Assignment 4: Research point. The work of textile artists.

I’ve been asked to look into the work of the textile artist, and specifically, the categories that many people find themselves labelled with. Here’s a table I’ve made with my initial thoughts on the categories set by the folder.

Looking at the table, I feel that there are some areas of ambiguity. Here are a couple of questions I’d like to be able to answer. These might be good to build on for further essays.

A designer I’ve looked at previously on this blog is Alcide Roussel, the Frenchman (?) who made the lace I visited at the V&A. Roussel was a designer, and in his workshop were craftspeople. Were their products art? Their inclusion in the V&A collection would suggest so. If this is accepted, who is the artist? The owner of the concept, or the person that creates the object?  I would argue that both are. Art is an inclusive family, or it should be. Anyone that can use skills that they have worked hard at learning to create an object of beauty, such as this lace, must surely be an artist.

The second question I would ask is: is labelling useful? Take, for example, some historical figures that are old enough to be indisputably called artists. Dürer is known firstly for his oil paintings, then his prints. It’s likely that he designed the blocks, and handed the work over to a professional carver to replicate his fine lines. So does this make him a designer, too? He also probably made his own paints from pigments, and mixed them himself, despite the size of his workshop. He worked in a traditional form, on many religious subjects, as well as contemporary paintings. So was he also a craftsperson? Working with tools partly of his own making, and learning from a master of his trade, as well as in a manner established by long tradition. Take just those factors, and surely he would be an artisan.

Moving on to textile art, though, the folder asks me if I look at a piece of textile art in the same way as a painting or sculpture. My answer to that would be – I do, but I think that I’m in the minority. It’s got the wrong image – and I think that’s to do with the history it’s missing. Or rather, not missing, but overlooked. The history of many art forms – painting for example, have a long and revered history – as far back as Egyptian tomb painting – or those prehistoric depictions of hunts on cave walls. Or sculpture – back all the way to ancient Greece – or further, to those early humanoid figures, like the Löwenmensch figurine. But textiles have far less history left, due partly to its uses, partly to its very nature. Sculpture, in early times, aside from flint knapping, was given significant uses – lucky charms and early gods were made to last. Painting was used to tell stories and to brighten the lives of the inhabitants of those caves. Therefore it would be placed were they would be much of the time – in a sheltered location. So both sculpture and painting survived. But textiles were much more transitory, as they were almost always made with a practical view – as far as we know, anyway. They probably had dyeing and decorative weaving, even if it was just stripes in cloth. (link to 27,000 year old cloth) but the point is that they would be constantly in motion. And wear out. And be used on the floor, or thrown away, and rotted down, or maybe even burnt for kindling.

So we only have a cultural view of the work from civilizations with writing systems. And although it is equally important as a craft for a prosperous society, as an art, it was thought almost beneath contempt.

For the most obvious theory as to why this is, we only have to look at who made the work. Women – and most likely, wealthier women. But is this why it’s still on its own in the art field? In cultures were artistic textiles were traditionally made by men – in Japan, for example, whilst the genders were as segregated as in any other nation, their clothing was less so, and the craft was a respectable profession, recognised as demanding a great deal of dedication and skill. Yes, women were still dressier, but a man wearing an embroidered outfit, or a bright colour would only be thought of as an important man, and not one that was in some way effeminate.

This is not to say that in European society up until 1800, the upper-class man would not be pleased by an embroidered court suit. But the workers who created such a suit would be subservient to the designer, and unlikely to have been paid anything more than an hourly rate for a job well done. It’s interesting that the religion of the 19^th century is still dictating a dress code for men today. Their policy of ‘stark and dark’ for much of men’s fashion is still adhered to. A man wearing a boldly printed shirt wouldn’t arouse interest. But an embroidered jacket? Madness.

Embroidery and lace seem to have come off worst from this change in fashion. It’s true that most people wouldn’t recognise the difference between machine-made and handmade examples, and that therefore there is very little trade to be had from making either in the old style – the prestige of either as a display of wealth is gone. For some, the appeal of a well-tailored suit remains, but the Georgian ideal of a brightly woven and glitteringly embroidered one has vanished. Again, the Victorians are probably responsible. Whereas a man was a tailor, a woman was a seamstress. And she did a lot of the decoration. Embroidery would not only have been a ridiculous hobby for a Victorian who couldn’t afford to be an eccentric lord, but in the later years of the age, it might even have been regarded as suspiciously female.

It has the lazy connotations of a system many years old. It sometimes applies, sometimes it doesn’t. A woman that cooks is a cook. A man that cooks is a chef. A woman that designs fashions is a dressmaker. A man that designs fashions is a couturier. A woman that embroiders is a hobbyist. A man that does it – well, he might be an artist. But we still haven’t got there yet. He’d probably just be ‘unusual’. It’s not fair on either. It’s an art-form. And people that do it are artists. It has possibilities other spheres do not. Therefore people that want to explore those spheres want to for their own sake. It shouldn’t say anything about them as a person.

