Doily Dear

Posted in Process by cottonjennyfabrics

Hello again, Reader.

In my hall closet is a box of odds and sods. It’s mostly fabric scraps, but there is also a collection of doilies from my grandmother’s house, which made their way to me a few years ago. They’ve been sitting in my closet for quite a while now, and recently, I was inspired to do something with them. So I fired up the old Google, and hunted for interesting ideas.

Doily table runner

I found some pretty nifty notions, but there were three I liked the look of best. The first is a table runner made of crocheted doilies (just like the ones in my closet) sewn together. The second is a bowl made from a stiffened doily. The versions I saw indicated that you should harden it with glue or Mod Podge, but the image of the finished product reminded me of the lace bowls my god-mother places around her house on Christmas Eve. She soaks hers in water and cornstarch, and then fits them over a jar or bowl, and when they dry, they stand up on their own. The nice thing about doing it this way is that you can wash the starch out of the lace, at which point you can store it flat to be brought out again the next time you want to use it.

Lace bowl

The third one I dug was perhaps a little more involved, but very pretty. A large-enough doily would make a delicate and dainty collar on a blouse or sweater. You could alter it to make it a peter-pan collar, or just leave it as-is for a simpler version. I love this idea. All these projects made me anxious to get stuck in to my own work!

A cute collar: prim, preppy, and pretty!

So, out came the doillies, and my needle and thread. Here are the doilies I chose to use: they are all roughly in the same colour palette, and I like that they vary a little bit in size.

Spots of lace: they remind me of snow.

What I ended up doing was laying them out in the order I wanted, and then simply stitching the edges together by hand. I found I liked the look best when I placed the biggest ones down first, like a kind of foundation, and then added the smaller ones on top. It seemed more balanced and visually pleasing to me to do it that way than to simply line them up and hope for the best. I also liked the look of off-setting them, so that they aren’t centred or in a straight line.

Simple tacking joins do the trick here.

Now, it goes without saying that if you wanted to speed up this process, a sewing machine could certainly help. I don’t currently have access to a sewing machine, so hand-sewing it is! The whole job took me about thirty minutes, but most of that was arranging and re-arranging the doilies just so. The actual sewing was over in a flash.

All done! (For now.)

Here’s the finished product. The nice thing about a project like this one is that you can add to it very easily. Actually, removing doilies would be pretty simple too: the stitches are basically just tacking the doilies together, so it would be a cinch to take them out and start again, or just make adjustments. You can add or subtract as many or as few doilies as you wanted to fit the table you’re using. Be warned, though: if you hand-stitch these together, the finished result is going to be fairly delicate. It’s best to machine sew these babies if you plan to put the runner in the wash.

These might make a nice addition to a plain table, and would likely work a treat on a table at a rustic/DIY/country wedding. They’d also be a nifty appliqué, if that’s your thing.

Do you have any favourite doily-inspired projects? I’d love to hear about them: leave me a comment! Bonus points for pictures!

Until next time, Reader.

Yours,

Cotton Jenny

27Jul2015

Sheep Thrills

Posted in Terms and Tech by cottonjennyfabrics

Hello again, Reader.

After my last post, which was all about knitting (read it here), I got the knitting bug and took up my needles again after what had been kind of a long break. I have a big bowl of wool in my living room, filled to overflowing with balls of yarn. Some of them are really, really lovely wool, and others…well, let’s just say they leave something to be desired.

Mostly, the yucky yarns are synthetic. They stretch too much or not enough. They unravel. Worst of all, they feel sort of scratchy and hard, like they are made of plastic. (Likely because they are plastic.)

The nicest skeins, though, are natural fibres. I think my current favourite is beautiful alpaca wool from a local farm in my area. Each skein from this farm comes with a picture of the alpaca from whom the wool was harvested. They are adorable, but they always look slightly grumpy. Maybe it’s because they know I have their wool.

Wool, by the way, despite the fact that we throw this term around to mean a lot of different things, has a very particular meaning. Wool is the soft, wavy or curly and usually thick undercoat of various hairy mammals made up of a matrix of keratin fibers and covered with minute scales. That’s a very fancy way of saying that wool is curly, made of keratin (the same stuff as your fingernails) and comes from fuzzy, fluffy, furry animals. But we use this term to apply to those animal fibres we use to produce a twisted strand ideal for knitting, crochet, or weaving.

Anyway, I was thinking about all of these different types of wool, and thought “Hey! I love a good list!” So for a little easy reading on a lazy Sunday, here is:

An Unordered List of Wool Types

10. Synthetic Wool. Scratchy and weirdly stretchy, or not stretchy at all, these yarns are cheap, but sometimes, you get what you pay for. These yarns may be comprised of a wide variety of different synthetic or natural fibres in different percentages. Some are better than others, but on the whole, my experience with this type of wool has been pretty hit and miss. (Mostly miss.)

9. Quivit. This one may be harder to come by if you don’t happen to be neighbours with a muskox, because that’s where quivit wool comes from. It’s pretty nifty stuff: unlike other types of wool, it doesn’t shrink in water, no matter the temperature. While this means that it’s impossible to shrink down your favourite quivit sweater, it also renders quivit useless for felting.

Fluffy majesty.

8.Cashmere. This luxurious wool comes from goats, and was developed in the Kashmir region of India (hence it’s name.) This wool is strong, light-weight, and quite a bit softer than regular wool.

7.Mohair. This is made from Angora goat hair.It’s durable, shiny, and hardy against wear and tear. When treated properly, mohair can last a long time: these qualities have earned it the nickname “the diamond fibre.” It also takes on dye particularly well, making popular for textile design and clothing manufacture alike.

6. Angora. Not all wool comes from barnyard animals. Angora is made from rabbit fur! (Not from Angora goats. Confusing? Yes. Yes it is.) It is characterised by its softness and a kind of fluffiness known as a ‘halo’. It’s called that because the fibres sort of seem to ‘float’. Because of this fluffiness, Angora wool tends to felt very easily: felting can even occur on rabbits who are not properly groomed.

Frighteningly fluffy.

5. Sheep’s wool. This one is a pretty big category. There are so many breeds of sheep, and each one produces different kinds of wool. Sheep farmers have bred their flocks for distinct characteristics to achieve these differences, as well as shearing their sheep at different times throughout the year, and in the sheep’s life, to produce different effects in the wool. Some well-known types are Merino, Cotswold, Shetland, Hogget, and Karakul, to name a few.

Hello, friend!

4. Camel Hair. Camels have two layers of hair making up their coats. One is the outer guard layer: it’s hard, coarse, and inflexible. It can be blended with other wools to soften these qualities. The undercoat of a camel is soft and fluffy, and is gathered when a camel molts, or sheds.

