The Value of Embroidery

I have been thinking about the value of embroidery today, or specifically, its devaluation. It seems as though needlework continues to occupy a marginal position within the arts. For example, there is a growing body of work which now places fibre arts within the gallery -- think of beadwork artist Nadia Myer or the hand wrought works of Lauren DiCioccio.

NYT Saturday, July 4 2009 by Lauren DiCioccio.

Image courtesy of Textile Artist.org. 

But today, needlework is still more commonly thought of as craft rather than art, restricted to the domestic sphere of women. Moreover, the painstaking labours of anonymous needleworkers producing items for daily use within the home go unmentioned and oft overlooked. For example, my mother and I like to spend a Sunday afternoon rifling through the housewares at second hand stores, where we have often discovered ziploc bags full of linens for some unreasonably low prive ($6 CAN being the norm). Always, we are astonished at the quality of these donated items; in previous hauls, we've taken home such fine quality goods as Portugese and Irish linens. Frequently, these items have been embroidered -- some by hand and some by machine; it takes a careful inspection to ascertain. In the past, these items would have been coveted and carefully documented in household inventories due to their added value. Some items would have been so costly as to have been cut apart or dismantled so as to salvage the materials -- can you imagine pulling apart, stitch by stitch, a pass of silk thread wrapped in gold foil?

 Two anonymously embroidered table furnishings from the $6 bin at the WIN store. Left, cotton cover for an end table embroidered with what appears to be cotton embroidery thread and trimmed with a crocheted picot border. Right, linen table cloth embroidered with synthetic embroidery floss. Both items can be determined to have been worked by hand due to the mistakes (signs of human agency) contained therein.

It seems unfathomable to think that an item meticulously rendered by hand could come down to pennies on the dollar. This is the especially the case when one considers the pedagogies inherent to needlework. Needlework teaches patience, diligence, and perserverance. Moreover, its meditative qualities permit a freedom of the mind, while simultaneously facilitating a mind-body connection; when sewing, the mind and the hands move apart but together. They come away and they come back again. The depictive (rather than ornamental) aspects of needlework also require a careful consideration of the properties of spatial dimensionality and the material properties of the medium, even without the application of perspective theory. From composition to execution, every embroidery is executed with careful thought. Especially important is the fact that hand embroidery allows for a level of individuality and personalization uncommon in today's industrialized consumer culture.

I did not manage to find household inventory records in time for the course's end. I did, however, find many recommendations for how to find probate records, church records, and inventories -- most of which surrounded going down to your local town registrar in mary old England. Digitized emblems and manuscripts, of course, I could find; but it seems as though archives are slow to digitize such banal administrative documents. Even so, I can say that to reach this point in my embroidery has exacted no less than 162 hours of my life -- and I'm not even finished. Unlike the works of the aforementioned artists, my efforts will not appear in the laudable context of the gallery. Unless I embroider my initials (and even if I do), future researchers may not be able to connect this work to me. Luckily, I kept this blog; a document of the item's creation, since even the embroidering of heraldic devices and other personal signifiers is not enough to clearly spell out the item's provenance. I can only hope that a societal disenchantment with the mass produced furnishings of modern life leads to a cultural appreciation for the hand made and the home spun; I'd like not to think that my efforts will land in the discount bin of a second hand store -- unless it were to eventually end up in the hands of someone like me.

The Iconography of Depression

Now, to reflect on the image I have chosen to aspire to and to reflect the key components of my sense of self. Let us start with the central figure of the hippocamp, a unique animal which straddled the realms of the mythological and the real. Initially, the hippocamp appeared as an ornamental motif on ancient Greek and Italian artifacts including vases, coins, jewelry, sculpture, and mosaics (Loxton and Prothero 2013). Its first appearance coincided with the first depictions of the triton (merman), a figure with which it is often associated (Loxton and Prothero 2013). It should be understood that at this time, its appearance was not referential; like the triton, it was neither considered an animal, nor a deity and during this era it appeared “almost exclusively in art, where they were often depicted as steeds for mythological beings associated with the sea” (Loxton and Prothero 2013:189).Archaeologically speaking, the  hippocamp is described as a “‘difficult problem, since he plays no part in any mythological tale’” (Loxton and Prothero 2013:189). However, the creature likely arose due to the commonly held association between horses and Poseidon (Loxton and Prothero 2013), who -- if I remember my early education of Greek mythology at all correctly -- created the first horse as a courtship gift.

