tag:theconversation.com,2011:/id/topics/weaving-49506/articles
Weaving – The Conversation
2022-05-03T17:17:35Z
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/177137
2022-05-03T17:17:35Z
2022-05-03T17:17:35Z
Weaving is helping strengthen ancestral knowledge among women and children in Ingapirca, Ecuador
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/459182/original/file-20220421-11481-hl5ahc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=40%2C0%2C1489%2C898&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Women trace ancestral memories using wool.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">(Monica Malo)</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>In the remote Andean community of El Cisne in Ingapirca, Ecuador, one of the first things you’ll notice is children’s laughter. In a courtyard, women gather with their children to trace ancestral knowledge and memories — and they do this using wool.</p>
<p>The alpaca wool that helps them reconnect has been carefully sheared, cleaned and the combed into a soft material that will be easier to spin and work with.</p>
<p>While the practice of spinning and weaving has dwindled in the community, as <a href="https://doi.org/10.1177/0907568221991617">other work takes precedence,</a> most of the women gathered here have some knowledge of the activity. They’ve learned by observing their own mothers, grandmothers, aunties and other adults.</p>
<p>Reviving and helping strengthen ancestral knowledge is one of our goals as researchers and educators facilitating a project called <a href="http://uncommoningintheandes.climateactionchildhood.net/index.php/about-the-project/">Uncommoning in the Andes</a>. The project is part of the <a href="https://climateactionchildhood.net/">Climate Action Childhood Network</a> — an international group of educators and researchers who create and experiment alongside young children and early childhood educators to generate responses to climate change.</p>
<h2>From land dispossession to environmental degradation</h2>
<p>El Cisne is a small community located in the highlands of Ecuador’s Cañar province. The community has resisted and adapted to waves of change over centuries of colonization.<a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ecolecon.2015.04.016"> Land dispossession</a>, <a href="https://doi.org/10.1093/OBO/9780199730414-0113">indentured servitude</a> and <a href="https://doi.org/10.1080/1369183X.2012.646429">mass migration to the north</a> hollowed out the community, while <a href="http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/ijerph19031190">widespread environmental degradation</a> has changed Cañari cultural and social relationships. </p>
<p>Since 2016, Uncommoning in the Andes has sought to foster relationships and create spaces for women and children to reconnect and reignite ancestral practices. The women and children make up the Asociación Ñucanchic Allpa Mamamanta Warmicuna and they meet twice weekly to talk about their history, the changing present and to reintroduce traditional practices such as farming and weaving into their daily lives with an aim to create cohesion and an alternative source of economic independence.</p>
<p>This work is slow, deliberate and difficult. The project’s weaving sessions attempt to foster acts of care and sharing across generations, as elderly hands guide young ones through the creation process.</p>
<h2>Weaving and the climate crisis</h2>
<p>Weaving was traditionally done by men in Ingapirca, while women focused on spinning and dying the wool. But after the nothern migration, women and elders stayed behind with the children and community roles shifted. </p>
<p>Uncommoning in the Andes organized a set of workshops with, Monica Malo, a local wool artisan who accompanied the woman as they remembered what it meant to weave. Passing on that knowledge helps further strengthen their agency as they’re now able to pass it on to their children.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="A group of women weave, a child sits on one of the women's laps." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/459351/original/file-20220422-14-wl3gle.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/459351/original/file-20220422-14-wl3gle.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459351/original/file-20220422-14-wl3gle.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459351/original/file-20220422-14-wl3gle.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459351/original/file-20220422-14-wl3gle.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459351/original/file-20220422-14-wl3gle.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459351/original/file-20220422-14-wl3gle.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The women and children involved in the Uncommoning in the Andes make up Asociación Ñucanchic Allpa Mamamanta Warmicuna.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">(Monica Malo)</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Education, research and community can play an important role in reinvigorating children’s ancestral knowledge that are sustainable and based on a reciprocal relation with the Earth. These relations are <a href="https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/675703/hospicing-modernity-by-vanessa-machado-de-oliveira/">less damaging, less toxic and therefore offer alternative responses to climate change</a>.</p>
<p>The climate crisis isn’t affecting everyone equally, and <a href="https://cergnyc.org/publications/18_1_03_climatechange">children in the Global South experience more severe social, environmental and economic consequences</a>. They also have less opportunities to share how they are creatively responding to the climate crisis since their knowledge is less valued in neo-colonial societies.</p>