3. Alpaca fleece. The soft, dense fibre harvested from the alpaca (a camelid relative of the llama) is notable for its durability and silky texture. There are two main types of alpaca wool: huacaya has a natural crimp, making it ideal for knitting or crochet. Suri has no crimp, and is thus better suited to weaving. Both kinds are flame and water resistant, and have no lanolin, making this wool hypoallergenic.

You want to go on a picnic? Alpaca some lunch.

2. Bison. Like the camel, American bison have two types of hair in their coat; a soft under-layer next to the skin is guarded by protective, coarse hairs which make up the outer layer. Both fibres can be used to make wool. The bison sheds its fluffly under-coat once a year, just like the camel does.

He’s almost as excited about wool as I am.

1. Domestic pet wool. Yes, this is a real thing. This type of wool is unique and unusual, and often considered a particular or niche product. (This is me trying to avoid out-and-out saying that it’s weird.) Nevertheless, dog and cat hair can be used as yarn. Obviously, the longer the hair, the better, so fluffy breeds like the collie or the Persian make ideal candidates.

Care for a little woof in your wool?

An important note: harvesting wool from an animal is NOT meant to harm it. Shearing, or the process of removing hair or wool from an animal, is not only supposed to be a painless experience for the little critter involved; in many cases, shearing actually helps the animal. Many breeds of sheep are sheared during the hottest part of the year, so that they can chill out and stay cool in the heat. Some animals, like bison and camels, naturally shed their undercoat, so shearing them is just speeding up a natural process. Farmers take this stuff pretty seriously: there are sheep shearing competitions worldwide, and a big part of being an expert sheep shearer is doing the job as quickly and safely for the animal as possible, to reduce stress and prevent injury.

The before and after photo.

So we can feel good in our woolies, whether they come from camel or cat. If you’ve never tried working with some of these different wools, I say, give it a go! You never know what exciting results might await you. If you are familiar with these different fibres, I’d love to hear from you. What are your favourites, and why? Leave me a comment below!

Until next time, Reader.

Yours,

Cotton Jenny

24Jul2015

Knit It!

Posted in Process by cottonjennyfabrics

Hello again, Reader.

I’m a big fan of the BBC programme QI, and I recently watched an excellent episode from their K Series called “Knits and Knots.” (Watch it here.) On this episode, Stephen Fry and Alan Davies, along with Ross Noble, Sue Perkins, and David Mitchell, delve into the fascinating world of knitting and knotting, as well as other topics beginning with a silent ‘k’.

Now, I knit quite a lot, but mostly, I knit to relax. There’s something soothing about the repetition, the gentle clickety-clack of the needles, and the memories of my grandmother teaching me to knit as a little girl that makes the whole process very calming for me. As a result, however, my knitted projects tend not to be especially complex or adventurous. But’s that’s more about me than it is about knitting itself. Because knitting can produce some pretty incredible things. “Such as?” I hear you asking, Reader. Well, read on!

Go big or go home!

A growing trend in the world of knitting is large-scale projects. Giant needles, arm- and hand-knitting, and enormous yarn results in gargantuan examples of knitted objects. This process often focuses on the texture of the material, because the individual stitches are so large. It also shows off the construction of the knitting piece itself. Knitting, by the way, is a series of inter-twined loops made from a single yarn or strand.

Actually, we can find this kind of construction in other, unexpected places. The loops of knitting are related, perhaps distantly, to the hitches and bends of sailors and the outdoorsy set. Speaking of sailing, early fishing nets were made by hand, using a series of connected partial loops, even though their present day descendents are more likely to be machine-made. Looks suspiciously familiar, no?

Catching some sun.

We can find other examples of knitting on a big scale besides giant needles and fishing nets. The islands of Uros in Lake Titicaca, Peru, are floating reed islands, which have been ‘knitted’ by their inhabitants. Apparently, the texture of these floating islands is so unique that people who live on them find walking on dry land very difficult. Not only have the reeds been built up to create spaces for people to live on, but their houses and buildings are also made of reed. A significant part of their environment is textile: it’s pretty nifty!

There are many outside of the Uros islands, however, who feel that they aren’t getting enough knitting in their lives. Enter guerrilla knitting, also known as knitting graffiti, kniffiti, or yarn-bombing. Avid knitters and other trouble makers add knitted goodness to their communities, and nothing is safe from their textile tyranny: trees, parking meters, bridges, lamp-posts, and even whole cars get the treatment. In some places, it’s meant to deter crime. In others, its a form of vandalism. Some might see it as the critical intervention of ‘craft’ in unusual locations. However you want to think about it, it’s fascinating, and often stunningly beautiful.

Tree-cozy.

Speaking of gnarly knitters: there is a book that I treasured as a child, called The Secret of Platform 13, by Eva Ibottson, which I cannot recommend highly enough. There happens to be a very old lady in that book called Doreen, who works as a body guard for a rather nasty lady called Mrs. Trottle (but that’s neither here nor there.) What is so peculiar about Doreen is that her weapon of choice in her work as a body guard are her razor-sharp knitting needles, which she keeps on her person at all time. Now, this is not meant as an endorsement for using your knitting needles as weapons, Reader. I just think it’s sort of interesting that the author thought of using knitting needles, which are often seen as pretty feminine and harmless, as quite dangerous tools for this frankly unsettling character. Although, now that I think of it, the inimitable Miss Marple (heroine and detective extraordinaire from the brilliant mind of author Agatha Christie) also knits a great deal. Maybe we have been underestimating knitters all along.

So whether you want to make your world knitted, fill your city with yarn-bombs, or just knit big, this method of making a fabric has you covered. If, however, you are like me, and knit to un-knot your brows and your brain, then tally-ho, Reader! Either way, I hope this little romp has you inspired to get knitting and dream big. Or little. Whichever way you like it.

Until next time.

Yours,

Cotton Jenny

22Jul2015

Crochet Coral Reef

Posted in Process by cottonjennyfabrics

Hello again, Reader.

In my first year of university, I had to take a maths credit course. Everyone warned me away from statistics, and I knew that calculus or algebra and I were not going to get along (thanks to our failed attempts at relationships all throughout grade school). I reluctantly signed up for the least offensive sounding course on offer: Math in Art.

It was taught by a soft-spoken Russian professor, who made jokes about Donald Duck that no one understood, and a very peculiar teaching assistant. He was friendly, but he had a very intense personality, and he wore the felt liners of his winter boots in the class as though they were slippers. You could hear him swish-swish-swishing on the floor as he padded around at the front of the room, teaching us about rotations.

Swish swish swish!

I digress.

