Political Needling

You could have knocked me over with a feather.  There it was in black and white for all the world to read on Internet. Jonathan Jones, highly regarded art critic of the UK’s Guardian newspaper. He scrutinizes graffiti and handwork in today’s socio-political context.  According to Jones,

Graffiti is a pretentious subcultural backbeat that is replicated everywhere in much the same style, the same chunky lettering and coded messages. It is boring and expresses a generalised contempt for community, kindness, and the weak. How can leftists like this stuff? After all it is so blatantly hypermasculine, aggressive and destructive of people’s desire for a decent environment. It is in fact proof that men are still in charge of the world. There is far more creativity and craft in, say, crochet but because that is traditionally seen as a “feminine” activity no one bends over backwards to praise it as art. But graffiti, associated as it is with alienated young men, is treated with absurd reverence by people who should know better.

This is a back-handed complement for handwork--needlework in all its forms-- if there ever was one.  While Jones cites crochet, which uses a single hooked-needle, the essence of his argument is there for anyone who thinks about it long enough. About a nano-second should suffice.  Needlework (embroidery, knitting, crocheting) in all its forms = feminine = not art because the establishment so deems it. Jones implies creativity and technical virtuosity (craft) are the essence of art.  

So what’s new here?  Not much, except the acknowledgement by an establishment figure of something that those of  us who practice the needle arts already know:   Sexism skews western society’s perception of value and significance, particularly in art.  But we needle-wielding women (and men)  need all the allies we can get.

Women artists are acknowledged by mainstream institutions, even then parsimoniously, if they paint or sculpt. To put it another way, women must express themselves in a prescribed way to merit wider attention.  (How’s that for fostering originality and promoting creativity!)   

Painting by Grandma Moses on US stamp

Take, for example, Mary Anne Roberts Moses, better known as the naïve painter Grandma Moses. She stitched her whole life. Aged 78, she took up a paintbrush and was discovered as “an artist.”  Her themes, rural Americana, did not change with her medium. In 2006, one of her paintings sold for $1.2 million. In the meantime, her earlier works, quilts and thread pictures, are not widely known, if at all.

Recently discovered embroidery by Grandma Moses

By comparison, the ceramics of Pablo Picasso or the paper cutouts by Henri Matisse receive attention and exhibitions, albeit they command lower prices than their artists’ canvases.  There seems to be a double standard regarding what is “included” in an artist’s oeuvre. Even clay and paper cut outs rate above needle and thread.  Was Mary Anne Moses artistic vision of the world less in thread than in paint?  What is it about needle and thread that appear  to diminish or tarnish a reputation--artistic or otherwise?

Maybe this association of “feminism” and “needlework”  and “weakness/negativity” will never change.  Or do we need  “powerful” women, who succeed at “men’s jobs” to acknowledge they do needlework, in some form?  Would this help "rehabilitate" needle work? There are examples. Denmark’s Queen Margarthe publishes her extensive embroidery and design projects on the royal website. She doesn’t have to worry about her “political image.” She was born to power.   Still, there are other influential women who reportedly do handwork. Brazil’s president, hardly a shrinking violet,  Dilma Rousseff, embroiders--when she is not smoking a cigar. Madeline Albright, America's the first female secretary of state,  describes in her biography  the therapeutic benefits of knitting caps for her grandchildren.  Julia Guillard, Australia’s former prime minister appears to knit, although some see it as a publicity stunt. Maybe it takes a self-confident leader to admit to doing handwork.   Might embroidery or any needle art become a litmus test of true political courage and real self-confidence?  We will just have to wait and see, won’t we.

Pretty Embroidery is Cool

This past week, embroidery hit the main stream media, once again, big time.  

Finally after weeks of reading poignant accounts about vanished airplanes, capsized ferries, and tragic strife two stories brought balm to the soul, at least from my perspective, which looks at life through the eye of the needle.

Broderie Anglaise smock -19th century from Wikipedia

 Many papers across the world splashed photos of a lovely broderie anglaise garment on their front pages. Of course it made news because it was worn by the Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge, the real object of the story. Still it is was a stunning piece that could have stood on its own in embroidery magazine, like the Australia’s Inspirations, which is known for its fabulous handwork projects. 

Designed by Australians Nicky and Simone Zimmermann, the dress showed off embroidery techniques to a tee. The intricate patterned panels of white work were even held together with neat trestle stitch at the hems and seems. That was very clever!  Where did the fabric come from?  Only the designers know, but it was not run of the mill, that’s for sure. It looked hand stitched. But it probably wasn’t as the dress is available – or was available –from the Zimmermann collection.  

