Narrative textiles pt 1
Dear Reader,
One of the topics that dominates my ongoing research is that of narrative textiles, or textiles that tell a story. I like all of them, from the implicit ones that might be as simple as a plain, dyed piece of cloth that tells a story of place to much more explicit examples, like the Bayeux Tapestry*. The plain (and utilitarian) items have an excitement for me because they lead to all kinds of other places like psychogeography. But I’ll stop myself before I go down that rabbit hole!
I will warn you that the Bayeux Tapestry is full of violence and nudity so if that’s going to upset you, maybe don’t go and check it out. For me it’s such a great example of how we misunderstand our ancestors/the past. I often hear concerns that modernity is just too full of pop culture, violence, nudity, sexuality, identity, etc etc. And often alongside that are wishes that we would return to the modest and moral past. Folx, I’m here to tell you that’s a really big misread of “the past” writ large. The Victorians? Sure, maybe more applicable but only kind of even there. Dr. Fern Riddell is an historian who has written a fair bit about this, definitely check her work out.
The thing is that the Bayeux Tapestry was a product of its day, like the John Wick of the 11th century but not fiction and with more penises. It depicts the Norman Conquest leading up to (and including) the Battle of Hastings. And it’s a fascinating piece however. I mean, if comparing it with the John Wick movies with more penises doesn’t spark your interest…
From a creation perspective, it’s super interesting to me. I love that it was collectively made, I don’t love that it was made by a bunch of women (as far as we know) but we know nothing about them. What I also find fascinating is that there’s a real difference in reading someone who does needle work and research versus someone who does not. This happened with a vaðmál lecture I attended many years ago. The researcher clearly was probably a great archaeologist but definitely was neither a weaver nor a spinner. That person has since addressed that though and the depth of understanding about the finds they’re researching has definitely benefited.
Back to the Bayeux Tapestry - one of my favourite things about it is that we know it’s from the 11th century and it’s gorgeously done with natural dyes because, that’s all there were in the 11th century. So when people tell me that natural dyes don’t last, are dull, etc, it’s an easy example to point to but really, there are rugs and upholstery, and a huge range of textiles that have been preserved from before the mid 19th century when aniline dyes were invented by William Perkins. Here’s an Iron Age find that has blue, still visible, in it. The colours of the Bayeux Tapestry would have been obtained from woad, madder, and weld and then shifted with additives (like iron).
So when it comes to narrative textiles, or story cloth, the Bayeux Tapestry is a great example.
Another example of explicit narrative textiles can be found in the work of the Chilean arpilleras. It should be noted that the term arpillera has been used more broadly than in the Chilean pieces, such as similar works from Northern Ireland depicting the Troubles. However, I am not comfortable with that because I don’t know enough about the potential cross pollination in the language. I can see how they are comparable but also, I’m not Chilean and only peripherally have researched the Chilean arpilleras so, I’m only using the term to discuss Chilean pieces.
When it comes to narrative textiles, you’d be hard pressed to find a better example than these arpilleras. They were created by women’s groups during Pinochet’s reign of terror. These evocative pieces were made of found/scavenged materials and served a number of functions. For the women at the time, they were a consciousness raising endeavour, able to be smuggled out of the country so the rest of the world would know what was happening in their borders. It was horrific. If you don’t know the history, you should learn it. The Wikipedia entry is a reasonable place to start however, there are other educational sites such as the MOLAA exhibit that remains online, and if you have access to academic articles, Espinoza is a great entry point.
Some of the surviving women have discussed the importance of having a way to feel that their pleas for help and desperation of the situation were heard when no official media was conveying the horrific truth. Further, they report that having something to do and that there was a sense of community in creating these, instead of worrying alone at home, was a life saver for them. This absolutely reflects what my research data has revealed over and over again and what I hope to keep studying formally.
I just want to reiterate that I am not an expert in arpilleras at all. Admirer, yes but would never claim expertise. If you would like to know more, please get in touch and I’ll send more resources your way. There has been a lot of amazing work done by Chilean researchers and I would be happy to point you to their publications.
I think this is a good place to pause for a moment and just touch briefly on appreciation versus appropriation. When I presented a paper on narrative textiles, I did have a question about arpilleras. The questioner noted my admiration for them as narrative textiles and an excellent illustration of the points I had made (something they were skeptical about prior). They followed with a question to the effect of: why not just really immerse myself in them if I admire them so much?
