I have been thinking about using handwoven fabrics in art. There are plenty of fabric-based art forms ““ art quilts, art-to-wear, and couture spring readily to mind ““ and handwoven fabrics can be used in any of them. (Handwoven fabrics being, first and foremost, cloth ““ if you have the nerve to cut it!)
But there is a big difference between using handwoven fabric in a piece and needing handwoven fabric for a piece. I could weave a length of fine cotton in plain weave, cut it up, and sew a quilt with it. But unless I did something special to show off the weaving, the handwoven-ness would not contribute anything to the design of the quilt; I could substitute a machine-woven fabric with very similar results. The hand woven fabric would not be necessary to the piece. One could simplify (and speed up!) the process tremendously by replacing the handwoven fabric with commercial cloth, with very little impact to the finished piece.
Now, one could write an entire essay ““ or more likely a book ““ on whether there is value in hand-making something you could do just as easily with a machine. In general, I feel that the answer is YES!, because the act of making is sacred, and it deepens my connection to the Divine and the world around me. That said, I feel that making something that is unique, that is distinguishable from a machine-made object, and that could not be made by a machine, is superior to simply mimicking mass-produced things. The reason is simplicity and elegance: I believe in doing things the simplest and most elegant way possible, and creating something by hand that is identical (or nearly so) to something mass-produced is an extremely inefficient way of getting the object. It may be worthwhile from a process perspective (usually as a way of practicing mindfulness), but looking at result vs. effort, it’s a waste of time to duplicate something mass-produced by hand. It is, invoking the mathematical term, not elegant ““ it contains extraneous steps and complications en route to the product. It is not simple.
And this is what I am wrestling with now: how to make handwoven fabric a necessary component of a fiber art piece. What does handweaving contribute to a piece, design-wise? Could something simpler, cheaper be substituted, and if not, why not? How does it make the piece better?
Answering this question requires, among other things, delving into what makes handwoven fabric unique. What can I do with handweaving that cannot be done by machine? Is the difference big enough to invest my time in handweaving something rather than purchasing commercial fabric?
There are some obvious things that handwovens do more uniquely than purchased commercial fabric. Texture, for example: it is easy to put pleats and ruffles in fabric using either weave structure or elastic yarns, and this is not available commercially. (It can be duplicated ““ to some extent ““ by sewing techniques, however. So is it really unique?) Color, obviously, and choice of fiber/yarn. Patterning in the weave structure ““ the list goes on and on.
But how much do these elements matter when assembling an art piece? It depends on what you’re using it for, and how far away it will be viewed. Many of the best characteristics of handwoven fabric are only obvious up close. If your garment will be viewed from twenty feet away, then any fine details will be lost. This isn’t a barrier to weaving fabric for the fashion runway, but is a design consideration. One of the reasons I chose to work with color in my entry to the Handwoven garment competition is because it is one of the few unique things you can do with handweaving that is visible from 20 feet away. But I wouldn’t use a subtle white-on-white huck lace on the runway ““ at that distance it will be virtually indistinguishable from plain weave. Again, design choices.
I am wrestling with how to use handwoven fabric in quilts. Art quilts, from the little I’ve seen, treat fabric more or less like paint, focusing on creating visual motifs using printed fabric. Is there a place for handwoven fabrics to contribute to this, and would they contribute enough to be worth the additional labor of weaving the fabric, thread by thread?
I don’t have any easy answers to this puzzle, but it is something I expect to chew on throughout my artistic career. I do have some design thoughts, however, and will elaborate on them in some subsequent blog posts.
if you haven’t already done it, you need to check out the “Folkwear” patterns. They have designs that lend themselves to really showing off handwoven fabrics and creating art to wear.
PS.. I have done the little shirt that goes with “Rosie the Riveter” so many times and in so many different fabrics..including some yardage I wove…and they always cause comment. They are so simple in design so that anything you do with them showcases the fabric.
Tien, you are wrestling with a very important problem and I look forward to hearing more from you as you continue on this path.
Some form of the questions you pose arise regularly among hand weavers. Recently, for example, I read a blog interview that opposed the “cheeseburger and pepsi” weaver and the “art” weaver. From my perspective as a “cheeseburger and pizza” weaver, I don’t need an excuse to weave, be the cloth plain or fancy. Whatever the product, I weave because I want to. So, perhaps the question you will have to answer to your satisfaction is: Do you weave because you have a passion to weave. Or, is weaving a modus operandi for your art? For the art weaver mentioned above, she will use any method to express her inner vision. Likely, weaving does it best. This may be true for you as well.
Back to weaving for quilting….How different is this for a bread and butter weaver? Well, I have a lot of handwoven scraps. I foresee patchwork pillow covers. Thus carrying on the old tradition of using leftovers for quilting, rather than new cloth. It’s just a matter of perspective and inclination.
A few scattered thoughts that came to mind when I read your blog post.
Even if the handwoven cloth is similar to commercial cloth, is the process of making itself important to you, or to your idea of art?
Is their value for you in the fact that your cloth is ethically produced (at least as far as availability of yarns can allow?)
Will you be creating art pieces primarily for exhibition, or designing art-to-wear projects to share with others in magazines like Handwoven? If the latter, who do you envisage your audience to be? Who will be inspired by your work in the magazine article to make the project, and why might they want to?
As someone who lives in a regional area, with limited access to fabric shops, the idea that I can weave (almost) any cloth I want on my 12-shaft loom is exciting. Even if it’s a basic plain weave fabric, I can choose weight, colour, yarn – at least to the extent that they’re available within my budget.
I’m probably not making any sense, as its very hot here in my part of the world!
I do read your blog regularly through Google Reader, although I don’t often get time to comment – but thank you for an interesting and inspirational account of your journeys with textiles!
Once you get fingers-deep into the making of things, the old “you can *buy* socks, you know” line fades away in the sheer sacred joy of making and having Made Things; this is why I’ll be dipping my toe into weaving for wearables, it’s one of the reasons I buy and wear handwovens.
I’m not as concerned with how something’s going to look from 20 or 60 feet away from a runway; I’m content to have subtlety for the close-up “weaver’s handshake” and my own knowing of what goes into a work makes me happy with the art.
On planning to begin to weave for wearable(s), I’m looking at handwovens I own with that eye for what makes them special, what drew me to them. Greentree Weavers and now also Shuttle Creek jackets and vests, which are what I like best of the garments they do, make me happy for the way Margaret Fisher’s early flash of genius carries on down; all those colors moving from this to that and back again, and it’s all in the warp, so when she carries the loom out to a Renaissance Fair(e) and weaves in selling-and-demo modus interruptus, the weaving is all in one color: simple! and gorgeous.
I have a number of Flax Design pieces; Jeanne Englehart’s work with Latvian linen weavers back when Latvia was newly spun-off from the USSR and there they were with piles of linen, industrial looms and a great big “now what?” turned into these fine cloths, where the colors used make such fine detail one wouldn’t necessarily notice from two feet away, and the garments are professionally designed/sewn to the point where they don’t read as handwovens to folks who grew up with the hobbyist bulky yarns of the 1970s. But when I’m wearing one of these garments, I know what went into it, and perhaps it’s the stories as much as the art itself I’m wearing, that makes all the difference to me.
Not that I don’t also adore the hand-dyed color-change-every-centimeter-or-so fine threads, and do intend to get around to messing about with the dyepots more, realsoonnow; it’s inspiring and challenging to see the shawls and things you make, and I look forward to the unfurling of this ongoing conversation, with shared experiments along the way.