It was in this class that I first learned about hyperbolic geometry. Hyperbolic geometry is a kind of non-Euclidean geometry. Euclidean geometry asserts that, in two-dimensional space, for any given line a and point β not on a, there is exactly one line through a that does not intersect b; i.e., that is parallel to b. I don’t really know what that means either, but here’s a picture. Best of luck.

Hyperbolic geometry is non-Euclidean though, so this statement doesn’t apply. In a similar situation,hyperbolic geometry indicates that two distinct lines which pass through a don’t pass through b. Here’s another picture.

hyperbolic

I wish I could comment more intelligently on the maths, reader, but I can’t. I’m sorry.

What I can talk about, however, is crochet.

Crochet is a method of producing a fabric by linking together the loops of a single yarn or strand.There are all kinds of different crochet stitches, but they all function on this same basic principle. We usually think about crochet and imagine baby-blankets and afghans on our grannies’ couches.

So cozy! So stylish!

Now you might be wondering how hyperbolic geometry and crochet are remotely related. Get excited, Reader: I am here to tell you.

Although hyperbolic geometry was developed and proved in the nineteenth century, it was nearly impossible to actually physically express it until very recently. Mathematicians thought about hyperbolic geometry as an abstract concept, not a physical reality. Even after the advent of computers, describing hyperbolic geometry still proved to be very difficult, which meant that for a long time, it was essentially a theoretical branch of mathematics.

A Latvian professor, Dr. Daina Taimina, first used crochet to express hyperbolic geometry in 1997. She saw her colleagues struggling to make flimsy and inaccurate paper models of hyperbolic planes, and decided to make more durable and accurate examples in wool. (What a smarty-pants.)

This idea was picked up by two Australian sisters, Christine and Margaret Wertheim. Margaret is a physicist, and Christine is an artist. As much as wool and water don’t normally mix well (think about the feeling of wet wool socks, and you’ll know what I mean) they realised that crocheting replicas of coral reefs actually made a lot of sense. The way that a coral grows and develops is in a hyperbolic plane. That frilled, crenulated doughnut shape is nature’s way of expressing hyperbolic geometry: good one, Mother Nature. And Dr.Taimina proved that crochet worked really well to express hyperbolic geometry too. So in 2005, the Wertheim sisters developed an amazing project through the Institute for Figuring in Los Angeles: the Hyperbolic Crochet Coral Reef.

At first, it was just them working on the project. But after a very successful show in 2007 in Chicago, more and more people became involved, and the exhibition project literally grew and grew. Now, approximately ninety-nine percent of the crochet coral is made by women, including the Wertheim sisters, and the exhibition has been shown all over the world.

This project deals with the intersection of mathematics, environmental issues, and crochet. When the project started in 2005, issues of global warming were at the forefront of a lot of scientific discourse. Not only does the Hyperbolic Crochet Coral Reef show its viewers mathematical information, it also explains some of the damaging results of rising sea temperatures, like bleached coral. Many of us don’t have access to a coral reef on a daily basis, but this exhibition gives us an idea of what this remarkable and environmentally crucial ecosystem is like, and how it is suffering as a result of climate change.

This project also does great stuff for women. Unfortunately, the fields of science and mathematics have been historically dominated by men, and that trend continues today. But things are changing. Projects like Crochet Coral Reef can show viewers both inside and outside the mathematics and science community that women absolutely have a place in these disciplines, and that their contributions, woolen or otherwise, are essential to advancement in the field. And that’s good news for everyone.

Want to learn more about this amazing undertaking? You can see Margaret Wertheim’s TED talk about her project here. The exhibition also has its own website, where you can check out photographs and see when the Crochet Coral Reef is coming to a museum or gallery near you!

So to all you crocheters out there, I say: keep up the good work! What you do is not only an art form, but also an excellent model for an important branch of (once) theoretical mathematics: how fancy! And to those of us who haven’t gotten hooked on hooking: you may never look at Grannie’s old afghan blanket the same way again.

Get hooked!

Until next time, Reader.

Yours,

Cotton Jenny

20Jul2015

Faith Ringgold

Posted in Artists by cottonjennyfabrics

Hello Reader.

As some of you may know, if you’ve checked out my Pinterest boards, (Cotton Jenny) I really like children’s literature and story-telling. I also really like textiles and fabrics. These two passions collide in the work of an amazing lady called Faith Ringgold.

Faith Ringgold

I’m pretty sure she is one of the coolest textile artists around. I first saw her work on the classic, and sadly no-more, children’s television programme Reading Rainbow. They had a great segment where someone would come and read a story to you, and the pages would turn like you were looking at a real book, and the camera would pan across the page as the narrative progressed.

But you don’t have to take my word for it.

Well, one day, the book on offer was Ringgold’s brilliant Tar Beach . The book details the story of a young girl who imagines herself flying over her city at night as she lies on Tar Beach: the roof of her apartment building. The illustrations came from Ringgold’s quilt of the same name. I was transfixed.

Fast forward several years, and I was writing a paper about her for a second-year Women in Art class at university. I got to know some of her other works, besides Tar Beach. Let me share what I learned with you.

Ringgold was born in 1930 in Harlem, New York City. Her mother worked as a seamstress and fashion designer, so Ringgold grew up around fabric. She received her Bachelor’s degree from the City College of New York. For several years afterwards, she taught in the New York Public School system. She eventually returned to school, and earned her Master’s degree from City College in 1959.

Ringgold started out life as a painter. In the 1960s, she adopted a style of flattened, figural compositions, but her work was rejected by many critics because it bore little resemblance to popular styles and motifs from that time. In the 1970’s, she worked in sculpture, focusing on depictions of historical and contemporary women of colour. It wasn’t until the 1980’s that Ringgold began to work on fabric. She developed a practice of making painted story quilts, which seem to incorporate her education in painting with her familial background in fabrics. It’s these story quilts I want to focus on.

Quilting Bee at Arles. 1991. Private Collection

A quilt called Quilting Bee at Arles shows a group of figures standing around a finished quilt, which features a sunflower motif, while actual sunflowers grow behind them. A lone figures stands apart from the group. The quilting group is made up of black women of different ages. Their voices can be heard in the written narrative that circles the quilt. Ringgold writes out the words the speak on the border of the quilt. These words give us information about what is going on in this image. The women assert that through their quilting work, they are going to make the world run right again. These women are named: among them stand, left to right, Madam Walker, Sojourner Truth, Ida Wells, Fannie Lou Hammer, Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks, Mary McLeod Bethune, and Ella Baker. They are joined by a character developed by Ringgold, Willia Marie Simone, who some have argued stands for Ringgold herself. The combination of the sunflowers and the title, which tells us that this is taking place at Arles, gives us clues about who the lone figure might be. He is Vincent van Gogh, well-known Dutch painter, whose still-lifes of sunflowers are among his most acclaimed works. I think this work is Ringgold’s clever and subtle way of suggesting that perhaps it is time for women of colour to be the focus of art and art production: white men have had plenty of time in the spotlight. It is also possible that she means to indicate that the work of women of colour has the power to make positive changes in the world.It also positions women of colour and textile artists as equal to more well-known male artists, like van Gogh. On it’s surface, it’s a bright and cheerful quilt about quilting. Look harder, though, and this quilt seems to demand that we pay more attention to artists of colour, and the stories they want to tell.

