I did a bit of Fancy Knitting myself once, you know.

Following a knitting pattern, again from that fabulous resource, the Antique Pattern Library, I knitted myself a collar. When it was finished, which had been a pretty steep learning curve for me, seeing as the pattern was written out in lines and lines of tiny instructions, printed in one block, without spacing for the rows, and in the following code: k (Knit plain, x amount), o (yarn Over) and n, for Narrow (k2tog). It came out very well, if I do say so myself, and when it was finished, I used another quick pattern to do a lacy edging as a standing collar, then stitched them together, before anchoring it to a backing, in much the same way as my Irish crochet (see earlier post). The stitches were a little looser on the side I began it, but I don't think you can really tell now. I'm very pleased with it - it looks quite Edwardian. I took a few pictures of it on my dressmaking stand - the stand was being a little troublesome, however, as the neck side is adjustable only so far, and doesn't shrink to the size of my neck. Therefore the edges don't touch the shoulders, but I hope anyone viewing can forgive that!

Another unique craft.

Writing about Opus Anglicanum got me thinking - people say that the standard of that needlework was unsurpassed in it's quality, and was a very in-demand product in it's day throughout Europe. When you read about the history of lace, or even the history of painting, Britain always seemed to lag behind (partly because of all our civil wars, I'm sure), and rarely produced anything to rival the continent. But there is another product that is made in Britain, a traditional, if relatively recent craft that is mirrored in finery only in Estonia. The Shetland lace shawl. There is a beautiful collection of finished pieces in the Shetland Museum, but they do not allow reproduction of their photographs, so I will have to make do with a link: shawl gallery. Aside from this, and a good 'bookmark' should I do a project based on this in the future, is the lovely supplier of patterns, books, etc., can be found here, at Heirloom Knitting. I shouldn't think it's to everyone's taste, and certainly it looks home-made, but it's a very thorough way of learning how lace patterns are formed in knitting. Good to remember for later.

Alencon Lace - The Queen of Laces and the Lace of Queens

Recently, I wanted to find out a little more about the process that goes into making Alencon lace. I've heard it described as the finest lace of all, though I think there might be a few 17th century rivals to that title myself. I did manage to find a video, in fact, showing the different stages of manufacture, as carried out in Alencon today. Unfortunately, I don't understand spoken French well, but could follow along with the pictures.



Anxious in case my understanding of the video would affect any attempt I made myself at lacemaking at a later date, I thought it best to take the plunge and buy the book - it's a translation: Alencon Lace, translated and edited by Roberta Morgan, (from the original Histoire du Point D'Alencon by Mme G. Despierres). In it, there is a text description, though without any illustrations of the process, for each part of the manufacture. Design, Pricking, Tracing, Fond or Entoilage - the flat dense stitches that look like fabric, Rempli - the patterned, mostly buttonholed needle-lace fillings, the Brides, or joining bars, Réseau, or mesh - what I always think of as the 'background' to laces, les Modes, the fancy picot'ed edgings and fillings, la Brode, the raised edges to the motifs, and it finishes with the cutting of the lace away from its backing, mending any overlooked parts of the design, and the final assembly - the most skilled job among the workers. At least, that's what I understand from the text. Apparently the industry in the town has now been designated part of UNESCO world heritage, and a group of dedicated people work at the museum in the town, doing demonstrations, and working on new projects. This foundation was only set up in 1976, which came as a shock to me, after finding out that almost everywhere interesting on the subject of lace closed in that very decade! If this place isn't a reason to carry on aspiring to greater things, I don't know what is. One day, I will have to visit.

I used it again after all.

I've used the machine again. This time in conjunction with my hand-stitched lines for the first stitching exercise. I used my line stitches in plenty of different ways, and yet, soon I headed back to over-stitch them with technology! This time I stitched onto a piece of pinstriped poly-cotton. I thought, seeing as it was striped already, I'd be terribly clever. I began with the three main lines of chain stitch in my larger threads.

I alternated the kinds of stitches, and the gaps with which they were spaced, as asked. I chose yellow as the colour to stitch in as I was recently given a large amount of threads, mostly in these shades, hence I could use them and still end up with the largest selection of colours for the next exercise. When I had finished doing my hand-stitched section, I thought I may as well try out some of my zigzag stitches now that I had more room - I should have mentioned, this is my larger hoop. For something abstract, I quite like it. However, seeing as the exercise was about creating a surface texture, I don't like the texture that the lines built up as much as I do the loops from the 'nests' in the first machine test.

