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.