The second eyelet dress Catherine chose for her trip Down Under was less intricate. She wore it when she took George to the Sydney Zoo. To me the material looked machine made, and why not. It was again broderie anglaise fabric stitched in pale yellow. Pretty fabric, pretty design and practical too; it stood up to a baby’s drool in a pinch. 

Catherine is turning out to be quite a patron of the stitching arts. Remember her wedding dress embellished with handmade lace by the Royal School of Needlework? How refreshing that this trend-setting, down-to-earth young woman shows taste that is a blend of traditional and modern, and so politically/culturally savvy.  Wittingly or not, the future queen is making “pretty embroidery” cool, classy and comme il faut! Hooray! 

This brings me to second instance this week that big-name media wrote about embroidery. The National Geographic’s  April  issue carries a piece on embroidered headdresses of Brittany. 

And while Breton embroidery is, of course, about a quintessentially French style of white work, in some forms is strikingly similar to broderie anglaise. (I don’t want to start an international incident here, but note the French terminology to describe the English embroidery.)  The photos made by Charles Fréger show off the embroidery and the headdresses beautifully. Have a look.

The photos aside, the best part of the article comes in its summary paragraph. Writer Amanda Fiegl, categorizes the young French women who stitch and wear their traditional costumes at festivals like this:

A (Breton) woman is frank and unafraid..She doesn't let anyone walk over her. Like her headdress, she is a tower of strength.

With women like Catherine of Cambridge and the young women in Brittany as advocates, embroidery clearly is making a new statement. What strides feminism has made. Finally, pretty does not equal weak. Now that’s progress. 

And a side dish of needlework to go

This week’s wander around the web led me to Sotheby’s.  I’d drop into reputation-making art venues if I lived near any.  Instead, I rely on virtual visits to keep me  abreast of how the material world is changing as I age in it.

Sotheby’s didn’t disappoint.  A rummage through their catalog for “needlework” unearthed the 2013 sales results for 18^th and 19^th century embroidery.  They performed well,  with pieces raking in between ₤250 and ₤35,000.  I’ve made a mental note to handle my embroideries more carefully.  In the future they might yet hold some value for a yet-to-be-born  great-great-grandchild, struggling to pay university fees.

An auction at Sotheby's

My hunt for embroidery also dredged up a work, which comes under the hammer at Sotheby’s later this month, by Iranian artist Farhad Ahrarnia. It’s an inconvenience, I know, but you’ll have to click through to see it.

BEAUTY IS THE SILENCE OF RUINS V doesn’t claim to be embroidery.  Ahrarnia  printed a digital photograph on fabric and added needles and stitching. The work is really a collage, or that is what my college art lecturer would have called it.  A contemporary gallery might label it a multi-media piece; a digi-kid would call it a “mash up.”   To me it’s a mishmash: photo cum Malevich cum thread. I don’t know what to make of it.

A bit more surfing lands me at the Rose Issa Gallery in London, where I read  an artistic statement for Farhad Ahrarnia:

Through the act of appropriation and needlework, Ahrarnia explores the various tensions that arise when contemporary Iranians attempt to negotiate and reconcile deep-rooted traditions with the force and consequences of modernity. His practice exists at the cusp of craft and informal architecture, whereby he applies the core principles of architecture as a means to probe the semiotics of culture and power in society. 

As an embroiderer I find the phrase “act of appropriation” interesting.  The artist wants me to understand the “semiotics of culture” i.e. the signs of culture and power.  That’s pretty heavy stuff. But then with contemporary art, I find, it’s often the stuff in the catalog that makes the work “interesting”   or even more important, comprehensible.  

I chuckle to myself. Just weeks ago, I blogged about  embroidery being co-opted by advertising to convey subliminal messages. I'm on to something. 

Is Ahrarnia’s co-opting technique ground-breaking in the art world?  Not really.  A few years back, I stumbled across a photographer in my hometown that did something similar.  

 

Photo and embroidery by Annette van Waaijen

 Annette van Waaijen embroidered underwear on her tasteful photographs of (previously) naked women sitting around a swimming pool or dressing.They sold out.

Photo with embroidery by Annette van Waaijen

By “appropriating” embroidery, these two artist-photographers use thread as a “shocking” material.  One doesn't expect a traditional medium, in the context of digital modernity. I’ll grant you Ahrarinia’s message, once it’s been explained,  is ”deep”, while van Waaijen’s is breezy. I leave you to decide if either would co-opt your wall space or wallet.