A hippocamp mosaic as seen in the Roman Bath houses in Bath, England.

Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

Brief aside: I visited the Roman Baths in Bath in 2012, where tour guides are dressed in era appropriate clothing and signs warn visitors not to touch the water, which continues to emanate from the springs but is of a lively vernal hue.

The hippocamp does begin to appear in textual references with the poetry of Virgil, however, an author read everywhere in Christian Europe (Loxton and Prothero 2013). Virgil described how Proteus “‘rides o’er / the sea / drawn by strange creatures / horse before / and fish behind’” (Loxton and Prothero 2013:191). The hippocamp was referred to as hydrippus in the ancient Greek text Physiologus, published between the second and fourth centuries in Alexandria as a collection of mythological animals reframed  “in the service of overt Christian allegory” (Loxton and Prothero 2013:191). In this text, the hippocamp was described as being king of the fishes and a symbol of Moses, “‘the first of all prophets’” (Loxton and Prothero 2013:191). So in a sense, then, the hippocamp is a visionary animal.

Hippocamp in the Ashmole Bestiary (c. 1225-1250).

Image courtesy of Strange Science.

This motif was carried by the Romans into Britain, who invaded around 43 C.E. (Loxton and Prothero 2013). This explains the appearance of the hippocamp in Aberlemno, Scotland in Pictish art from the 9th century (Loxton and Prothero 2013). Eventually, the hippocamp became naturalized to the region through heraldry, the coat of arms of Belfast, Ireland being a prime example (Loxton and Prothero 2013).

The arms of Belfast, as seen in Fictitious and Symbolic Creatures in Art by John Vinycomb (1909).

Image courtesy of Sacred Texts.

Next, the hippocamp crossed from legend into reality when it was incorporated into the encyclopedias and natural history texts produced during the Late Middle Ages (Loxton and Prothero 2013). These texts dropped the allegorical references to Biblical figures (Loxton and Prothero 2013). Following this, the hippocamp was often included among the animals housed in the popular twelfth and thirteenth century bestiaries, where it was once again a moralizing and allegorical figure (Loxton and Prothero 2013). Around this time, the hippocamp made an appearance in Albertus Magnus’s 13th century book De animalibus, where it was called equus maris (sea horse) and described as being a very real animal with fish being its dietary staple, naturally fearful of humankind, and unable to survive on land without its natural element (Loxton and Prothero 2013).

A woodcut depicting the aquatic counterparts of well known land animals (cow, dog, and horse) from the 1491 encyclopedia Hortus Sanitatis.

Image courtesy of Strange Science.

The hippocamp was called hrosshvalr (horse whale) by the Icelandic during the 12th century (Loxton and Prothero 2013). Described in a passage discussing useful whale species and frightening sea monsters from the 12th century book Konungs Skuggsja (The King’s Mirror), an instruction manual for princes, it was known as a fundamentally loathsome species of creature, “‘natural enemies of mankind’”, attacking ships at will (Loxton and Prothero 2013:194). Additionally, the hrosshvalr appeared in Abraham Ortelius’s 1585 map of Iceland and Olaus Magnus’s 1555 account of the peoples, animals, and landscapes of Scandinavia (Loxton and Prothero 2013). Magnus (no relation to the aforementioned Albertus Magnus), however, referred to it as  equus marinus and claimed it could be sighted regularly in the stretch of sea between Britain and Norway (Loxton and Prothero 2013).

A close up from Abraham Ortelius's 16th century map of Iceland featuring the hrosshvalr.

Image courtesy of Skeptical Humanities.

Conrad Gesner’s Historiae animalium (1551-1555), from which my rendition of the hippocamp is taken, handled the creature with a much more rigorous degree of skepticism. Gesner described the hippocamp as a creature of pure invention, imagined by princes and scholars in their “‘wish to signify their dominion over land and sea’” producing a conjoined animal which symbolized both realms (Loxton and Prothero 2013:202).

The hippocamp as seen in the Historiae animalium (1551-1555).

Image courtesy of Latin Therapy.  