Dancing at the Louvre. 1991. Private collection.

Another fascinating example is Ringgold’s Dancing at the Louvre. Ringgold travelled to Europe as part of her art training, and this quilt might be inspired by her experiences in Paris. This quilt shows us several figures engaged in a lively dance before three famous paintings in the Louvre’s collection: most notable among them is La Giaconde, or the Mona Lisa. (The other two works are also paintings by Leonardo da Vinci.) Here we meet Willia Marie Simone again: she is the dancing woman in the yellow and white dress. In this image, I think we can see Ringgold actively re-writing a historical narritive. Here, she combines traditions of African dance and American quilting with European art collections. Arguably, the performance by Simone, her children, and her friend, is as much a work of art as any of the three paintings on the wall.

Tar Beach. 1988. Guggenheim Museum.

The final work I want to look at with you, Reader, is her Tar Beach, the very same quilt I first saw years ago on Reading Rainbow. This quilt features a central image, surrounded by quilted squares of fabric and two horizontal bands of text, which tell the story of young Cassie, and her adventures in flying from Tar Beach over her city each night. Cassie is depicted twice: once on the mattress, star-gazing with her younger brother, and again in the sky, flying over the lights of a distant bridge. We can read this image more than one way. We might see this as a depiction of Cassie dreaming: we are seeing her as she sees herself: flying over her home. It might also be a kind of two-part narrative. The first part of the story shows us Cassie on Tar Beach. The second ‘act’ of the story has Cassie flying. A third reading might be that Cassie is in both places at once: her physical self is lying on Tar Beach with her family, but her spiritual self is free to fly among the stars. This reading aligns itself with some African traditions of dualism: that is, the soul and the body are made of different substances, and can act independently of one another.The presence of the bridge in the background also suggests that we might read this image as an expression of Cassie’s growth into womanhood. She is at once a child and a woman, earth-bound and heavenly, seeing the lights of the bridge before her like beads on a necklace that she wants to wear. Again, we see Ringgold combining different aspects of her art training and background to develop a visually fascinating, but also ambiguous, narrative.

I was lucky enough to meet Ringgold about two years ago. I was very nervous: I felt as though I was in a room with a giant. She was very kind to me. She had on the coolest pair of red leather cowboy boots I have ever seen. She is a great story-teller, and answered questions in a no-nonsense, straightforward way. Luckily for us, Ringgold writes her stories as well as quilting them. She has a remarkable body of written work, which includes memoirs as well as children’s literature. I recommend starting with Tar Beach.(Find it here) The illustrations and the words are soaring and wonderful. And who among us, Reader, has never dreamed of flying?

Yours

Cotton Jenny

19Jul2015

Bayeux Tapestry Troubles

Posted in Historical by cottonjennyfabrics

Hello Reader.

Yesterday, someone called me Jessica. It’s happened to me before: actually, it happens all the time. It doesn’t bother me, but it does make me laugh, and confuses me a little. My name isn’t Jessica; it doesn’t sound like Jessica at all; and I don’t think I look remotely like a Jessica.

But it got me thinking about misnomers. And, in my world, one of the biggest victims of shoddy PR is the Bayeux Tapestry.

Bayeux Tapestry, Scene 57: Harold’s Death, aka King Harold gets an arrow in the eye. No thank you.

The Bayeux Tapestry details the Norman invasion and conquest of England in 1066. William the Conquerer, the duke of Normandy in France, basically had a big old dust-up with King Harold of England, and, well, William won. Hence the moniker. The Bayeux Tapestry shows us important moments leading up to, and including, the battle. It’s fifty centimetres high and nearly seventy metres long, but it used to be longer: a few sections no longer survive. It essentially works a bit like a comic book or a photograph in a newspaper. There are images of scenes from the battle, and other relevant illustrations, which are captioned with short descriptions in Latin, called tituli, above. It’s really old, has survived miraculously well, illustrates an important moment in European history, and is thus pretty well-known. And that’s the Bayeux Tapestry in a nutshell.

Except it’s not. Firstly, it’s not a tapestry. It’s embroidered woolen thread on tabby linen panels, which were stitched together. And while it resides in the French town of Bayeux now, it isn’t from Bayeux. Actually, scholars aren’t one hundred percent sure where it’s from. Some claim England; specifically the Kent region. Others argue for Burgundy in France.

(Also, I spent a lot of my life saying “Bay-oh”, but that’s not correct. It’s “Bay-yuh.” My mistake.)

The more digging you do, the more mysterious this embroidery becomes. No one’s really sure who commissioned it. Was it Bishop Odo, the newly crowned King William’s half-brother? Was it Queen Matilda, William’s wife? The arguments for Bishop Odo are the most compelling, but others champion Edith of Wessex. There is, essentially, an entire group of scholars who spend many of their waking hours thinking about, writing about, and arguing about, who made it and where it was made. And now, at least for the length of this post, I get to be one of them.

There are a couple of different key clues that give us information about the embroidery, and where it might come from, and who made it. Primarily, we can look at construction and materials. The plant-based dyes and wool thread, as well as the method of couch-stitching used to fill in the images indicate that it may have been made in England: the kinds of plants used to make the blue woad dye grow in the Kentish region of England.

An example of couch stitching.

We can also check out the style of the images. While it is disputed by some, many scholars agree that the Bayeux Tapestry’s style falls within the category of Opus Angilicanum, or Anglo-Saxon needlework. That places us in England again. It might also explain why, despite the fact that this textile depicts a pretty significant Anglo-Saxon defeat, the Anglo-Saxon army and their king, Harold, are depicted in a pretty positive light. The tituli are predominantly in Latin, but there are fragments of Anglo-Saxon, again leading many researchers to believe that this was an Anglo-Saxon work.

This information can indicate who might be responsible for this work. Bishop Odo’s power-base in England was Kent. As a bishop, he also had access to an unpaid labour force: namely, cloistered nuns. Unfortunately, women working without recognition or remuneration is a recurring theme in textile history, and the Bayeux Tapestry may be just another example in a long, long, list. It is also important to note that Bishop Odo’s cathedral and bishopric in France was in… you guessed it… Bayeux. Actually, it was built and dedicated in the 1070’s, which is around the same time that the Bayeux Tapestry was likely finished. That might explain why it ended up there, but we have a huge gap between it’s production after 1066, and the first written record of the textile, which didn’t come until 1476 in an inventory of the cathedral. This gap makes it impossible to know for certain exactly what happened to it.

