, and points where they are challengingly looking for someone to add to them. I hope they wouldn't mind me saying this, and that they would encourage me to add my own values and visions to the work they've started. Because I still feel that textiles as a art is in it's infancy, and that's why for the moment, there isn't half of the diversity that the medium is capable of.

As I'm sure I've made clear above, my primary interest at the moment is split between textiles and sculpture. I find it very interesting when one method is combined with another - textiles and sculpture being only one example. It's right that it should be especially interesting, because the artist in question has to have observed both of their subjects before embarking on their piece. Take this example, one of my favourites; a fifteenth century carving of a bishop. When you see the whole figure, you're able to observe his mitre, cope, robes, and in particular the embroidery-imitating orphrey, which is amazing. As you can see in this close up on the mitre, the sculptor has done his best to convey an embroidered scene (almost certainly the annunciation), complete with varied raised stitch-work and seed pearls. What I find so intriguing is that even for a sculptor, the possibilities of textiles used in 3D were irresistible. It's true that they have intricate and tiny textures of their own that have wide appeal, and the two worlds met well here.

Figure of St Wolfgang, from the high altar of (the town of) St Wolfgang. Salzkammergut, Austria, carved and painted by Michael Pacher, completed 1481.

When I was painting, I was particularly proud of one picture. It was 3D, built up on kitchen roll, and over-painted many times in black, then with some background in white. I took a cake icing nozzle and carefully traced over the thin grey lines in white acrylic paint. I tried my best to fit the pattern around the folds in the 'fabric'. I was so pleased with this picture - I enjoyed people's reactions, too. They were particularly impressed that I had bridged a gap between two art worlds. And I think that for my final project, that's what I want to do again. It's been done before, of course, and in more subtle ways than you'd realise. Again, sculpture led the way.

One of my own old paintings of a piece of lace.

Recently, I saw that many of the Spanish and Italian sculptures of the 17th century that I admire so much (they're romantic, terrifying at points, but always amazingly realistic, and nearly always life size) actually have clothing made of real, plain cloth, and stiffened by many layers of glue, then painted. I found this a very inspiring discovery, and again, began to think about textiles in a more sculptural way. One example of a statue that was made with finely carved wood only was this bust of the Virgin Mary, one of the first sculptures in this style that I knew of. I assumed that all the figures were made this way, in many many carved layers. Her veil, seen in this close-up, is wood carved out to about... 5mm thick?

Mater Dolorosa, by Pedro de Mena, 1670s.

As far as I can remember, I saw her as part of a touring exhibition a good few years ago. Reading a review of this exhibition's American leg, which seems to have featured more items than the London edition, I came across this sculpture, which I hadn't seen before. In the actual description in the article (see caption) they mention the drapery being glue-soaked fabric. It's interesting to imagine the application of the fabric to the piece. Was it painted beforehand, so as to create a more believable transition between fabric and 'skin'? I think it probably was. So it must have been very tricky, applying the wet fabric in folds around the statue, and trying to keep the glue away from the paint. Perhaps they were varnished in a single layer after the clothing was applied, to cover up any traces of drying glue drips.

From the LA Times: "The artist of this sculpture, circa 1680-1700, is unknown. Polychromed plaster, macerated linen fibres, gesso- or glue-soaked fabric, wood, papier-maché, glass and other materials."

The first statue that I came across that used this technique was this one, from the Met. I couldn't believe how beautiful the folds of fabric were, and began to find them a little suspicious - though of course I still hoped they were carved somehow! The description of the materials involved reads thus: "Polychromed terracotta head; wooden limbs and wings; body of wire wrapped in tow; various fabrics" - looking up 'tow' online, it apparently means either

1:  short or broken fibre (as of flax, hemp, or synthetic material) that is used especially for yarn, twine, or stuffing

2:  yarn or cloth made of tow

So in the form you might find for wrapping wire, perhaps it resembles batting?

It's a lovely statue, and the movement in the fabric is the best part! I'd love to do a project that explores the ways that fabric can be used in tandem with glue to create something like this. Hopefully I'll have enough time to do so. I think in summary, what I've learnt from my notes so far, leading up to my final project, is that I like to have a goal in mind - like the folds of this fabric - something to mimic, even if it's an imagined scene or texture, and then work out how to get to it. I think that's when I work best. By innovating, and finding ways to overcome technical issues.

