Consider this post something of a progress report and a rumination on the nature of needlework. In line with Rudolf Arnheim's analysis of children's drawings, I propose that conducting needlework cultivates visual intelligence by a number of mechanisms, namely a close observation of nature and the translation of three dimensional perceptual experience into the two dimensional plane. These two ideas are closely interrelated, so allow me to reverse the order of things and begin with the latter as my subject.
First, we must consider the properties of stitching, for this is the tool kit with which we render our subject. Of course, my composition is comprised almost exclusively of curved lines. According to my vision, the image will be enclosed by a roundel, and this framing device will feature a key at the top and bottom in which my motto will be enclosed. The text and the rectangular box that frames it represent the only linear aspects of my composition. The outer border of this rondel, in the long run, will be comprised of gold seed beads, which will provide a raised edge with a thick definition as well as a tactile component (following Lefebure's advice, since this fabric is very thin, and could quickly become warped and choked by the beads).
But the entirety of the interior portion filling out this rondel is round. The contours of the horse's muscles and coiled tail, the rolling waves, and the moon (which I intend to embroider in the void area behind the horse's shoulder in accordance with the Elizabethan compositional principle of "leave no space left uncovered") are all made up of curves. All of this is well and good -- except stitches are laid flat, and space is filled through the arrangement of short stacks of straight lines.
Imagine that each stitch is a brick, and with the bricks you wish to create a structure made in the round. Of course, there are a number of strategies by which we can achieve this. We can make an arch by fanning out the bricks, side by side. We can also lay bricks end to end on the diagonal. But whether we lay the bricks horizontally, vertically, or diagonally, these are the basic orientations with which they can be laid -- without deviation.
Next, we must examine the physical properties of our depiction, and apply these principles accordingly. Shading the waves was fairly easy to do, I just laid a horizontal gradient of colours through applied logic. The raised satin stitch was made less in imitation of nature, and more with the textural quality unique to embroidery in mind. But the hippocamp required a close observation of nature, especially to imagine the way in which the contours of a snake's body differ from that of a horse. When considering the apportionment of the horse's body into different patches of colour, I must always be cognizant of the light source -- a moon above the horse's body, casting shadows. Admittedly, the hippocamp is a creature which lacks a real world counterpart, but it is a curious case study, as it is an animal which liminally occupies the realms of myth and reality (I'll expand on this in the future in my upcoming discussion of iconography). Naturally, I have no hippocamps to closely examine, but luckily, I do ride horses regularly, and I have a handful of photographs of Bailey from which I can revitalize my memories of her colouring.
Undoubtedly, I have learned from the operationalization of these strategies, since my mistakes are encoded in my work. I have discovered, for example, how the application of too many stitches in too small an area results in a ripple. Now we must consider the process of inscribing a flat two dimensional image of a round three dimensional creature onto a three dimensional object. It is for this reason I applaud the art forms often dismissed as being lower in value, excluded from the status of fine art, and relegated to the realm of craft; to work in three dimensions to create an object with both utility in material form and incorporate the visual properties of art is incredibly difficult. This devaluation of needlework seems to have had a long history; the Royal School of Needlework traces this development back to the Renaissance with the rise of spatial reasoning schemes applied to achieve a realistic representation of spatial dimensions (Black and Kaye 1986). Accordingly,
pictorial representation in the crafts became, on the whole, subservient to surface ornament. Realistic narrative scenes in embroidery, for example upon vestments, were confined to cartouches and roundels within a scheme of decorative patterning. Up to this point embroidery, always reliant for its designs upon the lead taken by contemporary artists, had been closely in the vanguard of the painterly style. The bifurcation of fine art and applied ornamentation which occurred during the Renaissance inevitably took embroidery the way of the latter. It also tended to the demotion of the craftsman to the artisan level, while the esteem given to the art of painting elevated its practitioners to new social heights. Although embroiderers would continue to imitate paintings in future centuries, painters rarely again designed specifically for the medium of embroidery (Black and Kaye 1986:25).
The Death of Ananias (1515) by Raphael.
Now held by the Victoria and Albert Museum.
Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
The Vatican Tapestry, a woven textile depicting the same scene.
Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
So what we have here is an evolutionary trajectory of the arts. At one time, painting and embroidery are closely linked; we even have such famous artists as Raphael draughting designs specifically for the medium (Lefebure 1888). In fact, a design was commissioned by King Francis I for an embroidery held by the Cluny Museum (Lefebure 1888). It's described as an oval medallion created as part of a set of furnishings "done upon a golden ground, which consisted of coverings and hangings for a bed, four arm-chairs, eighteen folding-stools, a table-cover, a fire-screen, and a canopy for 'the coronation chamber''' (Lefebure 1888:111). As the medium of painting begins to develop new representational strategies suitable to the physical properties of the medium (consider this an adaptation for rendering new spatial relationships on a flat panel), embroidery develops correspondingly along its own evolutionary path according to its respective corporeal properties. My composition is no different -- it is enclosed by a roundel, and it makes no effort at three point perspective or optical illusion. But this should not encourage the devaluation or demotion of this art form, since it requires careful consideration of artistic convention and aspects of spatial dimensionality, even still. Moreover, it facilitates thinking in three dimensions and not just two; how will the fabric behave if I apply tension here?
Sources Cited
Black, David, and Raymond Kaye, eds.
1986 The Royal School of Needlework Book of Needlework and Embroidery. London, England: The Oregon Press.
Lefebure, Ernest
1888 Embroidery and Lace: Their Manufacture and History from the Remotest Antiquity to the Present Day: A Handbook for Amateurs, Collectors, and General Readers. Alan Cole, trans. London, England: H. Grebel and Co.
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