Opus Anglicanum - if only I'd known.

A little while ago, I watched the BBC Four documentary 'Fabric of Britain', and in particular, the section on early English embroidery 'Opus Anglicanum' caught my imagination. I'm amazed at the Spanish Ensemble I blogged a few days ago having survived, but as I'm told, the golden age of embroidery was really from the 12th to the 14th centuries. One object in particular, the Butler-Bowden Cope, again found in the V&A, I felt was worthy of mention. It has been so abused over the years that it couldn't be said to be the most beautiful, or the most complete, or the best preserved, even in parts. Yet, the faces in it were so incredibly soulful, that I felt compelled to keep a picture or two. The first image, seen here on it's vivid red background, has the most fantastic striped hair.

Whilst the second image I took myself, from my recorded version of the programme - you can see the logo in the top left. Wow, those green eyes, and wow, those tiny pearls. 

As was demonstrated in the programme, the basic stitches used in all of Opus Anglicanum were split-stitch and variations on couching. But that's oversimplifying. The stitches are so tiny. They blend from one colour to another seamlessly. And the medieval design is to die for. Looking around on the internet to see if anyone had done a project based on this age of embellishment I had previously never even heard of, I did find a little tutorial here, on it's namesake blog. The way the stitches swirl to bring out elements in the faces and all of the outline work - I think it's something I should incorporate at least a little into my work later on.

Spanish Ensemble - Embroidery Madness

I think that part of what makes me so enthusiastic about textiles is the way that it is a somewhat tragic art. Other arts, like painting, sculpture, and, though in my own opinion to a lesser extent, writing, have continued with no loss of the knowledge of skills - that is, they are not 'dead languages', even if it may look that way from what makes the news. Many intricate textile skills now have almost no, perhaps none, living workers who keep up the same standard as well as the techniques of their ancestors. Lacemaking in, as my title states, Bruxelles (by the way, I know it's the French spelling, but it's such a pretty word) and Burano, and the old English art of Opus Anglicanum being two examples off the top of my head. I've always been a fan of cramming things together, and adding extras to probably finished projects. Basically, the more you can add, and the more complicated a thing, whether clothing, art, or architecture, the more I'll like it. With that in mind, here is a preview picture from The Metropolitan Museum of Art, NY. It's an ensemble from late 16th century Spain that is entirely embroidered.

Who would make this now? Where would they start? Who would wear it? What would it cost?
It's obvious, when you look at things like this, that they are the result of a ridiculous system of aristocracy and near-absolute monarchies. But at the same time, it's not as though we could look at the Sistine Chapel ceiling only after considering the moral and financial affairs of the Renaissance Popes. It shouldn't be an art form that is sidelined merely because it is unfashionable. So, you don't like the fashions of the day - no. big. deal. Look closer, look at that beautiful stitchwork.

Follow my above link and look at the detail. Zoom into their beautiful photography. You'll see all the swirling stitches - they're a little van Gogh when you get close enough. and don't forget to count the techniques! That this has survived is incredible. If the beauty of art is in the devotion of the artist to his subject, then surely, the skill that is displayed in textile work is just as worthy of attention as any other. Though I shouldn't forget - to produce such works over the centuries has required not just dedication and vision, but a great deal of co-operation! No one person can master every skill required in the making of an outfit like this, quite apart from their not having enough time in their 16th-century-women's-life-expectancy-of-30 days. What can I learn personally from such a huge achievement, though? Well, to begin with, I'd best try not to be overwhelmed. Then realise that for these stitchers, the panels of a gown, a jacket, a skirt, etc, were just large needle-canvases, and not something that would impede their stitching. The shape is irrelevant, and only the area to be covered would be dismaying. If I remember this, later on in the course, perhaps I can construct a model or garment on a theme that matches the decoration on the fabric.

Stitch and thread demos.

This is just a bookmark to show a little preliminary work. I want to show my large tester of thread sizes and the twelve set stitches. As you can see, I've left myself plenty of extra room to buy more threads and use an off-cut of them for future comparison with my other 'thread bow-ties'. I've used embroidery thread (6-strand and split), sewing thread, string, yarn, metallic thread, many in different sizes. Just in case I'm not certain what will fit where in future.

