Ikat Fascination
I really am fascinated by ikat. The designs I like most are the very bold, simple geometric patterns that use minimal colour. The most beautiful aspect of this textile is the way in which the uniquely dyed threads merge softly on the loom, creating a distinctive, subtle blur.
The thread is painstakingly dyed before it is woven. The dying process is intricate: the thread is first coated in a resist (wax), tied with pieces of fabric, then dipped into various coloured dyes. This process is performed repeatedly, resulting in an elaborate multicolour warp. On the loom, the coloured warp is woven with the undyed weft. The distribution of colour is carefully controlled to create the characteristic patterns, traditionally incorporating motifs such as tulips, pomegranates and trees.
Ikat weaving is found in many countries, including Japan, Thailand, India, Afghanistan, Greece, Morocco and Uzbekistan. In fact, the word ‘ikat’ comes from the Malay-Indonesian verb mengikat, ‘to bind, tie or wind around’.
Here is a selection of some lovely ikat fabrics to scroll through, and you can also revisit my story on Russian textiles, for more examples on antique costume constructed from ikat, as well as printed cottons.
(Left) www.smith.edu, (right) www.ethno-textil.com
(Left) www.blogger-index.com, (right) laurakiran.com
(Left) site.alifosterpatterns.com, (right) www.fschumacher.com
(Left) www.classicallyb.com, (right) www.katyelliott.com
Arm Chair Travel
Symphony No. 2, Sergei Rachmaninoff, Columbia Masterworks, 1945We’re celebrating the first day of spring today here in the southern hemisphere. These September pictures from my Steinweiss calendar are more harvest themed however. I love how the vastness of the Russian steppes has been captured in the illustrative cover for the Rachmaninoff record cover. It calls to mind scenes from Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. The Spanish slant (excuse the pun) to Ravel’s Bolero is apt too. I wouldn’t have picked these for designs from the mid-40s though; I’d have said 50s – Steinweiss was ahead of his time!
Boléro, Maurice Ravel, Columbia Masterworks, c. 1944
Not for Wallflowers
A young Florence BroadhurstBorn in rural Queensland, Florence Broadhurst (1899–1977), possibly most well-known for her colourful wallpapers, lead an equally colourful life. After stints around the world, including Shanghai and England, she eventually returned home with her husband and son in 1949. Ten years later, Florence established her wallpaper business, advertised as ‘the only studio of its kind in the world’.
Her brightly-coloured wallpaper certainly seemed larger than life, bursting on the eye in a kaleidoscope of wild geometric patterns …
Florence Broadhurst paintingHer brightly-coloured wallpaper certainly seemed larger than life, bursting on the eye in a kaleidoscope of wild geometric patterns and oversized designs inspired by nature, and surely in part by William Morris and Art Nouveau in general. They were all hand-printed, and technological advances made in her studio included printing on metallic surfaces, and the development of a washable, vinyl-coating finish.
By 1972 her range included about 800 designs in 80 different colours, and today designers such as Akira Isogawa, Nicky Zimmerman, Karen Walker and Kate Spade have been granted license to use them in their fashion designs. There is so much life and vibrancy in her designs – they’re really not for wallflowers!
Check out Gillian Armstrong’s docu-drama Unfolding Florence to find out more about this Aussie icon.
Kate Spade fashion incorporating Broadhurst fabrics
A Broadhurst rug
Unexpected Displeasures
When I first heard about an upcoming contemporary jewellery exhibition at the NGV international, I was very excited. I visited Unexpected Pleasures very early in the season, but only had 15 minutes spare to view it. A quick whiz around left me feeling distinctly underwhelmed, but I optimistically put that down to the rush I was in. So I went back on the last weekend. Again I was disappointed.
I love jewellery in all its contexts: historically, culturally, intellectually, aesthetically – or so I believed. I love to wear it, if it is interesting, humorous or merely beautiful. I don’t shy away from the bold, the strange or enormous. But there still needs to be something that engages me beyond a moment – however intellectual that moment might be. And call me a wimp, but I don’t want to wear something that might cut my throat, or take out the eye of my companion.
And call me a wimp, but I don’t want to wear something that might cut my throat, or take out the eye of my companion.
Bottlenecklace by Bernhard Schobinger, broken bottlenecks, metal cord, 1988. The designer dug these up from a former luxury hotel rubbish tip.
Pleated Collar by Paul Derrez, plastic and steel, 1982. Simple folded pleats frame the face in a manner reminiscent of the seventeenth century ruffs of Dutch dress.
