Sunday, February 6, 2011
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
Textiles -- the old-fashioned way
On our trip to Germany last summer we visited more museums than I can count without a cheat sheet, and I have written about most of them on the blog last year. But one I never got around to telling you about. It is in Bramsche, near Osnabruck in northern Germany, and we found it quite by accident because the tourist office, where we needed to stop to find a hotel room, happened to be located in its lobby. When my husband came back to the car he said "there's a museum in this building we might want to go to, but I don't know what it is about." The sign over the door said Tuchmachermuseum; I'm embarrassed to say I had to look it up in my little dictionary.
When I translated it as "clothmaking," I let out a whoop of joy!
Sure enough, the building itself was an old woolen mill, in operation on this river for 400 years. Its specialty was heavy fabric in a special shade of red, used primarily for British army uniforms. It operated as a factory until 1972. Most of the equipment was about a hundred years old, and some machines, acquired by the museum from the old East Germany after reunification were in use in that technologically challenged country until late in the 20th century. The museum depicts all the steps in the traditional carding, spinning, weaving and finishing of cloth.
We found one brochure in English, with a bit of explanation of how the museum came to be but nothing on the details of the machinery or the processes. The signage was exclusively in German, and though I consulted my dictionary many times, most of the specialized terms were not listed. The docent tour was similarly monolingual, but they did turn on most of the machines so we could see them in action.
The good news was that despite my ignorance of what was being told to me, I was able to figure out about 95% of what was going on. It was one of those beautiful moments in which I realized that my decades of devotion to textiles and fabrics had paid off in ways I had not anticipated.
Although my total hands-on experience with weaving has consisted of maybe a total of 30 minutes sitting at other people's looms, weaving a few rows with wobbly selvages, I was able to figure out from watching the machines in action what was going on. First the wool came in the front door and was washed and dyed, then combed and carded. It was spun and wound onto bobbins, a hundred at a time. The looms were warped and the shuttles were thrown from one side to another; on the jacquard looms the punch card "computer" overhead lifted the proper heddles in their turn to make patterns.
Then the easy parts, washing the fabric again, pressing it smooth and winding it onto bolts. The occasional sewing machine and small loom to work out patterns stood by as needed. You may not think you know anything about a woolen mill in action, but if you stood there all afternoon watching the machines at rest and at work you would figure out what was going on, too.
As I figured out each machine, I would explain it to my husband, who learned far more than he ever wanted to about textile production and was dying for a beer long before I was ready to leave.
It was a wonderful afternoon, making me realize how much I love fabrics of all kinds and how watching them made was truly an homage to my artistic roots.
I learned later, in checking my facts on the internet, that this museum is just one on a "theme route" of textile factories throughout the continent, sponsored by the European Route of Industrial Heritage. In addition to textiles, you can check out other industries such as mining, iron and steel, transportation, manufacturing and a bunch of ther specialties. What a great way to plan a leisurely European trip if you have a special interest in a certain field -- perhaps your own profession, or that of a parent or grandparent.
When I translated it as "clothmaking," I let out a whoop of joy!
Sure enough, the building itself was an old woolen mill, in operation on this river for 400 years. Its specialty was heavy fabric in a special shade of red, used primarily for British army uniforms. It operated as a factory until 1972. Most of the equipment was about a hundred years old, and some machines, acquired by the museum from the old East Germany after reunification were in use in that technologically challenged country until late in the 20th century. The museum depicts all the steps in the traditional carding, spinning, weaving and finishing of cloth.
We found one brochure in English, with a bit of explanation of how the museum came to be but nothing on the details of the machinery or the processes. The signage was exclusively in German, and though I consulted my dictionary many times, most of the specialized terms were not listed. The docent tour was similarly monolingual, but they did turn on most of the machines so we could see them in action.
The good news was that despite my ignorance of what was being told to me, I was able to figure out about 95% of what was going on. It was one of those beautiful moments in which I realized that my decades of devotion to textiles and fabrics had paid off in ways I had not anticipated.
Although my total hands-on experience with weaving has consisted of maybe a total of 30 minutes sitting at other people's looms, weaving a few rows with wobbly selvages, I was able to figure out from watching the machines in action what was going on. First the wool came in the front door and was washed and dyed, then combed and carded. It was spun and wound onto bobbins, a hundred at a time. The looms were warped and the shuttles were thrown from one side to another; on the jacquard looms the punch card "computer" overhead lifted the proper heddles in their turn to make patterns.