<p>Our project is as much about surrounding the next generation with ancestral knowledge as it is about providing spaces that enhance and value women’s roles.</p>
<h2>Uncommoning in the Andes</h2>
<p>Uncommoning in the Andes provides space for reflection, lighthearted commiserating and culture sharing. The women often start by talking about their daily routine — rising well before dawn to take care of the dairy cows. Women and children bring out little stools to milk the cows before the daily milk pick up (between 4:00 a.m. and 6:30 a.m.).</p>
<p>The meetings also serve as a place for oral storytelling, which the children soak up. Women speak of different weaving patterns and what each signifies, about the symbolism sewn into their clothing and the <a href="https://doi.org/10.13014/K2V40SCN">important role textiles had in ancient ceremonies and transactions</a>. </p>
<p>The children accompany their mothers to visit alpacas, running their small hands through the coarse hair. They sit together and watch videos of other women who have organized weaving collectives and are now earning an income from the sale of their creations. These gatherings also include the tradition of the <em>pamba mesa</em>, which is similar to a potluck.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Children pet alpacas" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/459354/original/file-20220422-26-uz0qca.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/459354/original/file-20220422-26-uz0qca.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459354/original/file-20220422-26-uz0qca.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459354/original/file-20220422-26-uz0qca.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459354/original/file-20220422-26-uz0qca.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459354/original/file-20220422-26-uz0qca.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459354/original/file-20220422-26-uz0qca.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Children enjoy visiting the alpacas and enjoy running their small hands through the alpaca’s coarse hair.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">(Monica Malo)</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The project intends to support the women in creating collectives that resist <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/3811011?seq=1">patriarchal colonialism</a> which are deeply ingrained in their memory and life. In addition to storytelling and culture sharing, woven throughout every gathering is <a href="https://plc.sas.upenn.edu/quechua">Quechua, the Indigenous language</a> spoken by the elders, which some young women understand and children are becoming familiar with.</p>
<p>Uncommoning in the Andes is just as important for children as it is for women. The children are listening, they’re participating and proposing new ideas. One woman’s daughter is even learning how to weave at home, a sign that knowledge, once revitalized, spreads and weaves towards the future.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/177137/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Cristina Delgado Vintimilla receives funding from Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. </span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Veronica Pacini-Ketchabaw receives funding from Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada.</span></em></p>
Women meet to weave, reflect, commiserate, share culture and tell stories in hopes of passing down ancestral knowledge.
Cristina Delgado Vintimilla, Assistant professor, Early Childhood, Faculty of Education, York University, Canada
Veronica Pacini-Ketchabaw, Professor of Early Childhood Education, Western University
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/178783
2022-04-13T20:33:36Z
2022-04-13T20:33:36Z
Curious Kids: how is fabric made?
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/456533/original/file-20220406-22-i84cbj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C6%2C4056%2C2817&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/craftsman-using-old-spinning-wheel-turn-1479103070">Shuttershock</a></span></figcaption></figure><blockquote>
<p><strong>How is fabric made? – Saskia, age 5, Sydney</strong></p>
</blockquote>
<p><a href="https://theconversation.com/au/topics/curious-kids-36782"><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/291898/original/file-20190911-190031-enlxbk.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=90&fit=crop&dpr=1" width="100%"></a></p>
<p>Hi Saskia, that’s a great question! </p>
<p>From clothes to curtains, towels and sheets, fabrics are everywhere in our daily lives. You might also hear people call them “textiles”. </p>
<p>People have been making fabric, or textiles, for a very long time. In fact, they’ve been doing it for almost 35,000 years!</p>
<p>Let’s first think about what a fabric is. The dictionary says fabric is a cloth made by knitting or weaving together <em>fibres</em>. </p>
<h2>What is a fibre?</h2>
<p>A fibre is like a strand of hair. It’s very long and thin.</p>