Frozen by Suzanne Klemm, polyolefin, 2007. Frozen sings an ode to the immortality of nature.
Beauty Gallery: Suzy, Gina, Kiki, Andrea, Uschi, Sabbine, by Otto Künzli, cibachrome colour prints, 1984.
Necklace/Veil by Caroline Broadhead, nylon, 1983. Radical and challenging, the Veil’s flexibility bestows wearability.
In point of fact, the exhibition is not a celebration of aesthetically appealing adornment – instead it challenges this viewpoint and ‘looks instead at the essential meanings of jewellery … from the point of view of the wearer as well as the maker. Contemporary Jewellery in this sense is at the intersection of art and design.’ [Exhibition summary] I posit that these designers did not consider the wearer (see above comments re cutting throats), albeit they did pose questions about the nature of jewellery. Yet if this is art, it engaged me only momentarily before I scuttled along to the next display. The questions and their answers did not seem terribly profound.
Perhaps I am too frivolous, but when it comes to wearable art, I like my intellect to be wrapped up in pretty packaging. Presumably many of these jewelers would be making commercial pieces – it would have been extremely interesting to compare them with these more esoteric explorations.
Beach Brooches by Helen Aitken-Kuhnen, sterling silver, enamel, stainless steel, 2011, take on an aspect of alchemy in their making.
MEGA 1/7 by Camilla Prasch, red dyed snap fastners, nylon thread, silicone disks, 2009. This voluptuous ring comes alive as it follows the movements of its wearer.
Wallpaper brooches by Otto Künzli, wallpaper, synthetic polymer core, steel, 1982. Distinctly similar to wood, these brooches are abstract, architectural and wearable.
Room – note the almost invisible mausoleum in the centreThe exhibition design was interesting and elegant however, with a mirrored oblong in the centre of the room (somewhat reminiscent of a mausoleum) – I’m not sure on the selection criteria required on the part of the work chosen to be so honoured. In addition, on a technological note, I really missed not having access to an app catalogue, as I did at the Love Lace exhibition at the Powerhouse Museum in Sydney earlier this year. QR codes at each display case accessed the relevant catlogue entry. It was a great reference before and after I actually viewed the show.
Upon leaving the exhibition I felt very worthy for having seen it, but was still vaguely unsatisfied. It was a bit like ploughing through a bowl of spinach when you really just want a chocolate éclair.
Unexpected Pleasures has now closed.
Bracelet, necklace by Nel Linssen, coated paper, elastic thread, 2008/2009. An endless stack of paper discs is transformed into three dimensions.
Trans-Hematopoietic Neckpiece by Doug Bucci, acrylic photo polymer. A diabetic, Bucci used 3D printing to fabricate a neckpiece that reflects the patterns of blood sugar in his body. Now, I'm hypoglycaemic myself, and I am compelled to remark that although the form is pleasing, the inspiration is somewhat repellent.
Brooch with Four Eyes by Adam paxon, acrylic, lacquer, enamel, 2009. Very reminiscent of glass lampwork, this fleshy brooch is appealingly tactile.
Heart by Otto Künzli, hard foam, lacquer, 1985. This large, shiny brooch bears some resemblance in its simplicity to Künzli’s wallpaper brooches.
Knitted Hearts by Iris Eichenberg, wool, 1993–2007. Literal interpretations of the aorta ripped from the chest: a violence softened by cuddly wool. 
In Memoriam I, Mourning II by Constanze Schreiber, fine silver, 2006. In Memoriam I embodies the sense of loss of a loved one through the memento mori of a skull; Mourning II hints at putrefaction and decay. 
Heart Speaking by Bruce Metcalf, wood, gold-plated brass, 2011. Turned on its side, this heart spews forth vitriol rather than whispering sweet nothings.
Didn’t We Have A Lovely Day?
Illustration from Le Sourire, by Alberto Fabio LorenziIt was such a lovely, sunshiney morning today walking through the Botanic Gardens to work that a terribly catchy tune from my childhood popped into my head. It’s been playing on loop for hours.
So here it is, if you know the tune join in with me in the chorus:
Didn't we have a lovely time the day we went to Bangor
A beautiful day, we had lunch on the way and all for under a pound you know
But on the way back I cuddled with Jack and we opened a bottle of cider
Singing a few of our favourite songs as the wheels went around …
If you want the whole song, click here.
The gorgeous 1920s beach fashion comes from Katie Louise-Ford.