Then there is, of course, the symbolism of the sea itself. In early modern literature, the sea represented “resistance to containment” (Mentz 2009:998). The oceans were also understood to be a symbol of “pure alterity” (Mentz 2009:998), complete otherness. During this period, the sea was understood to encapsulate both hostility and fertility (Mentz 2009), a life giving force that also had the devastating potential to claim life. Unlike freshwater lakes and rivers, the salinity of sea water was part of what made it so hostile  (Mentz 2009). The vast ocean with its murky depths at this time also acted to symbolize “places in the world into which mortal bodies cannot go” (Mentz 2009:1003). With a growing international and nautical culture (Mentz 2009), it was the vehicle which facilitated adventure and daring -- as well as devastating loss -- during the 16th century.

A copper plate engraving showing Johannes Hevelius's Selenographia sive Lunae Descriptio (1647), a map of the moon first published in Danzig.

Image courtesy of The Renaissance Mathematics.

During the Elizabethan era, metamorphosis became an important theme. “Metamorphosis is associated with wit in late Elizabethan culture as it figures the transformative powers of imagination” (Brown 2004:160). As an attribute, and not a literary trope, it was associated with women, who were recognized at the time as being more changeable than their male counterparts (Brown 2004). The moon was correctly understood to influence water, holding sway over earth, as well as being a symbol of that which is mutable (Brown 2004). Its special influence over women was described in Michael Drayton's 1595 poem Endimion and Phoebe, because “‘That as of Plannets shee most variable, / so of all creatures they most mutable’” (Brown 2004:160). Additionally, the moon was associated with the goddess Diana, and by extension, virginity and chastity; as such, it was easily associated with the Virgin Queen Elizabeth (Yates 2003). By extension, the moon also became an appropriate planetary symbol of Britain (Yates 2003). Commentators speaking of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream have pointed out the ways in which  the moon has “an intoxicating effect on all the characters and incites bizarre and illicit behavior” (Smith 2011). In all likelihood, this relates to the origins of the word lunacy and its etymological reference to the power of lunar forces. Importantly, the play connects to the moon to dreaming (Smith 2011), perhaps the single most important association to one such as I.

A 16th century woodcut, later copied by Camille Flammarion in 1888, showing the discovery of that fabled location where heaven and earth meet.

Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

At last, we come to the final aspect of my impresa: the motto. I have thought long and hard about my motto (hey, it seems like you only get one impresa in life, so you'd better choose wisely), and it only took about eight or ten weeks to think of. Initially, I tried Roger Ascham's double translation method to feel out the language. I must stress, at this juncture, that I have only a beginner's handle on Latin; I can conjugate a simple sentence with an objective noun, a subjective noun, a verb and maybe -- if I'm pushing it -- a simple ablative such as "with" or "from."  What I wanted to say was something along the lines of "great heights from great depths," but none of the translations (with their ensuing back translations) were capable of encapsulating this thought. Then, I remembered from my initial foray into amateur Latin a phrase which has stuck with me all my life: abyssus abyssum invocat. This phrase, actually a psalm (Psalm 42: 7), can translate in different ways, since abyssus can be translated literally to mean "abyss" and figuratively to mean "deep." So the phrase, in fact, has a double meaning; "the abyss calls to the abyss" or "the deep calls to the deep." The abyss, in this case, is also allegorical, understood to mean an interior state of the psyche (Blodgett and Coward 2010). Heraclitus asserted that the psyche, limitless in its being, should be traversed in all directions "'so deeply is it rooted (abyssed) in logos'" (Blodgett and Coward 2010:99). The idea of a dark and foreboding interior cavern of thought lingered in Western philosophy, as even Neitzche said, "'behind every cave in (the thinker) there is... a still deeper cave... an abyss behind every bottom, beneath every foundation'" (Blodgett and Coward 2010:99). There is, of course, the linguistic connection between depth and profundity; we call an idea deep or shallow based on its breadth, scope, and potential for generating other thoughts. Additionally, we call something -- such as a work of art or literature -- deep when it is difficult to think about or requires a concerted mental effort. So there is a connection between our concept of the physical dimensions of expanse and our understanding of the mental realm, and an ingrained idea that big thoughts come from -- or require us to go -- down below.