<p>Fibres can come from nature. Some common natural fibres are cotton, silk and wool. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="A branch of cotton laid across a wooden table." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/456529/original/file-20220406-20-chr9z5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/456529/original/file-20220406-20-chr9z5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/456529/original/file-20220406-20-chr9z5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/456529/original/file-20220406-20-chr9z5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/456529/original/file-20220406-20-chr9z5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/456529/original/file-20220406-20-chr9z5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/456529/original/file-20220406-20-chr9z5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Raw cotton as it is found on the branch.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/cotton-plant-buds-over-wooden-background-290823218">Shutterstock</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Humans have also found ways to make fibres ourselves in the past 150 years. We can use technology to turn oil into fibres. We can even make special fibres to make your raincoat waterproof, or make a soldier’s vest bullet-proof. </p>
<p>But how can these thin, hair-like fibres be made into something we can wear?</p>
<h2>From fibre to yarn</h2>
<p>First, we need to put the fibres together to make long strings of yarn. This can be tricky because many fibres are quite short, especially natural ones. </p>
<p>A cotton fibre is usually only around 3cm long. That’s shorter than a paper clip. Wool is usually cut from a sheep when it is 7.5cm long – about the length of a crayon. </p>
<p>We twist these shorter fibres together to make a longer yarn. The twisting makes the fibres rub together and grip to each other. This is called <em>yarn spinning</em>. </p>
<h2>Yarn spinning</h2>
<p>The first step of yarn spinning involves taking bundle of fibres, lining them up, them combing them like you comb your hair … or how you might comb a long beard! In fact, when we’ve combed them into a sheet, we call it a “beard”.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Hand holding raw wool spinning it into yarn." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/456524/original/file-20220406-22-19224l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/456524/original/file-20220406-22-19224l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/456524/original/file-20220406-22-19224l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/456524/original/file-20220406-22-19224l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/456524/original/file-20220406-22-19224l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/456524/original/file-20220406-22-19224l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/456524/original/file-20220406-22-19224l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Before we can make wool into fabric, it needs to be spun into yarn.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/close-hands-woman-demonstrating-traditional-wool-150051644">Shutterstock</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Next, the sheet is stretched into a long tube. As it stretches, it becomes thinner and thinner. Then we twist it to form a yarn. This delicate sheet of fibres may have been metres wide to begin with, but we twist it into a thin thread. </p>
<p>There are all types of yarn threads. They can be thin, thick, hard, soft, stretchy, or even ones you can’t cut! It all depends on the starting fibre and the machine settings. </p>
<h2>Turning yarn into fabric</h2>
<p>Once we have our yarn, we’re ready to make fabric. There are many ways do this, such as weaving, knitting or felting. </p>
<p><em>Weaving</em> crosses the yarns over and under in a chessboard pattern. <em>Knitting</em> makes loops that pass through each other. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="A woman weaves pink and yellow yarns into frabric using wooden poles." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/456530/original/file-20220406-18-icfn7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/456530/original/file-20220406-18-icfn7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/456530/original/file-20220406-18-icfn7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/456530/original/file-20220406-18-icfn7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/456530/original/file-20220406-18-icfn7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/456530/original/file-20220406-18-icfn7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/456530/original/file-20220406-18-icfn7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Weaving yarn into fabric can be done by hand, or by machine.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/woman-typical-guatemalan-dress-weaving-colored-1897092847">Shutterstock</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p><em>Felting</em> is when we get wool fibres wet and soapy. We rub the fibres together until they are all tangled up. Then we press the fibres into a flat sheet called felt.</p>
<p>Weaving, knitting and felting can be very slow if you do them by hand! These days we often use machines to speed things up.</p>
<h2>How fabric is made</h2>
<p>So we start with the fibre. Then we spin it into long strings of yarn. Next we weave, knit or felt the yarn into fabric. And that, Saskia, is how we make fabric. </p>
<hr>
<p><em>Hello, curious kids! Have you got a question you’d like an expert to answer? Ask an adult to send your question to curiouskids@theconversation.edu.au</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/178783/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Ken Aldren S. Usman receives funding from Deakin University's Post-graduate Research (DUPR) Scholarship Grant.</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Dylan Hegh receives funding from Australian National Fabrication Facility, IMCRC and Sustainability Victoria</span></em></p>
From fibre to fabric. The process of making textiles has been important to humans for almost 35,000 years.