Exterior view Bayeux Cathedral in Bayeux France. Nice digs, Odo.

If the Bayeux Tapestry was commissioned by a Norman bishop, Odo, the half-brother of the conquering Norman king, but actually executed by Anglo-Saxon needle-workers, that might also explain the ‘tone’ of the piece. The Anglo-Saxons aren’t depicted as cowardly, nor as particularly bad people, but there is no doubt about who came out on top: the Normans won, big-time. This leads many scholars to consider the Bayeux Tapestry an example of an apologia. An apologia is a kind of defense of one’s opinions or actions. The Normans, and perhaps especially Bishop Odo, may have felt that they were meant to rule England. It’s possible that they felt they had God on their side. The Anglo-Saxons might have disagreed with them, but the victors usually get to write the history books, (or design the embroidery, as it were). Perhaps the Bayeux Tapestry is an example of recently conquered Anglo-Saxon nuns trying to get a word in edgewise about how their people weren’t so bad, after all.

One way or the other, this tapestry often leaves us with more questions than answers. And unless new information comes to light, which is always an exciting possibility, we’ll have to content ourselves with guessing. I have to say, as frustrating as all these uncertainties can be, there’s also something kind of fun and invigorating about not really knowing. There’s nothing like a good mystery to get your curiosity piqued.

Keen to learn more? Check out A Needle in the Right Hand of God: the Norman Conquest of 1066 and the Making and Meaning of the Bayeux Tapestry by Howard Bloch for more details, and lots of full-colour reproductions!

Until next time, Reader.

Yours,

Cotton Jenny

18Jul2015

Space…the Fabric Frontier

Posted in Ideas by cottonjennyfabrics

Hello again, Reader.

I was chatting with friends yesterday about moving. Both buddies are in transit, we were talking about the trials and tribulations of moving. One of my friends was also trying to come up with ways to increase her access to privacy: she’s moving in with several other roommates, and as a dyed-in-the-wool introvert, she’s a little nervous about keeping things happy and happening in the house.

An introvert in her natural habitat.

I totally understood where she was coming from. I live in an apartment, which, most days, is excellent. Every once in a while,though, I want more privacy than my 1970’s, open plan place will afford. And for people like her, and like me, putting in new walls or re-configuring the layout are simply not options. Even if we could afford it (a big old no), most landlords and superintendents don’t much care for their tenants going all DIY.

Besides, permanent walls are so, well, permanent. There has to be a better solution.

Well, Reader, I am here to tell you that there is, and that it comes to us from the wonderful world of modernist interior design. What’s the answer? Fabric!

Seriously though. People have been tackling this problem for a long time, but it’s almost as though we’ve forgotten about their genius solutions. People like Frank Lloyd Wright, Walter Gropius, and Adolf Loos, all of them famous architects, knew that a well-placed curtain worked wonders on a room.

The living and dining room from Walter Gropius' house in Lincoln, MA. Note the curtains which can be pulled close or open depending on which of the two spaces was in use.

The living and dining room from Walter Gropius’ house in Lincoln, MA. Note the curtains which can be pulled closed or open, depending on which of the two spaces was in use.

But this isn’t going to be a history lesson, Reader. Instead, let’s take a look at how to translate some of the ideas these people came up with, and how we can use them in our own spaces and places.

Most of us have fabrics throughout our homes already. Think about the carpet on your floor, upholstery on your furniture, the mat in your bathroom, the blankets on your bed, the cloth on your table, the curtains at your window. There are, of course, the smaller, more mobile fabrics in our lives, like dishtowels, and place-mats, for example. So really, it’s not all that strange to think about having fabric fulfill just one more job in our homes. And it doesn’t even expect a pay rise.

When it comes to using fabric in this new way, we actually have a couple of options that vary in permanence, which is great news. It means we have choice in how adjustable we want our interior fabrics to be. Curtains of all kinds can be installed along a runner, curtain rod, or in an open doorway without too much difficulty, especially if you use a simple tension rod system, instead of a more traditional bracket and rod or runner bar system. If you’re a handy sort of person, though, installing brackets and rods is pretty straight forward.

Sheer curtains on a runner give this bedroom a dreamy feel while maintaining some privacy.

We also have the option of securing curtains at their other end, making them more permanent and less mobile, if that’s what we are going for. This option lets us get super crafty if we are so inclined: all kinds of fun and fancy materials can be used to achieve a variety of results. Hemp rope threaded through a beam is a more involved project, but looks rustic and striking. Weighting curtains, but leaving them unattached at the bottom, is another great option, which takes a little less know-how, and lets you choose which fabric you want to spruce up that dead space between the living and dining area.

Hemp rope threaded and knotted through a wooden beam, or stretched in a frame, can divide a room while still letting light through.

As with any kind of curtain at a window, we’ve got all kinds of choices when it comes to pattern,transparency, texture, weight, and colour. Light and lacy curtains add delicate sweetness to a bedroom. Heavy, velvet curtains in a dark, solid colour or brocade pattern lend sophistication to a dining room or study, but would certainly overwhelm an airy, cheerful space. Just as with window curtains, taking cues from the fabrics already in your space can help you decide which fabrics will work well. If you’re going for subtlety, panels in a shade similar or identical to that of your walls is a good option. Looking to make a statement? A bold print or eye-catching hue should do the trick. If you are keen, a trip to your local fabric store and a little time at a sewing machine can produce wonderful and unique panels which you can customise to fit your space. If sewing isn’t your thing, buying curtains is an easy alternative. If you are handy, re-purposed fabric stretched and affixed over a frame can be a fun project and results in a mobile screen you can use wherever you please. Basically, the options are numerous and varied, and depend only on how much money, effort, time and skill you want to expend on the process. As a good friend of mine says, you do you.

A bold geometric print adds weight and an edgy aesthetic to a room, but use judiciously!

A bold geometric print, used judiciously, adds weight and an edgy aesthetic to a room.

Speaking of mobile screens, these are another great option for dividing up a room to make it multi-purpose, or to get a little more privacy in your life. Folding screens are available at all kinds of furniture and interior design stores, and range from inexpensive to pricey, depending on your preference. They also range in size, colour, and material: you can find very tall ones that will divide an entire space, or shorter, smaller options which can work like blinders to keep you focused at your desk. If you need to tidy in a pinch, tossing all your flotsam and jetsam behind a folding screen is fast and effective, and makes you look like you have your life together, whether you do or not. They are also great because they are mobile and fold easily, making them a cinch to store if you change your mind about where you want them, or want to open up a space for an evening fête, for example. They also work wonderfully well as make-shift dressing rooms and wardrobes. You can hang clothes on them, and dress behind them, the way Disney princesses do. Who doesn’t want a little more fancy in their lives? (You have to provide your own bird attendants. Most furniture doesn’t come with singing animal companions. Shame.)