But I didn't want my motto to be a psalm. Although I was raised Anglican, I would describe my current spiritual affiliations as something akin to animism or neopaganism.  I played with various forms of the Latin concept of depth, which can be described either with the words imis or profundus, I opted for the latter, since it can also be translated quite plainly and simply as "profound." In this way, I retain the dual meaning of the phrase in its new configuration profundus abyssum invocat, meaning "the depths call to the deep" and "the profound calls to the deep," but also "the profound invokes the abyss", since invocat is the obvious root of the English word "invoke." The motto is of particular import, given that it must both complement and explain the pictorial elements of the device while also demonstrating my wit and learning. Greatly relieved was I when, with the help of my professor, the phrase met the approval of esteemed Latin grammarians, who expressed their amusement at this witticism (I was told). Not only does it play with language, it also indexically refers to critical texts in Western philosophy. Finally, the motto is in keeping with the imagery of my impresa, since the hippocamp is a creature which adroitly navigates the depths of a hostile and boundless sea.

The symbolism of the impresa is deeply personal as well as expository. Not only  does the impresa tell the world something about who you are as a person, but it also provides words to live by. Mary's sa vertu m'atire says much about her fierce intellect and her desire for power, but it also proffers words of strength to turn to during the hard times, and my impresa should do the same.

For as long as I can remember, I have suffered from manic depression. Officially meeting the diagnosis for both borderline personality disorder and ADHD, my moods are as changeable as the many forms of the moon. Living as I do, with massive shifts in personality, it often feels like I harbour a monster within me; at turns, socially withdrawn, at others a man-eating beast but sometimes vivacious and friendly. However, I do personally believe that this emotional disregulation and penchant for extremes allows for insights and revelations not otherwise possible with an even-keeled psyche. Grappling with monsters and dark shadows allows for an unprecedented depth of thought, since the deepest of thoughts come from darkest of places (see anything at all pertaining to Existentialism if you don't believe me). The words are both an affirmation and a source of resilience for trying times; fear not the dark places, for they yield a fathomless potential. In this sense, embracing my own sometimes problematic idiosyncrasies is what allows me to navigate the hostile environment of a dark mind. On a slightly brighter note (pun intended), I am also a deep believer in the portentous potential of dreaming, and am an avid lucid dreamer, so the moon's inclusion in the scene seemed vital.  

What's important to recognize here is that the impresa is an exercise in allegory from beginning to end, reliant upon allusion, intertextual references, and a series of mental linkages dependant upon symbolic form. Moreover, there is a strong relationship between text and image, and each aspect of this configuration should be mutually reinforcing. Perhaps the most beneficial part of this exercise comes from the fact that constructing an impresa appears to present a unique opportunity to both constitute and essentialize aspects of the self, aspects which are subsequently encoded through allusion before being presented to the world.  

Sources Cited

Blodgett, E.D., with Harold Coward

2010 Silence, the Word, and the Sacred. Waterloo, Ontario: Wilfrid Laurier University Press.

Brown, Georgia

2004 Redefining English Literature. Cambridge, United Kingdom: Cambridge University Press.

Loxton, Daniel, with Donald R. Prothero

2013 Abominable Science: Origins of the Yeti, Nessie, and Other Famous Cryptids. New York, New York: Columbia University Press.

Mentz, Steven

2009 Toward a Blue Cultural Studies: The Sea, Maritime Culture, and Early Modern English Literature. Literature Compass 6 (5): 997-1013.

Smith, Nicole. “The Symbol of the Moon in ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ by Shakespeare.” December 6, 2011. Accessed March 20, 2016. http://www.articlemyriad.com/symbol-moon-midsummer-nights-dream/

Yates, Frances

2003 The Occult Philosophy in the Elizabethan Age. New York, New York: Routledge.

The Signs of Greatness

Turning away from embroidery for the time being, we must ruminate over the pictorial language of the Elizabethans. When considering the intellectual life of Renaissance England, it is important to be cognizant of the way in which allegory reigned supreme. Its use was common to the plays, masques, and poems of the Elizabethan era (Digby 1963), a period in which “allegory and allusion were literary and artistic conventions” (Black and Kaye 1986:33). These symbolic references could be read by the educated eye (Black and Kaye 1986). 

English roundel dated to around the year 1600. Linen featuring silk blackwork and gilt thread in stem, back, double-running, speckling, chain, plaited braid, ladder and buttonhole stitches (ok, even I haven't heard of some of these) with couched work, spider knots, draper filling (what???) and some decoration with purl. 

Showing the arms of Sir Thomas Kitson, it sports a helmet at the helm and a unicorn crest. 

Image courtesy of the Victoria and Albert Museum. 