Ken Aldren S. Usman, PhD Candidate, Deakin University
Dylan Hegh, Manager - Circular Economy Initatives and ANFF-Deakin Hub, Deakin University
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/167608
2021-09-21T12:33:19Z
2021-09-21T12:33:19Z
Afghanistan’s war rug industry distorts the reality of everyday trauma
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/421444/original/file-20210915-24-43pjvq.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=127%2C6%2C4013%2C2070&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">The rug designs tend to contain symbols – AK-47s, 9/11 and drones – that reflect an outsider’s understanding of war.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Kevin Sudeith, courtesy of WarRug.com</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/">CC BY-SA</a></span></figcaption></figure><p><a href="https://www.cnbc.com/2021/08/31/biden-addresses-the-end-of-the-us-war-in-afghanistan.html">The end of the U.S.-led military intervention in Afghanistan</a> resulted in the withdrawal of most foreign aid workers and contractors. </p>
<p>It may well also spell the demise of the country’s <a href="https://warrug.com/index.html">war rug industry</a>.</p>
<p><a href="https://rels.sas.upenn.edu/people/jamal-elias">As a specialist in the visual and material culture of the Islamic world</a>, I first became aware of war rugs when I was working on a book on <a href="https://aaa.org.hk/en/collections/search/library/on-wings-of-diesel-trucks-identity-and-culture-in-pakistan">truck decoration</a> in Pakistan and Afghanistan in the 1990s. </p>
<p>Since that time, I’ve followed changes in this industry and cultivated relationships with Pakistani and Afghan rug sellers. </p>
<p>War rugs – with symbols of war – are distinctive and dynamic in their styles. But they’re often misunderstood by buyers, journalists and curators. </p>
<h2>The growth of the war rug market</h2>
<p>There is no evidence of the existence of Afghan war rugs prior to the late-20th century.</p>
<p>The earliest rugs seem to have emerged shortly after the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979 from refugee camps in Pakistan, where millions of Afghans had relocated. Featuring guns, helicopters and tanks, they were small and shoddily made with coarse wool. Rug sellers and souvenir shops pitched them to workers for non-government organizations and Western government officials.</p>
<p>The designs have become more sophisticated over the years. </p>
<p>English words were added, intentionally or accidentally garbled with <a href="https://www.pbs.org/weta/faceofrussia/reference/cyrillic.html">Cyrillic words and letters</a> to evoke a Soviet connection. After 9/11, fixed patterns started to emerge – a sign that weavers were adhering to templates provided by rug merchants. The images made it clear that they were hoping to primarily appeal to an American souvenir market. </p>
<p>One popular design <a href="https://warrug.com/warrugs/styles.php?ids=37">commemorates the 9/11 attacks</a>, pointing out that it was not Afghans who were responsible, but terrorists from other countries.</p>
<p>Another depicts a map of Afghanistan, professing Afghanistan’s friendship with the U.S. with text and images. It has the misspelled word “terrarism” written on the region of the country associated with the Taliban. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Rug featuring bomber planes and an outline of Afghanistan." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/422029/original/file-20210920-19-ij0cn5.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/422029/original/file-20210920-19-ij0cn5.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=744&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/422029/original/file-20210920-19-ij0cn5.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=744&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/422029/original/file-20210920-19-ij0cn5.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=744&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/422029/original/file-20210920-19-ij0cn5.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=934&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/422029/original/file-20210920-19-ij0cn5.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=934&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/422029/original/file-20210920-19-ij0cn5.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=934&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">After 9/11, merchants started trying to appeal to an American souvenir market.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Kevin Sudeith, courtesy of WarRug.com</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/">CC BY-SA</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The writing on some rugs declares that they’re made in Sheberghan, a city in northern Afghanistan <a href="https://www.culturalsurvival.org/publications/cultural-survival-quarterly/weaving-project-afghan-turkmen">famous for its Turkmen weavers</a>.</p>
<p>It’s unlikely that they’re all made there. However, whether they’re made in northern Afghanistan or in <a href="https://www.unhcr.org/en-us/news/latest/2003/1/3e3a3e8ba/feature-eager-weavers-positive-spin-refugee-life-pakistan.html">Afghan settlements in Pakistan</a>, the word “Shebergan,” written in English, is supposed to signal that these rugs are authentically Afghan.</p>