To get back to the modern

One of the first exercises recommended in the folder, stitching-wise (I've done a few pages of sketches, but I think the textiles themselves are a good thing to display, keeping the sketches for their sketchbooks) was to stitch criss-crossing lines, either with machine or with hand embroidery - I was given a list of twelve stitches, and for the moment, had to stick to running, back, or chain stitches. I did a few of each. Being apparently quite unable to adjust my lower bobbin tension for free machining, I got some pretty interesting results. I should say that as I have a large stash of material, old clothes, and cut-offs, I thought it would be quite thrifty and ecological to use some scraps, before I get into the exercises proper - just while I'm getting the hang of things. My first experiment I was a little afraid would be eaten up by my machine, so I used a nice piece of stiff calico. Just doodling, and not expecting anything great, I overlapped, cross-hatched, and looped my stitches. Here's a picture:

 And one of the back:

I actually quite like the effect on the back, even if it is a bit of a nightmare to sew at the time. In the places where the thread doesn't cross over itself so much, the thread behaves almost normally, though with the colours I used, it looks a little speckled, and kind of... mouldy. Where it does cross too much, it brings up little nests of bobbin thread, which you should be able to see in the zoomed view.
Here are two details, of the 'nests' and the 'mould'.

As the system worked out with quite a robust product resulting, I thought I would try overlapping a few scraps and using different thread colours.This time I really went for it, making the nests very large. I could use this technique later on, I'm sure - as long as I don't expect something too neat out of it. Excuse the pictures of this one, they didn't come out as well as the others.

Front

Back

I think that if I were to use my machine again, I would use my larger hoop, and keep the foot down, rather than going totally freehand. It's an interesting little experiment, and I'll keep in mind all those quick-to-produce but really quite effective loops.

Feedback to Working from Sketchbooks Section.

Some sketches taken from the early 'photo walk' in assignment one.

A few questions I was asked at the end of the sketching section of assignment one.
Have you ever thought about drawing in this way before?
Well, I've done a fair bit of sketching in my time. I'm not sure if I'm able, at this stage, to imagine the right way to go about turning sketches of photos into textile work (though on some sketches I have made suggestions to my future self), but it was quite enjoyable to use all the different techniques - or a cross-section of them, at least. I've never used bleach as part of a visual art before though, I'll say that much!
Were you able to be inventive about the range of marks you made?
As I say, I did quite enjoy the section, particularly the bleaching, as it was so quickly effective, even if it was a little sinister, sucking the colour out of the paper. I used as wide a range of subjects as I had to hand, and tried not to over-think the process. As I haven't done this in relation to textiles before, I'm not sure I can judge my inventiveness. However, I did feel as though I were 'limbering up' to be a little sketchy and unorthodox with my stitching, which was quite a nice feeling. I should perhaps have laid aside my torn stencil earlier, but I was quite pleased with the way I could make lines of colours and themes with it. Maybe that was bad of me?
Did you explore a wide range of media?
As I say, I took advantage of the list of suggestions, and I think I managed most of them.
Are you pleased with what you've done? Do you think it will help you to approach drawing more confidently?
Do you know, I think it will. As this course's sketching won't necessarily resemble the section's finished work, I think I will be able to allow myself to be a little freer with my materials, not to mention time! They're more like visual notes than preparatory work when it comes to textiles, or at least, that's the impression I get.
Which exercise did you most enjoy, and why?
I think I enjoyed the ink and oil pastel sketches seen on the right-hand page of my sketchbook pictured above. I've always liked working with ink, and the 8x8cm grid approach helped me to crop the viewing area of my inspirational photos down to a more reasonable frame. 
Which media did you most enjoy working with, and why?
Ink, as it's always been my favourite, whether pen or wash. Though as I mentioned previously, I did rather enjoy spreading a little bleach about as well! Perhaps because it made me feel like a rebel. No, that's a little sad!
What other forms of mark-making could you try?
It'll likely come up later, but I think in a practical sense, a good base of free-machine embroidery could be a mark-making technique for use in textiles. Sketching-wise, I've found that a good technique in my painting work is a cake piping bag full of paint, to copy textures onto my treated paper surfaces! I could easily adapt this to become a way of copying stitch-work. Perhaps at some point I could do a project that combined the two?
How will these exercises enrich your textile work in future?
I'm confident that these exercises will enable me to narrow in more accurately on areas of photographs and inspirational pictures that could be useful for textile work. I think that, in particular, it will allow me to crop areas of work down to manageable sizes, something I often have trouble with!

Lace is just Magic.