With that in mind, let’s look at two artists who have crossed those boundaries. Firstly, Japanese artist Takahiro Iwasaki. As a multi-media artist, he doesn't work only in textiles - in fact, even in the article where I first discovered his work, his textile work took second billing to a model carved from electrical tape. His work seems to share a theme of intricacy throughout, though. It also demonstrates another quintessentially Japanese trait - that of taking any small twist on a concept and demonstrating it in an unbelievably elegant, understated way. The article where I first saw his work was a report on his exhibition, "out of disorder". Here's a link. It featured sculptures such as this: 

This was the first piece I'd seen by him, and I was immediately taken by the scale. However, some of the other textile pieces displayed in the article show that scale more effectively: 

I've been asked to talk about his work in terms of imagery, technique, etc., but the truth is that it is quite difficult to find examples of his work online. Therefore I will explore themes as best I can. 

His work in this medium consists of a series of tiny thread sculptures, made (mostly) to match their colour with other objects, onto which they are attached. The sculptures are all of modernist buildings, mostly those made with many steel struts; pylons, observation towers, Ferris wheels. The objects are all textile pieces found around the home.

I think the effect that makes these so memorable for me is the idea of worlds running parallel to ours, especially in mysterious or hidden ways. Here, with the threads of household objects spinning their own tiny worlds, it's... well, enchanting. I think it's a similar kind of appeal to that of spy novels - the thrill of something unknown being so near to us, but unseen. In constrast, though, industrial landscapes are rarely thought of as something ambiguous. They imply decay, poisonous atmospheres and unforgiving, utilitarian design. They're harsh, verging on cruel. So the other advantage, it seems to me, of using this technique and scale is the way that it makes an effective commentary on the way people adapt to their surroundings. Other objects featured in the exhibition show towels and bedsheets as well as these toothbrushes, with added industrial features. Notice that these are all objects that come into contact with the skin of the owner, and that they are textiles, and therefore absorb and stain. So perhaps it implies that people in a city can't quite get the dirt of it off their skin in a day. As these are everyday objects, they are becoming clogged with the dust of the environment their owner brings through the door each night, and are starting to show their wear. Or maybe they're learning to adapt, and blend in.

Another of his works - not a textile piece, but one that does show beautifully the elegance I mentioned, is part of a series of wooden sculptures exploring reflections: 

Source here.

It's a good example of a concept - that of a sculpture that implies reflection without using mirrors or water - being used in a way that communicates only that idea, without fuss or distractions. It's interesting that he should have made a sculpture, architectural in form, that is suspended by fine wires in a gallery. Because that is precisely the theme of the next artist I want to talk about - Korean multimedia artist, Do-Ho Suh.

The theme of a few of his exhibitions has been transforming his sketches of objects and buildings into 3D, life-size fabric replicas. The first object I saw was this one, the oven from his Manhattan apartment. It's well worth zooming in on.

It's interesting in two ways - firstly, that the material used means that the interior of each object can be seen and inspected - it's almost 4D! Secondly that by changing the technique/material of an everyday object, it can be made interesting enough to be worthy of exhibition. It's a fascinating collection of objects, more of which can be seen here. It's also brilliant to be able to see how skillfully the nets to such complicated objects must have been cut. From a practical point of view, I'm glad that I am not making objects like these, where there is no 'wrong side' to hide knots, frayed edges, etc.
However, he didn't stop at the domestic scale, and expanded on this theme into lifesize silk replicas - of his previous homes. One inside the other. They look so much like CGI, it's quite difficult to believe.

Man viewing the exhibition up close.

I think that what I find most inspiring in a textile sense about these two artists is the way that their concepts are a shift from one medium to another - and they're relatively humble ideas, too. There are so many ways to embellish something with textiles - beading, embroidery, lacework, appliqué, probably dozens. They've taken objects of little interest, and by moving them into this field, and changing small things about them, they've made them something almost completely new. Yes, I think that's what I like most about textiles - that they always have an extra layer of technique to apply.

Note: like many contemporary artists - I'm sure both of the artists I'm talking about today are no exception - these two seem to come up with ideas in any medium, and probably find technicians to make the objects themselves. Certainly that is true of the house project pictured above - it's a lifetime of work otherwise! So it is a little difficult to find a textiles artist whose work is on a human scale (that is, all the components are handmade by the artist), but has the same impressive quality that a large project like the silk houses have. We must admit that the field of textiles is one in which time can really sink before any satisfactory results can emerge. It's the point of compromise for an art field in which there are so many possibilities and styles. However, it also means that - for a good deal of time - there are points where collaboration by a group of people is possible before the final assembly of a project. It would obviously have been better to more openly acknowledge this kind of work as a community project with Suh as the director/creator, but it is part of the routine now.