I woke up like this.

The point of all of this, Reader, is two-fold. Firstly, we have a lot more control over our spaces than we sometimes realise. We have choices. And secondly, fabrics are a lot more flexible, both literally and figuratively, than we often give them credit for. They can separate rooms while still allowing for change, for mobility, for alteration and interaction. Your spaces can be whatever you want them to be. You do you.

Till next time, Reader.

Yours,

Cotton Jenny.

17Jul2015

Money/Laundering

Posted in Care and Conservation by cottonjennyfabrics

Hello Reader.

It’s nearly laundry day at my house. Good old laundry day.

Despite the rhyme’s insistence that “Monday’s the washing, Tuesday’s the ironing, everybody’s happy, well I should say”, my laundry day is neither on Mondays, nor do I take great pleasure in it. It’s expensive, repetitive, awkward work, and sometimes has disastrous results (hello, red sock in the what-was-once-white-load).

But I didn’t come here just to complain. I came to bring tidings of great joy. There are ways to making laundry less painful. Get ready, Reader. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Firstly, you should know that most of these ideas come from two people. The first is a lady called Linda Przybyszewski, who wrote an excellent historical account/manifesto/call-to-arms/lament called The Lost Art of Dress. In it, she details the rise and fall of home economics in America, with lots of lovely pictures, sassy commentary, and helpful hints about how women of the past dealt with keeping squeaky clean. The second lady is my mother. I’m convinced that she knows everything. By the end of this, you likely will be convinced, too.

Now, Reader, some of these ideas might strike you as a little strange. Stay with me. There is method to the madness, but you have to stick it out.

1. Don’t wash your clothes. Okay, so you’re probably thinking to yourself, “She’s already jumped the shark”, but hear me out. We have a tendency,at the end of a long day, to throw everything we are wearing into the laundry hamper and call it a night. As tempting as this is, you may be doing more harm than help. Instead, washing only those clothes that are truly dirty (i.e. socks/pantyhose, underwear, undershirts and possibly bras), and hanging your pants, dress, shirt, skirt, sweater and other outer garments up does two wonderful things. The first is that it lessens the amount of laundry you do each week. It also keeps your outer wear in better shape. Washing even the sturdiest fabrics too much can cause the fibres to break down, which will result in faded, thin, worn fabrics. This process is only accelerated with more delicate materials.

2. Hang everything the minute it comes off your bod. I am terribly guilty of breaking this rule, but if you hang your clothes instead of letting gravity do the work, you won’t have to wash or iron as frequently, because your clothes won’t be wrinkled and dusty from time on the floor. There are also ways to up the ante when you hang your clothes. Textile sprays and refreshers are easy to use, but can be pricey, and sometime the scents and perfumes bother sensitive noses. Another option is to hang clothes outside. Lovely ladies of yesteryear hung their clothes in “airing cupboards”, which were fancy wardrobes, full of vents and little sachets of lavender, which would freshen up clothes and give them a pleasant floral aroma. Most of us do not have airing cupboards, but similar effects can be achieved by hanging clothes outside in pleasant weather, where the sun can work its magic on whites, or in doors in a storm. (My personal favourite spot is the bathroom, but if you have a laundry room, that works too.) Little sachets of herbs like lavender are still a great way to keep fabrics smelling fresh, whether you use them in a linen closet, or for just-worn clothes. An easy-to-come-by alternative is the dryer sheet: tuck it between bedsheets, towels, drawers, or attach to clothes hangers for laundry fresh-scent without the laundry. Weirdly, placing clothes in the freezer is an effective way to eliminate odours without washing: this method is excellent for that dry-clean-only blouse or jacket that still smells like the cedar chest from whence it came, or that cute but musty second-hand skirt.

A lavender sachet

3. Steam is your friend. Hanging up clothes in the bathroom during or after a shower can help reduce stubborn wrinkles if you don’t have time for the full iron. Also, if you happen to have a straight iron, you can heat that baby up and use it to tame wrinkly shirt collars in a pinch, but be sure not to set it too high, especially if you are dealing with any synthetic fabrics. Too much heat will get rid of your wrinkles, but also melt your shirt. Not ideal.

4. Don’t put everything in the dryer. Dryers can be fast and effective at getting rid of moisture in fabric, (that’s their job), but they also have some negative side effects.They are notoriously unfriendly to the environment, producing all kinds of nasty green-house gases (older models are especially guilty of this.) One of the worst things about them, old or new, is their impact on certain types of fibres. Wool, silk, and many synthetics don’t play nicely with dryers. They shrink, warp, and in some cases, melt. Towels and bedsheets get along great in a dryer, but generally speaking, you can get away with hanging basically everything else. Hanging things to dry means never having to worry about shrinking your favourite sweater, or new pair of jeans. It means extending the life of your delicates and undergarments. It means clothes that smell like sunshine, without breaking the bank. And don’t we all need more (metaphorical) sunshine in our lives?

So pretty!

5.Speaking of delicates… Wash. Them. By. Hand. Now, when I say delicates, what I mean is bras and hosiery, but also sometimes workout gear and specialised garments. Basically, if it goes next to your skin, or your delicate bits, it is itself a delicate, and needs special attention, a nap schedule, and to be sung to sleep. (I’m kidding. Only sing to your underpants if you want.) Washing your lacy panties, bras, and pantyhose in the bathroom sink with a gentle detergent (baby soap is a great option) works beautifully. It prevents the elastic from heating and cooling too quickly. It also keeps your unmentionables from stretching. Best of all, it can keep your underwires, should you have them, where they belong: snug as a bug in the fabric of your bra, and NOT stabbing you in the rib-cage during that really important meeting. Wash and rinse them gently, and then lay them flat to dry on a towel draped flat over a clothes horse, or on any flat surface. Flat is key. Did I mention flat? Also, bras require a wash every two-to-three wears, so you don’t have to handwash constantly. Happy day!

Waiting for its next victim.