 

As I said in my last post, I'm more than a little fixated on the textile arts of the past. And here are a few examples of my favourite techniques, before I move on to explaining about my favourite eras. The first piece seen either side of this block of text is a lace flounce sample by French designer Alcide Roussel, made in France in 1867. It is held by the V&A, as are these detail photos, and may be accessed here. 

As you can see, not only does it demonstrate a level of skill so high as to be almost perfect (and, from the pictures you can view of it, I can't find a single mistake)

It's got everything. Beautiful natural observations, a fancy edging, a trompe l'oeil effect, it's just wow. But, I always wonder, what did people think of this kind of thing at the time? Well, reading through some of my newly downloaded books on lace, I have since discovered that there are a few problems with people's opinions on the craft. In books such as Mrs Emily Leigh Lowes' Chats on Old Lace and Needlework, first published 1908, and Mrs Bury Palliser's A History of Lace, 1875, there is a great debate as to when the golden age of lace was. And neither of them felt it was with them. Rather, it was in the 17th century in Italy. Personally, I can see where they're coming from in regard to the method of manufacture, but not in design. The threads used then were the finest, and the needlework the most intricate, but the patterns - to me, large and in most cases, a little clumsy. A good example of the larger lace styles can be found here, as part of a collection of costuming photos. It is part of this page, and the photo I would draw most attention to is this detail. I hope you'll excuse me for links, rather than images, but she seems to have rather a strict policy, though as an example of the style it's unbeatable. An incredible survival that makes me begin to believe the hype about Venetian lace is also held by the V&A, and was featured on another blog, Venetian Red. As they are sharing it and as I cannot find a link to this helpful image on the V&A site, I shall put in a detail below.

It's an Alb of Italian, almost definitely Venetian manufacture. Again, it's from the golden age (and the golden end of that golden age), 1675-99. I'm almost certain that it must be the same item as can be found here at the V&A.

I've been doing some calculations from that age, just to try and work out how much something like this would be worth. In Chats on Old Lace, as seen above, Mrs Lowes asserts (on pages 151-2) that William III's wife, Mary, had a lace budget, and that it climbed year on year. In 1695, her annual lace spend was up to £2,459. Whoa. But working out how much that came to in today's money was a challenge. Firstly, I headed on over to the calculator at Measuring Worth and entered the amounts. It was pretty difficult to decide which index to go with - and which category would this kind of Royal commission fall into? Was it only a commodity? Or was it a project? Imagining for a moment it was a single commodity, it seemed unreasonable to use the RPI, as the price of lace then compared with food and shelter now doesn't seem right, it being such a luxury. Using a wage index instead, it would be worth, £4,945,000. Using the GDP per capita, £7,043,000. Already, that's just huge. Imagine the Queen nowadays buying the cloth for some of her outfits for that amount of money and then paying an army of tailors labour costs on top. It couldn't be done! So if it's a project instead, which seems more likely, and as it's something that in the end is more or less a government expense, surely the share of GDP back then as a lump sum seems quite a good way to calculate. I'm assuming, from their summary, that this means looking at the country's output then, considering the sum I quoted as a percentage, and then scaling it up to today's budgets. Yes, that seems plausible. Then, the number. The 'economic cost' of the project by that measure would add up to £43,250,000. So, er, take your pick. I think, and I hope I don't come across as totally mad by saying this, but what I love about lace, and what I find magic about all textiles, is that when they're done properly, they are an expression of skill, of beauty, of taste. And, let's face it, we all love a little opulence. Yet, it's from such humble beginnings. Thread, back then, required skill to manufacture anyway, let's not forget. But I've heard that back in the day, the raw materials cost only one-seventh of the total lace budget. It's being able to take something plain and (nowadays) near worthless, and turning it into a piece of World Heritage. Amazing.

Crochet Curiosity.

To begin with, I thought it might be a good idea to look at a piece of textile art I particularly admire.

The piece I've picked is accessible here at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, NY.

It's an Irish lace (crochet) accessory set, and my favourite part has got to be the handkerchief border. It's so incredibly intricate, so tiny, yet at the same time, comfortingly handmade, and homely. The only pictures I can link to directly are huge, and hopefully Blogger will allow them to be zoomed into below. I'm including some details I've cropped myself from those images, just to give an idea of the scale, as the size of the objects is hard to judge from the shots, and uncertain in the museum entry.