Figure of an Angel, artist unknown, but attributed to Giuseppe Gori, 1750-1800. Property of the Met, NY.

Finally, a couple of pictures of extra things I've been up to at the end of this section. As I said, I've been costuming again, and one of the things I've made is a set of Victorian (1890s) style petticoats. Here is the top layer, with a cream base and white ruffle - I thought it made sense to have a lovely white glimpse at the hem of a darker dress, and to keep the fabric that is close to the body a less easily discoloured fabric.

Another shot, this one of the layer underneath - this picture shows how sheer the fabric is. A narrower ruffle is featured, but one that is gathered more. On both petticoats, I stitched a wide seam almost the whole length of the ruffle, then inserted a yarn needle attached to a ball of string. I carefully divided the length of the ruffle and the position on the skirt of it's top edge, and gathered accordingly, pinning as I went. At the ruffle's hem, I left the string at full length, to add stiffness. I also, as advised in my Victorian dressmaker's guides, turned up the hem of the petticoat base and sewed a 2" band of thicker fabric around the edge, to help it keep it's shape. This time, because my fabric was quite fine, I used calico. Apparently, for a tough tweed walking skirt or the like, they might once have used anything up to canvas!

I've also been keeping 3 books - 2 that are part of my learning log, showing want I've been looking at and researching lately, and 1 a diary/directory of fabrics I've put into my collection, with notes on possible uses/observations.

I also lined my cape from earlier in this section, using some silky bedsheets bought in a charity shop. The extra weight gives it a beautiful 'hang', but it needs a solid clasp at the neck to keep it on the shoulders. We'll see how that design works out.

Lastly, I've been all round collecting materials for my final piece. Here are some of the ingredients collected so far - unfortunately the pictures didn't bring out my schematic drawings, which must have been too faint. More on them later, though.

Some of the smaller ingredients - the success of these components very much depends on my technical ability with another medium - casting resin. More on this later.

To summarise. During this assignment, I've had a few changes in my life, and suffered rather a lot from a loss of creative vision. However, if I hadn't taken a little time forcing some parts of the section, I wouldn't have gotten to the end, and discovered a new goal to aim for. It's actually becoming quite hopeful. I feel pleased in all aspects with it's potential. My only fear is that I might not have enough time to finish what I've begun, now that I've started to believe in my abilities again. I've been looking at plenty of inspirational artists during this section, and I've seen a lot of great work. And they tell me that the only thing I can do is to try.

Costuming Update.

Something I've been working on for a long time - I showed earlier stages of construction on this very blog - is nearing completion. I was so invigorated by my efforts with the jacket a couple of posts back, that I found myself going out and buying some very expensive fur fabric to finish the edge of this cape. As you can see, it's also got an insert to shape the shoulders and neck - the few days of draping classes I did were invaluable for working out the pattern pieces for this. Around the top is a knitted ruffle to soften the transition from the plain knitted edge to the solid colour fabric. This was plenty of fun to make, and very simple - I knitted two, and knitted them together on almost the last row. I made a little too much, and ruffled it up more than I had expected! The next thing on my list is to use a nice satin bedspread I found in a charity shop and make the lining - I expect I'll do it the same way as cutting the velveteen - two large semi-circles. And, of course, my custom made pattern pieces for the neck!

Developing Design Ideas: Word Sampler.

My final sampler for this section, the word-association piece. For this piece, I chose a word I knew I'd be able to get plenty of wide-ranging imagery/topics for - the word 'precious'. As you can see here, I've got 5 sections, in which I've taken very different approaches. Here they are step by step. The first section (seen the right way up) is in gold and red crochet cotton / thread yarns. My idea for this one was to have an obviously regular pattern and to hold myself to it, making sure I kept the number of threads and their tension the same on both sides. I thought this would be good practice for keeping the other sections in check. However, by pulling up the sides until they were very taut indeed, the warp threads began to pull in on one side, and white yarn began to appear. Again, I used the fork to try and rescue the situation, but keeping the tension right whilst using such a slippery metallic thread was more of a challenge than I thought. Filling in the centre and 'locking' the side threads meant that it became a little more regular again, though thinking about my initial source for this section - that of Anglo-Saxon garnet jewellery - it felt like it wasn't enough, and I was ashamed of my effort. I soumak'd/over-stitched the red section in more of the gold thread, and felt a little better - the centre WAS regular. The sides were a let-down. The important thing about hand-weaving, I realise now, is not to have every thread pulled to breaking point, but to make sure they lie nicely over the top of the warps. Beating them down is the important part, the part that requires the most force, not tugging on the thread itself. Luckily, the next section made a pleasant break.