6. Dealing with sweat. Look, guys. We all sweat. It’s a thing. We have to be okay with it. Unfortunately, our clothes do not. Human sweat is acidic, and that means that when it hangs out on your clothes, it denatures fibres, which is a fancy way of saying it sort of eats them. It also stains them. This is a problem. Human beings are going to sweat, and we’re not likely to stop wearing clothes any time soon, so we’ve got to figure out ways to combat sweat damage to our garments. Many deodorant and antiperspirant products promise to prevent sweat stains, but they are not always as effective as they claim, and many folks don’t much care for coating their pores with aluminium daily, so that’s often not the best option. Here is one instance where looking to the past can help us out in the future. Smarty-pants from days of old, before antiperspirant existed, made little crescent-moon-shaped pads out of cotton and batten (stuffing), which they then sewed into the underarms of their shirts and blouses. The little pads soaked up all manner of sweat, leaving clothes stain-free. At night, as they hung up their sweat-free clothes in their airing cupboards, these same geniuses simply took out the stitches holding the little pads in place, whereupon they could wash and dry them to be ready for another use. People had several pairs of these little pad bad boys, so they could wear a fresh pair daily. “But I don’t know how to sew, and some of my clothes don’t have sleeves!” I hear you cry, disheartened. Never fear, Reader. An alternative to the pad solution is to rinse the garments that you’ve sweated on throughout the day (most likely to be shirts and undershirts) and let them dry. This will wash away the worst of the sweat before it has time to hang out and get all acidic up in your clothes. If you’re looking for extra power, I’ve had good luck adding dish-drying liquid (the kind you put in a dish washer to help your dishes dry shiny and completely.) I’ve only tested it on white shirts, so be careful using it on coloured clothes.

7. Out, out, damned spot. Actually, generally speaking, rinsing out stains as soon as possible is usually a pretty good idea. Most natural fabrics (silk is sometimes excluded here) can get wet as long as you let them air dry. If you get barbeque, blueberries, or blood on your otherwise pristine white shirt, get thee straight to a can of soda water. Pour the water on the reverse side of the stain, and blot. Never, never never (never!) scrub. Unless you want the stain to get bigger, and more deeply entrenched in the fibres. Then, by all means, scrub away. Vinegar and baking soda can work well to lift stains out of fabrics, but be sure to rinse out the vinegar: it is acidic, and any residue can stain your clothes itself.

Bubbles at work to save the day!

8. A Wrinkle in Time. Let’s say you’ve washed your clothes and hung them to dry, or are pulling your towels-and-sheets only load from the dryer. To keep your clothes from getting really wrinkled, fold them as soon as possible. You can usually get away with not ironing a lot of stuff if you fold it carefully the first time, and then zip it straight into its waiting drawer. I’m looking at you, socks, tee shirts, shorts, dish towels, and cotton undies.

9. Oh, sheet. Bed sheets are a pain. I’m still trying to figure out how to properly fold a fitted bed sheet, but here’s a handy tip. To keep all the pillow cases and sheets together, fold up everything except one pillow case, the way you normally would. Then slip that pretty pile of linens inside the pillow case. Voilá. You have a tidy, docile little pouch of bed-sheet goodness, ready to lie obediently in your linen closet, instead of getting all mixed up and bunched into a wad at the back of the shelf.

10. Seasons in the sun. If you happen to live in a climate which demands a wardrobe for each season, washing your clothes before you put them away can help to combat that musty smell when you take them out again, as can a judiciously placed dryer sheet or lavender sachet. It also keeps acidic stains from damaging your clothes over long periods of time. To get rid of the smell of mothballs (yuck!) or cedar, should you desire it, a quick trip to the outdoor clothes line or the freezer should do the trick.

I hope you found these ideas helpful, Reader. If you’re keen for more info on the laundry ladies or Dress Doctors of old, check out The Lost Art of Dress, and prepare to get inspired.

Do you have any tips you have found helpful in the battle against endless laundry? Leave a comment below! I’d love to hear from you!

Yours,

Cotton Jenny

16Jul2015

Ripping Yarns

Posted in Ideas by cottonjennyfabrics

Hello again Reader.

A few days ago, I was chatting with a friend about the Disney movie Hercules, and we remembered that the most awful scene of that whole film was when the three Fates (shudder) cut Meg’s life line. Little-girl me wasn’t a fan. But then, to be fair, there was nothing more vindicating than the following scene where there try to cut Hercules’ life thread, and their scissors won’t work, and the thread goes all gold, and the look on Hades’ face…

HERCULES, the three fates, 1997, (c)Buena Vista Pictures

I digress.

But it got me thinking about the thread. And about Disney. Disney is well-known for adapting fairy-tales and myths for the screen, so it wasn’t a huge jump to go from the thread and scissors in Hercules, to the spinning wheel in Sleeping Beauty, for example. I was intrigued. Out came some list paper and a pen, and I started to hunt for other myths and fairy-tales that deal with or use fabric and textile tools to tell a story.

I was surprised at how much there was to find. A collection of fairy stories from the British Isles by Kevin Crossley-Holland, called The Magic Lands (which I highly recommend) brought forth stories like “Tom Tit Tot”, which is the British version of the classic German fairy tale, or Märchen, “Rumpelstiltskin”. In it, an imp or devil (Rumpelstiltskin means “little rattle shaker”) agrees to help a hapless girl in need by using his magical powers to spin for her, but at a cost. In some versions, he spins flax into gold: a handy skill to have. In other variations, he simply spins an enormous quantity of flax: five skeins a day was the amount given in the version I grew up on.

Sleeping Beauty, as I mentioned before, is another example of a widely known fairy tale which uses a textile tool as an important plot device. It struck me as odd, and a little disconcerting, Reader, that the very tool many women have used throughout European history as part of their livelihood would become the weapon that caused the main female character harm. It’s sort of a “live by the sword, die by the sword” situation, except that we recognise swords as purpose-made weapons. Spinning wheels are, I hope, not generally built to magically paralyse young women.

Yes, I’m looking for a spinning wheel with a ghostly green glow that will send me into a deep, nearly permanent, death-like sleep. Do you carry anything like that?

Speaking of women’s tools: as soon as you start searching for textiles in fairy tales, women crop up. And I mean everywhere. Weirdly, though, the same few types of women keep appearing. There’s the young, often pretty, girl who doesn’t know what she’s doing and gets herself into trouble, but rarely suffers terribly as a result of her ignorance (Little Red Riding Hood). There are really, really really old ladies: most are witches, and most witches are villains. There are some old, magical women, however, who are either neutral parties who watch the action but don’t take sides,, or sometimes are kindly and helpful, like the fairies in Sleeping Beauty. Many stories feature mothers who either help their children (biological mothers) or are perfectly horrible(step-mothers); the kindly and shrewd mother in “Mossy-Coat”, which is a variation of Cinderella, makes her daughter a magical coat of moss, hence the name, and sends her out into the world to find her fortune, which she eventually does.