As you can see, the pieces are based on plant life, and combine sprays of small flowers with leaves, ferns, and sprigs of what appears to be holly! The leaves curl over themselves, and the holly comes with 3D berries on their own stems. Perhaps it's an acquired taste, but I love Irish lace. It's a lot more lively and fun to make than other kinds - there are fewer rules as to what you can include, and how you can put the pieces together. I've never been able to tell, but I suppose with it's over-the-top approach, it could perhaps be called a little kitsch? But yes, I was going to show you the scale. Here's a close-up of the handkerchief edge.

 See that pin? That's the kind of scale we're talking about here!
I have myself completed a few examples of crochet lace, and one I'm particularly proud of is from a 1912 Irish pattern that I found browsing the beautiful examples accessible on the Antique Pattern Library. It didn't match the picture, but I'm very pleased with it anyway. It's a 'jabot', the ruffle often found on a shirt front, mostly at the collar level. Here's a picture of my own completed specimen.

It's tacked to some wool at the moment, to stretch and to show off the pattern. I remember when I finished it, I read back through the instructions, did a little multiplication, and found out that there were approximately 17,000 stitches in the piece. Bearing in mind, I did make it after much struggle, using a size 100 DMC Cordonnet thread (a little larger than the standard Gütermann machine cotton), and a size 0.6mm crochet hook. I know, I didn't believe they came in that size either. I have since been able to source a 0.4mm hook from a doll's house furniture maker. That'll be interesting. Anyway, here's a detail of my project for comparison.

I love the rule-breaking spirit of Irish Lace. It dares to go into three dimensions in a way that would even impress those early Venetians with their raised lace! This particular pattern even includes swinging bobbles tacked to a fancy ribbon, then sewn to the centre of the base:

You know, looking at this piece together with that handkerchief I so admire, I think my brilliant white thread may be a little too brilliant. I used a little more of that thread on two other projects - it really, really lasts. One was a pair of lace gloves, not yet finished, so pictures of them later, and one a watch pocket - again, I think this was a late 19th/early 20th century pattern, and again from the Pattern Library - I haven't yet got the jacket to attach it to, so for the moment, it's in two pieces on some foam!

As you can see from the edging, the back is at the top of this photo. I really like the effect of this fine crochet, and though when it is compared with true lace, it could be found lacking, I think it's a beautiful compromise between the fine arts of design and the 'cottage industry' of the home-made. Lovely.

An introduction: why I love textiles.

I think that in beginning this piece of writing, it would be useful to say what it is about textiles overall that makes me prefer it to other art forms. I think that at first it was the accessibility of the thing that attracted me. that anyone, with relatively little financial expenditure, could begin to learn a skill. If I remember rightly, it was knitting that I started with - though I drew the wool so tight around the needles that I found it an utter chore. Later, I began an interest in Victorian clothing, and, with the help of Janet Arnold's books, became interested in dressmaking too. In more recent years, I discovered the difficulty in buying, for instance, a nicely made lace trim, and set about trying to learn a little lace - I knitted it, crocheted it (probably my favourite process) and have more recently attempted needle-lace - though it's nothing like so fine as I would really like it to be.
I think that during this course, I'd like to produce artistic surfaces that cover a set area, so as to be eventually made into a larger project, or useful items (more on that next time/post). I'm none too keen on abstract for abstract's sake, but I can appreciate a nice pattern or a well stitched piece. Some of the skills I hope to learn whilst studying and which I would like to apply more to my work are embroidery and perhaps beadwork, as I have done little of either. Some of the other reasons I like textiles so very much are: the sheer variety of techniques and the uses they can be put to, their fantastic history (plenty on that later), and the degree to which the specialist may specialise.
Oh, actually, there's one more thing: how the fashion for textiles in contemporary life (actually, this opinion covers pretty much all modern culture for me) is symbolic of the society of our times - it's obsessed with time wasted and financial return. For example, a knitting pattern for a scarf - bright, bold, quick to 'whip up' and reassuringly easy patterns are the ones that will sell. The focus is always on 'oh, how cute'. Needlework of all kinds has been an artform for centuries, and the world should appreciate the process that creates such objects - it should be judged, as all art should be in my mind, on the effort put into making it, and the skill displayed in the finished item. This is why to me, the works of painters who produce those famous blocks of colour, i.e. Rothko and Klein, will never be beautiful when people like van Eyck have gone before them. Ok, rant over! Time to get started by looking at a few examples of my favourite textile work of the past (as collected through that marvellous tool, Pinterest).