One form of this kind of language can be seen in heraldry. Heraldry serves a number of social functions, acting as an indicator of gentlemanly status, allowing for individuation (especially in the context of the tourney or the battlefield), but it also reflects a desire to illustrate a longstanding lineage (St. John Hope 1999).  Most importantly, “arms are hereditary and descend unchanged, on the death of the bearer, to the heir apparent of the male line” (Fearn 2008:7). Subsequent sons were required to distinguish their coats from the primary lineage (Fearn 2008) and articulate their familial relationships through a visual means. For example, the coat of arms held by the heir was called the Abstract, while the coat of arms held by a second son was called the Terminal and the coat of arms held by a cousin was called the Collateral (Ferne 1585). Development of European heraldry began early in the 12th century, and was commonly used for the trappings of war but was also used on official seals (Fearn 2008). One could be entitled to multiple coats through marriage (Fearn 2008), and many took to showing their descent or marital entitlement by impaling one coat of arms with another, that is, showing both on a divided shield.

English embroidered slip dated to around the year 1600. 

Canvas embroidered with silk and gilt thread, showing the coat of arms of Fitzwilliam impaling Sydney, commissioned for the marriage of Sir William Fitzwilliam to Ann Sydney, daughter of Sir William Sydney of Penshurst, Kent.

Image courtesy of the Victoria and Albert Museum. 

An achievement of arms refers to the “full display of all devices to which the arminger is entitled by inheritance and personally” (Fearn 2008:12), consisting of shield, helm, supporters, and motto collectively. The shield forms the central element and may stand on its own (Fearn 2008). At the top is helm, bearing the crest which consists of either a wreath, a cap of maintenance, or a coronet indicating rank (Fearn 2008). Supporters flank the shield, while mottoes, which were not officially incorporated in England as they were in Scotland but were indeed in use, were located below (Fean 2008).

English cushion cover dated to 1530-1569, likely made after the marriage of Henry Sandys to Elizabeth, daughter of William, 2nd Lord of Windsor. These arms are quartered, a fashion which apparently became prevalent during the Tudor period, showing two generations per of arms per quarter. 

Linen canvas embroidered with silk and silver thread using long-armed cross stitch and tent stitch with laid and couched work. 

Image courtesy of the Victoria and Albert Museum.

Complex combinations and obscure references in heraldry reached its apex in the 16th century and subsequently declined in popularity (St. John Hope 1999). Unlike the simple designs of the past, Tudor and Elizabethan era heraldic devices became increasingly more elaborate until the institutions which governed its registry  acted to limit many elements of design (St. John Hope 1999). Yes, you have to register your coat of arms, that's how important its indexicality is. Commonly, this visual reference to genealogy was often embroidered by the lady of the household onto furnishings, with the state bed being an especially popular location for display (St. John Hope 1999).

Embroidered book cover featuring the Stuart coat of arms dating to 1624. Contained therein, the Bible, the Book of Common Prayer, and the Book of Psalms. 

Satin worked with silk and gilt thread.

Image courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

These signifiers were densely laden with meaning, and this decipherment of meaning from nonverbal signifiers is exactly what Mary Hazard calls a silent language (2000). For example, Hazard writes of how “Sir John Ferne’s Blazon of the Gentrie (London, 1586) sets forth an elaborate chart of heraldic color with their associated objects and properties, such as planets, stones, virtues, and ages of man”  (Hazard 2000:96). Taking my family colours of yellow and blue as an example, yellow was associated with the sun, topaz, the virtues of faith and constancy, the month of July, Sunday, adolescence, marigolds, the element of air, the season of spring, the numbers 1, 2, and 3, and the metal gold (Ferne 1586). Blue was associated with the planet Jupiter, sapphires, the virtues of justice and loyalty, the months of April and September, Thursday, the lily, the element of air, the season of spring, the numbers 4 and 9, and the metal copper (Ferne 1586). As such, heraldry existed as a highly codified pictorial language (Hazard 2000), with even simple colours being ascribed with a myriad of other mental associations. 

Finding my last name in a late 16th century book charting the English coats of arms! Handling this manuscript was a once in a lifetime treat -- or not, if you happen to frequent Special Collections on a regular basis. 