Have you also noticed, Reader, that many of the women we meet in myths and fairy stories get their names from the clothes they wear, or from their appearance? Little Red Riding Hood, Mossy-Coat, Cinderella, Snow White, Belle, and Sleeping Beauty are all named for what they look like and what they put on their bodies. Does that mean that Little Red Riding Hood, or Röttkappchen as she is known in the German original, doesn’t have a name if she’s not wearing her signature garment? By the way, despite popular depictions of this character, riding hoods are not capes. They are detached hoods, usually with a fastener for under the wearer’s chin. Riding hoods are a bit more like hats or bonnets than capes or cloaks. So while we often think of a little girl in a flowing red cape, what the original story-tellers might have actually imagined is quite different.

This is an example of a Victorian hood: certainly it is much later than the original story of Rottkappchen, but the Victorians were deeply interested in German fairy tales, thanks in part to their moralising qualities, and to the fact that their beloved Queen Victoria and Prince Consort Albert were German.

That’s not to say that men don’t come up in textile-based fairy stories. They do. Their roles are slightly different, though. They tend to work with textiles and fabrics professionally: tailors appear as main characters in many lesser-known fairy tales. A story taken again from Crossley-Holland based on an old tale called “The Wee Tailor” introduces us to the courageous tailor Billy, who takes his friends’ dare and assures them that “he’s not frit” to go and sew in the village graveyard at midnight. Of course, once settled upon a tombstone in the graveyard, Billy’s work is disturbed by malevolent phantoms and corpses, but he uses his wit and his sewing to escape unscathed.

Here we see, I think, an instance in which fairy tales can act as mirrors, showing us who we are even as we tell them. They tell us what we are afraid of: death, violence, pain, loss, and the unknown. They remind us of what we think is funny and important, and what evil looks like and how it acts. They show us how we value men and women differently. And I think, Reader, that they also indicate that our imaginations find the ties between textile metaphors and life too good to pass up. We like to think of life as a thread, measured out and then cut when the time is right. Thinking about the ways in which our life’s thread weaves with the threads of those around us into a tapestry is pleasing to us. And telling the stories that make up our lives, does seem remarkably like spinning a long, twisting, and sometime tangled, yarn.

On that note, Reader, here’s to long and bright life threads.

Yours,

Cotton Jenny

15Jul2015

Anni Albers

Posted in Artists by cottonjennyfabrics

Dear Reader;

I have a confession.

I was going to wait to write this post, to let the cat out of the bag, but I just can’t wait a second longer. Here goes.

I love Anni Albers. There. I said it. (Sigh.)

If you haven’t been introduced to Anni, allow me the pleasure: Anni, Reader; Reader, Anni. Isn’t she darling? Now we know everybody.

But seriously, if you’re new to Albers, there is no better time to join the fan-club. We meet right now.

Anni Albers was a German/American textile designer, author, jeweller, print-maker, and all-around awesome-pants. She was born in Berlin in 1899, and joined the Bauhaus School in 1922 as a young lady hell-bent on working in architecture or glass. Unfortunately for Anni, the 1920’s might have been many things, but they were not well-known for their stellar gender politics. Anni was re-directed to the weaving workshop, because it was considered appropriate work for women. A young lady like Anni could not handle, according to the teachers and administration at the Bauhaus, the challenges of working in architecture, or with glass. So off to the weaving workshop went Anni, thinking that weaving was “sissy”.

I’ll give you a few minutes to calm down, Reader. I know I’m fuming just thinking about the sillies at the Bauhaus who thought architecture was too hard for Anni. But I promise, the story gets better. Misogyny doesn’t win this time!

After a while, and with encouragement from her director, another super-cool Frau called Gunta Stölzl (“Shhtuhl-zull”), Anni started to dig weaving, and began to experiment with new materials and techniques. She developed a preference for double, triple, and quadruple weaves on a Jacquard loom. She used Cellophane, metallic thread, new industrial fibres, and mixed them with natural fibres like jute, hemp, linen, and cotton (which have been used for centuries) to create sound-absorbing, light-reflecting materials for industry and for interior design. I’ll repeat that: sound-absorbing. Light-reflecting. It boggles the mind.

CIty, 1949. From the Albers Foundation

Well, Anni didn’t stop there. She also made jewelry out of bobby pins and washers and vegetable strainers,(!) and she was a great print-maker. Her prints were used by industrial companies like Knoll on their interior fabrics and upholstery. Anni was also a prolific author. She wrote two amazing books (On Weaving and On Designing, which I cannot recommend highly enough.) She also wrote articles for newspapers and journals which promoted the work she and her colleagues were doing at the Bauhaus.

Necklace, ca. 1940. Albers Foundation

In 1933, the National Socialist party (aka Nazis) decided that the Bauhaus was a degenerate school of art, and closed it down. Anni and her husband Josef, along with most of their colleagues, fled Germany. Anni and Josef ended up in America: first in South Carolina, and eventually in Connecticut.

Once in America, both she and Josef taught and lectured. She continued to design fabric for industry, and with her colleagues like Walter Gropius (who was the director at the Bauhaus when Anni joined in 1922.) She traveled to Mexico several times, and was inspired by weaving practices she saw there.

Red Meander. 1954. Albers Foundation

Anni worked tirelessly in several media until her death in 1994, in Orange, CT. Her textiles, and her writings about them, have gone on to influence fibre artists and textiles designers. She worked to marry ancient techniques and materials with modern, man-made fibres and tools to create distinct, functional and fascinating pieces.

Anni Albers designing in her Orange CT home. Albers Foundation.

Long story short: Anni is the coolest. Spread the news!

“But I want to know more about this fabulous lady and all her glorious work!”, I hear you cry. Well, dear Reader, look no further. I am here for you.

The Albers’ Foundation was started by the Albers (Josef and Anni). They have an amazing collection, most of which is available online, along with great articles and photographs. For more Anni and Josef goodness, check out the Albers’ Foundation website.

You can also check out her books On Weaving, and On Designing, which I will never get tired of recommending, and which are also both available on Amazon, and in preview on Google Books, and possibly at your local library.

Want to get your Anni fix in person? The Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Museum of Modern Art have considerable collections of Anni’s pieces for the next time you are in the Big Apple, and want some Anni Albers goodness to soothe your textile-hungry soul. The Bauhaus-Archiv in Berlin also has a few of her larger pieces, and also some of the weaving done by her colleagues from the weaving workshop. Take a look!

Well, Reader, that concludes our introduction to Anni. I’m looking forward to seeing you all at the next Anni Albers Appreciation Night (Every night. Every night is Anni Albers Appreciation Night. Be there or be square.)

Yours,

Cotton Jenny

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Taking on Textiles

Monthly Archives: July 2015

Doily Dear

Sheep Thrills

Knit It!

Crochet Coral Reef

Faith Ringgold

Bayeux Tapestry Troubles

Space…the Fabric Frontier

Money/Laundering

Ripping Yarns

Anni Albers