And then, there is Michael Raedecker, a Dutch painter working in London, who combines embroidery with acrylic. 

Hydrengeas by Michael Raedecker

His uses embroidery more subtley. Thread works with the paint, giving texture, much as as impasto might. Based on an exhibition at the Gemeentemuseum in The Hague a few years ago, I suspect Raedecker is probably not bad as an embroiderer either. 

Taken together, these three artists bring home to embroiderers, once again,  a very hard reality. To be crass, much contemporary embroidery, on its own, doesn’t garner the artistic acclaim or cold cash that these combo works have achieved.  

Boetti’s canvases and antique samplers aside, in today’s multi-billion-dollar art market, needlework is more of a condiment or a side-dish. It is not a staple for an artist's existence.  To be sure,  interesting exceptions crop up, but that’s something for another blog.

Sporting Threads: The Winter Olympics 2014

To my mind, the 2014 Winter Olympics have demonstrated that traditional national dress is very much alive. It has just been re-interpreted to meet the 21st century’s requirements for both sport and fashion.  

Sporting squads tend to kit themselves out in the colours of their flag or in national colour like the Dutch and Australians.  And there are the inevitable cultural references that creep in, like the Slovak, Serbian and Georgian crosses or the firebird motif in the Team Russia’s track suits. But, this year, at least two teams draped themselves in symbols, which gave a wink and a nod to their national needlework, too.  

For the Olympic opening ceremony, Team USA donned knitted red-white-and-blue sweaters, created by Ralph Loren, whose design featured a patchwork of stars and stripes, combined with the letters USA and his own Polo logo.  Have a look.

Lest the design be mistaken for a collage, the Ralph Loren website explicitly explains the visual metaphor, the connection of the team jacket to patchwork, a technique for making quilts from bits and pieces of material.  Sports men/women stitch a life together from scraps of time, integrating their private lives with training. The PR copy writer goes on to explain that, during economic hard time, like the Great Depression and right back to founding Puritan fathers, Americans have made quilts to keep them warm during cold winters. The site concludes:

No other design so beautifully demonstrates the resolve and resilience of the American people.

I chuckle in glee.   Yes, another example I can add to my post “Say it in Thread”.  Clearly the message of homey, frugal needlework hit the mark with the well-heeled. The limited edition sweater, with its allusion to thriftiness, had sold out despite a decidedly upscale $365 price tag.

Then there were those flower- patterned knickerbockers that the Norwegian men’s curling team pulled on for a training session. 

The flowered knickerbockers

 Both the pattern and the model caused a stir in the press.  This was, commentators observed,  crashing through a new fashion barrier even for a team already known for loud outfits, decorated in red-white-and-blue chevrons, jacquards, or faux Norwegian flags.  

Most of  Loudmouth’s designs– I kid you not that is the name of the company behind the Norwegian team’s clothing -- do teeter on the edge between gusto and gauche. 

By comparison, the curlers’ flowers and knickerbockers are quite tame and tasteful and very in keeping with Norway’s image.   Or so it seems to me who looks at the world through the eye of a needle. I find that the curlers’ outfits bear a striking resemblance to Norwegian bunad embroidery. And those knickerbockers are notoriously Norwegian too. 

A few years ago, I was in Trondheim on May 17, Norway’s national holiday, Constitution Day.  It seemed as though the whole population turned out to parade -- in traditional Norwegian dress. The men and boys wore jackets and knickerbockers with white knee-high stockings. The women and girls dressed in long woolen blue/black shirts decorated along the hem and sides in stylized flowers and leaves embroidered in wool.  

 

 I was startled to see even teenagers wearing this “old fashioned” Norwegian costume.  Our guide assured us that it was fashionable for very modern brides and grooms  to choose the traditional Norwegian outfit, which can be worn again and again,  over the a white wedding dress and black suit. 

Norweigian Dress   somanybookssolittletime.blogspot.com

Yes, the flowered knickerbockers are – don’t you agree- every bit as much the visual metaphor of cultural identity as the patchwork sweater.

Why haven’t I mentioned,  the skating costumes, all bangled and spangeled? Well their embroidery was more in keeping with the music and routine rather than nationality of the skater. But I would agree there was much needle art to admire there too.

So for the next 10 days, as hubby watches the Olympic sports, I will try to spot more needlework symbols in these events dominating our television screen!  He cheers and so do I, but for very a different reason.