Another important pictorial language of Elizabethan England came from the ever popular emblem books of the 16th century.  “A knowledge of emblems and their use in art and conversation was part of the intellectual climate of Elizabethan life", and this fed into the cultural proclivity for allegorical reference (Digby 1963:45). Swain suggests that the idea of emblems, “those pictures with a Latin motto offering a moral thought or meditation, is today almost incomprehensible to us, even with an English translation of the motto. In the sixteenth century, emblems, and emblem books, from which some of these designs originate, were a part of the educated man’s or woman’s intellectual equipment. They were recognized and solved, just as some today enjoy solving recondite clues of crossword puzzles” (1970:20). Intertextual literature helped to facilitate comprehension; for example, books such as Stephen Batman’s A Golden Book of Leaden Goddes (1557) “made the symbols and interpretations of classical gods and their myths familiar to a wide public” (Digby 1963:45). Emblems were accompanied by a motto and were regarded as a “speaking picture”, where each moral was affixed to a “concrete pictorial image” to facilitate recall (Digby 1963:46).  Illustrating their cognitive function, emblems have been referred to as a kind of “'doctrinal and witty heiroglyphic'” (Digby 1963:46).

Ardua deturbans, vis animosa quatit (bold force overcomes high things) from Paradin's Les Devices Heroiques (1557), page 87.

Image courtesy of The Glasgow University Emblem Website.

Emblem books were initially  published in Italy and France, and later in England, throughout the 16th century (Digby 1963). Available to the Elizabethan courtier, there was Andreas Alciati's Emblematum Libellus (1531) translated into French in 1536, Gabriel Faerno’s Fables (1563), from which 4 emblems on a pair of cushions embroidered by Mary Queen of Scots are taken (Digby 1963), as well  Claude Paradin’s Les Devises Heroiques (1557), translated into English in 1591 (Digby 1963, Black and Kaye 1986), and Geoffrey Whitney’s A Choice of Emblems (1586) (Digby 1963, Black and Kaye 1986). These books copied freely from one another and often functioned as a repository of impresas, cataloguing their use (Digby 1963). Interestingly, emblem books depicted both moralizing images but also acted as albums in which owners could “collect the signatures of friends, coats-of-arms, and also costume illustrations on alternate empty leaves” (Wilson 2004:245), adding to these books a collectible value. Rosemary Freeman categorizes emblems from these works into three main varieties, including the narrative or allegorical emblem containing a moral, the heraldic emblem particularly appropriate for impresas, and lastly  “the wise saying or proverb given pictorial form” (Digby 1963:47).

Latet anguis in herba (the adder lurks in the grass), from Paradin's Les Devices Heroiques (1557), page 70.

Image courtesy of The Glasgow University Emblem Website.

Many of these emblems appear in Elizabethan needlework. In the curious case of the Shepherd's Buss, we see the dog jumping from a sinking ship with infestis tutamen coquis (a defense in dangerous waters), and a fan of peacock feathers held by a hand, with flies and bees buzzing around and the words tollo voluptatis stimulus (take away the pricks of pleasure) (Digby 1963). On the Oxburgh Hangings worked by Bess of Hardwick and Mary Queen of Scots, we see the mighty oak tree with integritas vitae robore perennis est (integrity is more lasting than the oak), as well as a cherry tree with fugaccia sic speciosa (as fleeting as beautiful) (Digby 1963). We also see a vine with a sickle and the words virescit vulnere vertus (virtue flourishes by wounding) (Digby 1963, Swain 1970, Black and Kaye 1986), possibly a reference to Mary’s perceived mistreatment at the hands of her cousin the Queen Elizabeth (Black and Kaye 1986). Featured on this work was also the impresa of Catherine de Medici, who selected tears dropping with extinctam lachrimae testantur viviere flammam (tears witness that quenched flames live) as her cipher (Digby 1963). On both the Shepherd's Buss and the Oxburgh Hangings can be seen the snake in the strawberry plant with latet anguis in herba ("the adder lurketh privily in the grass" in the words of Digby), as well as the marigold turning towards the sun with non inferiora secutus (not having followed lower things) (Digby 1963:46), this last being almost certainly taken from Paradin’s Les Devices Heroqiues (1557), as well as being the impresa of Margaret of Navarre (Swain 1970). Some of the colloquialisms still in use today were taken from these books, such as the reference to "a dog in the manger," calling something "sour grapes," or pulling someone's "chestnuts out of the fire," so to speak (Digby 1963).