The inspiration for this section was, of course, Ermine fur. A very simple weave of white fur effect or 'eyelash' yarn, punctuated by black tufts of the same, applied in the Ghiordes technique. The only extra technique I needed to use for this section was plucking all the white fur to the front of the loom with a yarn needle.

The third section is very frustrating. The original idea - needlewoven borders surrounding a lovely lace square - came out beautifully. The irregular and elongated shape now visible was due to my own short-sightedness. I completed the sides, as well as a few rows at the top and bottom across the width of the warp, and in my excitement, decided to cut those warps, stitch them back as hems, and make the lace. Then, when the next section was to be worked, and the warps had seriously relaxed, I added wooden rods at the top of the loom to straighten them. The correct tension for weaving couldn't be reached without pulling the semi-stretchy lace to it's limit. Hence, this section and the next cannot be neatened further without being sewn down to a backing. A good idea gone astray for lack of foresight.

The fourth section was inspired by the worth placed on leaded glass in the past. I'd heard about bead weaving before, and thought it would make an interesting addition to the sampler. I got hold of some clear glass beads, and made frames for them with further needle-weaving, counting the turns in each black block as I went along. Then, as it was an asymmetrical pattern, I worked out what fraction of each diamond was seen on the edges, and made sure to keep the rows of beads regular as I went along, 'fading' them out to leave two warp threads as edging.

For the last section, I thought it would be good to attempt (now that I'd hopefully honed my skills a bit) to make something which would have been considered a valuable piece of weaving itself. I wanted it to resemble renaissance Italian velvet. Nothing like being ambitious! Again, the gold thread was very slippery, and any attempt to tighten it made white threads appear prominently. I was especially disappointed with this one - the by now extremely uneven tension of the warps made this part very difficult. It just goes to show - the oldest, most basic of techniques, and it still requires practice and know-how. But the ghiordes knot pile actually came out beautifully, hiding the rough edges and making a nice, soft surface. In my photo, which highlights the white, it actually looks worse than it is.

I wanted to end the folder-set part of this section on a high note, but I actually found myself admitting that I am a beginner at this method, and it shows. Perhaps that's important to note, though - it's all a learning experience, and maybe 'the worst' is over.

Extra-Curricular: getting back into costuming.

I had a crazy idea recently. Despite being a vegan, I've always had a love for the look of leather clothing - I just couldn't buy or wear the real stuff myself. As previously discussed, I also love all things Victorian, particularly the clothing (and within that, particularly the puffy sleeves of the 1890s). So when I decided life was too short not to have a crazy leather-ish jacket, I went out and bought some of the plastic imitation stuff, and set to work on an 1894 fashion plate. What follows is the result.

Having never made a jacket before, and having only limited experience of adapting old patterns, I'm very pleased with how this turned out. Ludicrous, probably. But a great deal of fun. The best part was edge-stitching the collar, and turning it the right way out to make sure it laid flat. It did, and the collar's roll line, which was the part that needed the most modification from the original, sat perfectly.

Being very thick fabric, it was difficult to hand-stitch anywhere, which made for some very creative machine work, especially when the shoulder pleating was pinned into place. Naturally, it being a leather jacket, I needed to add some studs, and several rows of alternating 10 and 15mm spikes did the job nicely, their backs being covered by a wide cuff lining. It remains unlined, albeit with a large hem turn up and reverse panels up to the dart of the jacket front, also in the black faux leather. As yet I need to make a finished belt for it from my leftover fabric, and add belt loops. But it's great to know that my crazy jacket modification will fit, and despite it's weight, be wearable without slipping off the shoulders!

Completing this project, silly as it is, has helped to reinvigorate my enthusiasm for all things costume. If I can somehow bring together costuming and textile art, I think I might have a pretty good final project on my hands.