The book I've most enjoyed looking at this week has been
British Textiles, 1700 to the Present, a production (without any one author or editor asserted, though with a foreword by Linda Parry) of V&A publishing. It features large pictures of prints, tapestries & embroideries from the V&A (a note on museum copyright - these pictures, due to their resolution, are considered to be free-to-use, though all images are property of the V&A), whether as lengths of cloth or fragments. Among the pictures I found most interesting were these, in chronological order:
From 1715-20, a
brocade woven silk in pink, red and silver. Design-wise, I like this piece, as it has distinct layers to add depth and further luxury to an already stunning fabric. Technique-wise, it's an amazingly complex piece of hand-woven fabric from before the prototype automated loom. It's got a lot of great features - but, if you look at it for a little while, it becomes obvious that it is really quite a small repeat area, which is why I am including it here at the beginning of the section - it is a reasonable repeat size for a beginner, even if the technique and complexity are out of the question!
From between 1760 and 1800,
two engravings from a book of textile designs, known as the Bromley Hall Pattern Book. This book apparently contains 144 examples of patterns. I love this example of two textile arts crossing over. A beautiful variety of lace filling stitches have been delicately printed on the right, while on the left, a slightly coarser lace appears almost as a
trompe l'oeil strip, knotted piece by piece together. Perhaps I could look into making lace patterns to print as well?
From around 1830, this
printed blind, again with a
trompe l'oeil effect, is a seemingly complex scene, apparently block printed. As I've said, I am a complete novice when it comes to printing, so, assuming that it is entirely blocked, there must be a block for each colour. So, counting up, that is, I think, seven or eight - some colours laid on over other colours to give a wider range of shades (yellow, brown, red, then green in the treetops), and the black line-work added last. Because the blocks don't line up entirely, whether by design or not, this piece feels very approachable and homely. Perhaps I could look into transparent paint layers in my prints too?
From the 1830s, this
roller-printed furnishing fabric is such a quintessential design of it's time.
I love anything associated with the Gothic Revival, and this piece is a splendid example of a movement that began as a very serious discussion around theological questions, social history and state religion being welcomed into the fashionable mainstream. I especially love the honeycomb structure of the leaded windows. Perhaps if the natural, William Morris style illustrations won't work for me, turning to something a little more organised, and a little less spontaneous, might be the key?
From around 1850, this
fragment of printed wool (please note, this link is for the collection of fragments to which this image belongs) is 16cm square. This piece is very accessible! It's easy to work out how to cut the blocks, even if the coloured stripes are a little beyond my understanding.
The plant chosen for the motif is perfect for use in a simple design such as this - it has a very... active feel to it's silhouette.
From 1850, and, according to the book, taking over 500 blocks to print,
this paisley shawl is a masterpiece! If I ever need to be reminded why the printed medium is a worthy competitor to the other textile arts, I need look no further. Here's a detail.
A beautifully stylised piece that is inspired by exotic plants, this shawl was apparently designed by a Mr Charles Swaisland of Crayford, Kent.
Nearing the end of the century now, here is a piece of
block-printed cotton, designed and made in 1888 by Arts and Crafts movement pioneer, Lewis Foreman Day. This piece is
wild. It's got all the complexity of the high Victorian piece it so obviously is, yet with a colour scheme worthy of Dr Seuss. Again, there is admirable use of layering, as in the earlier, 1720 piece, as well as a combination of life-like foliage and man-made abstracts. It's the colours that really attract one to this fabric, though - you don't realise how much of the brilliantly white base is left untouched - a tricky job that I'm sure required precision.
Finally, from exactly 1892, is
this combination piece of printed silk embroidered with coloured silks and goldwork. Three workers are attributed to this piece: firstly, the Leek Embroidery Society of Staffordshire as designer, Sir Thomas and Arthur Wardle Ltd. as weavers and printers, and, unusually, 'Ms Frances Mary Templeton' as embroider. Though the museum description doesn't give a source or a particular relationship to the parties involved, the technique is worthy of admiration despite the ambiguity of it's origin. The idea of the Leek Embroidery Society was to use printed silks to formalise designs and give a degree of uniformity to the fabrics produced, then take advantage of the great embroidery skills locally available to embellish the higher-end materials. In this detail, the way the printing has been covered by threads is clearly visible.
According to the museum website, textiles such as this, due to the extra skills and work-hours required to produce them were only sold in the most exclusive quarters of the British Empire.
Perhaps, if I have time, I could try a couple of combination fabrics of my own?