Nutrisco et extinguo (it nourishes and extinguishes), the impresa of King Francis II. From Paradin's Les Devices Heroiques (1557), page 16. 

Image courtesy of The Glasgow University Emblem Website.

Erstwhile, impresas combined elements of these pictorial languages, borrowing a little from heraldry and a little from emblems. Impresas were taken as a personal badge by the genteel classes as a symbol for personal use (Digby 1963, Black and Kaye 1986). Unlike heraldry, they were not inherited, but selected; they could be adopted from a pre-existing emblem, or they can be custom designed. Said to be overtly fond of framing devices and impresas, Margaret of Navarre was apparently commissioned to invent some as the behest of her brother in exchange for some jewels, but according to her historian Brontome, apparently destroyed them on account of her having so deeply internalized them "'that I could not let anyone have and enjoy them save myself'" (Saintsbury 1888).Good old Bill Shakespeare himself even designed an impresa for the Earl of Rutland to display at a tournament held on March 24, 1613 and was paid “‘48’” (48 whats, the document does not say) for the design, while a similar sum was paid to the friend who painted it (Digby 1963:48). To give you an idea of some of the selections made by 16th century courtiers, here is a brief list of impresas:

• Queen Regent of Scotland Mary of Guise: The phoenix with en ma fin git est mon commencement (in my end is my beginning) (Swain 1970).
• Margaret, Queen of Navarre: The marigold turning towards the sun with non inferiora secutus (not having turned towards lower things) (Swain 1970).
• Mary, Queen of Scots: A lodestone turning towards the pole or her motto-anagram sa vertu m’atire (its strength draws me) (Swain 1970, Digby 1963).
• Philip Herbert, Earl of Montgomery: sunbeams on a pillar with splendente refulget (shines brightly), possibly a reference to his wealth and grandeur (Digby 1963).
• King Henry II of France: a crescent with the words donec totum impleat orbem (until it fills the whole world) (Digby 1963), remembering that we see the crescent motif on the mourning bed made up by Catherine de Medici (Lefebure 1888).
• Queen Catherine de Medici: falling tears with extinctam lachrimae testantur viviere flammam (tears witness that quenched flames live), the impresa of Catherine de Medici (Digby 1963)
• King Francis II: A crowned salamander standing amidst flames with nutrisco et extinguo (it nourishes and extinguishes) (Digy 1963).
• Charles, Cardinal of Lorraine: a pyramid overgrown with ivy with te stante virebo (where you stand, I will flourish) (Digby 1963).
• King Henry VIII of England: a portcullis with altera securitas (other security) (Digby 1963).
• Venetian artitst Titian: the she bear licking her cub into shape, a reference to the poetry of Virgil, with the motto ars potentia natura (art more powerful than nature) (Fortini Brown 1997).

In receptatores (one who harbours cutthroats) from a 1584 edition of Alciati's Emblemata, page 77.  This image can only be understood with knowledge of the death of Actaeon, succumbing to his own hounds. 

Image courtesy of The Glasgow University Emblem Website. 

Correctly, it has been pointed out that “The choosing of emblematic designs and ‘impresas’ -- personal badges conveying symbolic meaning -- was, one senses, as much a part of amateur embroidery as the stitching itself” (Black and Kaye 1986:33). Based on what I have encountered in the composition of my own impresa, I would suggest that your pictorial signifier was your opportunity to demonstrate your mastery of Latin and your knowledge of contemporary and classical literature. With it on display on your chambers, it could facilitate conversation as your guests attempted to cipher out the message. Moreover, it seems as though people can use these visual devices as a means of representing their intellectual lineage. For example, by including references to her family, Mary Queen of Scots illustrated the figures who had the greatest influence on her life and development. It's almost as if she mapped a network of her relations and influences through the needle, affirming to herself and others her myriad connections with a visual reminder. 

Sources Cited

Black, David, and Raymond Kaye, eds.

1986 The Royal School of  Needlework Book of Needlework and Embroidery. London, England: The Oregon Press.

Digby, George Wingfield

1963 Elizabethan Embroidery. London, England: Faber and Faber.

Fearn, Jacqueline

2008 Discovering Heraldry. Oxford, England: Osprey Publishing.

Ferne, John

1585 The Blazon of the Gentrie. London, England. https://archive.org/stream/blazonofgentried00fern#page/n5/mode/2up

Fortini Brown, Patricia

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