Don’t get me wrong, I thought that was a very fair question. I also appreciated that it prompted me to reflect on my work as a researcher and how to engage with works that aren’t part of my experience. As a white woman of mostly Northern European heritage, I have absolutely no idea about what it’s like to be Chilean and to have Pinochet’s reign of terror as part of my history. I don’t know how it feels to have others “studying” the works that represent that part of my cultural history. I also don’t have Chilean cultural expertise to understand as deeply as someone who is Chilean might. It’s a lot like the above example where a non-textile person was confused about a matter that was so obvious to someone who is a middling weaver. As a disabled researcher, I see something similar in the research that’s about disability/chronic illness but not by people who are both researchers and insiders.
However, not sharing examples of work like arpilleras is equally problematic, in my opinion. As a white woman, I have a platform that a Chilean researcher, or textile worker, might not have. It feels important to share my appreciation of them, but to claim them would feel like appropriation. Does that make sense?
As you already know, most of my work focusses on Northern European and North American/Settler works. One of the things I most appreciate, and am in awe of, are those narrative textiles created in times of precarity - Mary Queen of Scots, arpilleras, Greenlandic textiles. But right now, I have been down a rabbit hole of textiles created by women in asylums in the Victorian era, esp in the UK. Depressing? Kind of but also amazing when you consider how these women, who had everything, even their personhood, stolen from them, and yet they found away to have their voice heard.
My doctoral research had a big section on creativity/making and chronic illness. Post doctorate, I have continued that but also looked at creativity in the context of COVID and examples within the historical record. The historical record is especially interesting to me because I have a sense of understanding the lived experience differently through engaging in parallel practices.
But more on that later. For now, let’s turn back to an example of a narrative textile.
Lately, I have been working on less explicit examples of narrative textiles, such as the stitchery of Lorina Bulwer and Agnes Richter. Ms Bulwer was a needleworker who was institutionalised by her brother after her mother’s death. Ms Bulwer had helped their mother with the running of the rooming house after her father died. That roaming house kept a roof over their head but once her mother died, her brother would have had the responsibility for her and, as was the case far too often in the Victorian era, she was institutionalised. Now I have read arguments that it was likely “necessary” as people had to pay to commit a patient and one wouldn’t pay for the admission lightly. And given that she lived with her mother, perhaps she did need care her brother couldn’t provide. She could also have been a spinster who would, then understandably live with her mother. And perhaps the independence that life gave her was a positive thing.
As I understand it, the further support for her having been institutionalised is the evidence of her “disorganised” mind as seen in the stitchery from her time incarcerated. I should remind you Dear Reader, that in my previous life I was medical social worker and as part of that, I worked in inpatient psychiatry. I can only imagine the emotional and nervous system insult that would occur if someone had been institutionalised simply as an expedient way to not have to care for them, especially in that era. While perhaps she struggled in the community but her mother was able to manage her and with her mother’s death there were no other options, we also know that women were often sent to asylums as an expediency when their “caregiver” no longer wished to care for them. We also know this happened far too often to allow a male family to obtain control of their finances. So while I don’t know for certain that she was well or unwell when Edgar lodged her in the Great Yarmouth Workhouse, I do know what would happen to my mental status if I had to live in those conditions, spend my whole day unpicking oakum, and was subjected to violations by people like the physicians. And I know she was well enough to know the abuse by Dr Pinching was wrong and that she immortalised it in stitchery.
If you have read anything about these horrific places at this horrific time, you’d know that she has no real agency in this circumstance. Her guardian has committed her, there’s nothing she can do about it. Defiance, which was anything from talking back to screaming or trying to retain bodily autonomy, was not tolerated. Anyone who showed defiance could be (and often was) punished in any number of ways from isolation and withholding food to physical restraints and assaults. What she’s done here is find a way to continue to express herself in a way that is also considered “proper”. When she was supposed to be stitching religious samplers, she’s found a way to have a voice.
To read her stitchery, you can go here, where it’s been transcribed. Frayed Textiles was able to review her work etc and have a great post about it here. This is the virtual museum exhibit about her work. And a fitting tribute by the excellent people at Alabama Chanin.
Textiles like Lorina Bulwer’s are definitely a fundamental part of “meaning made material” for me. These works connect back to my doctoral research which was related to personal sanctuary. They are a way we memorialise (self and others), they can be a purposeful occupation (definition), and an incidental spiritual practice.
Well Dear Reader, it is late where I am so I will bid you a very good evening. More on this topic next post.
Dr. Colleen
*not a real tapestry. To truly be a tapestry, a fabric must be woven, where the Bayeux Tapestry is stitched. There are a few different theories, mine isn’t terribly generous and goes something like “all fabric with pictures is tapestry to the uninitiated”.