It was a wonderful afternoon, making me realize how much I love fabrics of all kinds and how watching them made was truly an homage to my artistic roots.
I learned later, in checking my facts on the internet, that this museum is just one on a "theme route" of textile factories throughout the continent, sponsored by the European Route of Industrial Heritage. In addition to textiles, you can check out other industries such as mining, iron and steel, transportation, manufacturing and a bunch of ther specialties. What a great way to plan a leisurely European trip if you have a special interest in a certain field -- perhaps your own profession, or that of a parent or grandparent.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
The Jane Dunnewold extravaganza -- part 3
I wrote earlier about Jane Dunnewold's show in Louisville. I want to return to that subject to zero in on one aspect of the work: its presentation.
Jane remarked at a gallery talk earlier this week that she thinks one way we can "escape from the textile ghetto" is to experiment with new ways of finishing and presentation of fiber art work. She thinks that the traditional methods of binding and facing quilts and other wall pieces may contribute to these works not being regarded as mainstream art. And though she said she really doesn't want to have to frame her works or otherwise compromise their presentation to make them resemble traditional painting forms, she resents that less than she resents the pigeonholing and downgrading of fiber art.
She suggested that fiber artists might fruitfully explore the use of fusibles to permit clean cut edges. She and many of her students are finishing their work that way.
For her show here, she came up with an exciting new way to present those clean-finished pieces. Rather than simply hang them against the wall, she got short spacers made from aluminum tubing that screw to the wall. A metal bar is screwed to the spacers, and the top of the work is attached to the bar with industrial-strength two-faced Scotch tape.
The tape is sturdy but peels easily off the Lutradur backing of the work, so it can be taken down and rolled for shipping, or to allow the screws to be repositioned, or for the work to be framed if a buyer likes that presentation better (or to take a picture of the hanging system).
Jane has just come up with this display method, and she told us that she had a couple of pieces hanging in her studio for a week or more just to test whether the work would hang nicely suspended only from the bar. It passed the test, so she shipped everything off to Louisville.
But almost immediately after the pieces were hung in the gallery, they started to curl up -- different heat and humidity profile! There ensued a frantic search for more spacers, and eventually two more were installed at the bottom corners of each piece as an emergency fix. The bottom edge of the work was stuck to the top of the spacer with a small bit of the tape.
Here's a view of the bottom spacer; the tape stuck to the work and can't be seen in this picture.
Jane thinks that in the future she will use the aluminum bars at both top and bottom to keep the work nice and flat.
The spacers made for a striking presentation, allowing the works to cast slight shadows and giving a lot more oomph than if they had been flat against the wall. It's certainly an approach that other fiber artists might want to consider.
Jane remarked at a gallery talk earlier this week that she thinks one way we can "escape from the textile ghetto" is to experiment with new ways of finishing and presentation of fiber art work. She thinks that the traditional methods of binding and facing quilts and other wall pieces may contribute to these works not being regarded as mainstream art. And though she said she really doesn't want to have to frame her works or otherwise compromise their presentation to make them resemble traditional painting forms, she resents that less than she resents the pigeonholing and downgrading of fiber art.
She suggested that fiber artists might fruitfully explore the use of fusibles to permit clean cut edges. She and many of her students are finishing their work that way.
For her show here, she came up with an exciting new way to present those clean-finished pieces. Rather than simply hang them against the wall, she got short spacers made from aluminum tubing that screw to the wall. A metal bar is screwed to the spacers, and the top of the work is attached to the bar with industrial-strength two-faced Scotch tape.
The tape is sturdy but peels easily off the Lutradur backing of the work, so it can be taken down and rolled for shipping, or to allow the screws to be repositioned, or for the work to be framed if a buyer likes that presentation better (or to take a picture of the hanging system).
Jane has just come up with this display method, and she told us that she had a couple of pieces hanging in her studio for a week or more just to test whether the work would hang nicely suspended only from the bar. It passed the test, so she shipped everything off to Louisville.
But almost immediately after the pieces were hung in the gallery, they started to curl up -- different heat and humidity profile! There ensued a frantic search for more spacers, and eventually two more were installed at the bottom corners of each piece as an emergency fix. The bottom edge of the work was stuck to the top of the spacer with a small bit of the tape.
Here's a view of the bottom spacer; the tape stuck to the work and can't be seen in this picture.
Jane thinks that in the future she will use the aluminum bars at both top and bottom to keep the work nice and flat.
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