<p>Such rugs are readily available on eBay and were – until recently – sold by souvenir sellers in Kabul and Mazar-i-Sharif, Afghanistan’s cities with the largest number of foreign workers and tourists. With the Taliban’s return to power, it remains unclear what the future of rug making and its market will be.</p>
<p>Over the years, war motifs have found their way into higher-quality, larger carpets, <a href="https://warrug.com/warrugs/styles.php?ids=7">with small tanks appearing where rows of medallions</a> might traditionally have been. Other rugs feature a more comprehensive <a href="https://warrug.com/warrugs/styles.php?ids=36">integration of modern and traditional patterns</a>.</p>
<p>While these larger carpets take substantially more time to make and cost more money than the far more common smaller, coarser rugs, they nevertheless don’t meet the standards of fine carpets, which suggests they’re geared more to souvenir collectors than those seeking luxury home furnishings.</p>
<h2>Misreading the meaning of the rugs</h2>
<p>Over the past 20 years, Afghan war rugs have garnered considerable attention.</p>
<p>Books in <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/1179076">German</a> and <a href="https://www.worldcat.org/title/war-rugs-the-nightmare-of-modernism/oclc/290472030">English</a> describe, <a href="https://www.warrug.com/pages/book.php">catalog and contextualize</a> them. <a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2015/01/drones-are-appearing-on-afghan-rugs/385025/">Magazines</a> and <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2003/12/15/nyregion/rugs-depict-terror-attack-but-new-york-isn-t-ready-for-9-11-kitsch.html">major newspapers</a> have run features on them, and <a href="https://penntoday.upenn.edu/2011-04-21/features/war-rugs-offer-glimpse-changing-art-afghanistan">university art galleries</a> have exhibited them.</p>
<p>Within the coverage, there’s a tendency to see war rugs as a reflection of the emotional lives of the weavers, who, wracked by war and violence, felt compelled to incorporate these motifs into their designs.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/422030/original/file-20210920-31825-1fdrk1r.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Rug featuring a tank pattern." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/422030/original/file-20210920-31825-1fdrk1r.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/422030/original/file-20210920-31825-1fdrk1r.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=340&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/422030/original/file-20210920-31825-1fdrk1r.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=340&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/422030/original/file-20210920-31825-1fdrk1r.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=340&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/422030/original/file-20210920-31825-1fdrk1r.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=427&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/422030/original/file-20210920-31825-1fdrk1r.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=427&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/422030/original/file-20210920-31825-1fdrk1r.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=427&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Some rugs incorporate war motifs, like tanks, into traditional designs.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Kevin Sudeith, courtesy of WarRug.com</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/">CC BY-SA</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Articles and exhibits often ignore the reality that rug brokers and dealers – not weavers – are the ones who are attuned to fickle market tastes. <a href="https://www.ilo.org/wcmsp5/groups/public/---ed_norm/---ipec/documents/instructionalmaterial/wcms_667934.pdf">Studies on labor in the rug industry</a> note that they’re normally the ones who supply weavers with new patterns, color schemes and yarn. I’ve seen the same dynamic in my own long-term observations.</p>
<p>Ultimately, Afghan war rugs are produced for the market. It’s that simple. </p>
<p>Yet you’ll still see exhibit curators <a href="https://temple-news.com/voicing-global-conflict-survival/">describe war rugs</a> as combining “ancient practice with the latest in the daily lives of the weavers,” or as windows into the perspectives of everyday Afghans – the “underdogs” in a country subsumed by strife. </p>
<p>In 2014, <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2014/03/30/nyregion/afghan-visual-scene-is-focus-of-exhibition-in-ewing.html?searchResultPosition=1">The New York Times reported that weavers had incorporated</a> “the grim realities of life in a war zone into their traditional craft.” Six years earlier, Smithsonian Magazine buried a brief acknowledgment that the rugs are for tourists under claims – with scant evidence – <a href="https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/rug-of-war-19377583/">that the earliest war rugs were intended for Afghan buyers who resented the Soviet invasion</a>. Later, the writer notes that female weavers drew from their own lives when they incorporated symbols of violence.</p>
<h2>The appeal of the trauma market</h2>
<p>With so much evidence showing that Afghan war rugs are produced in response to market demand, why do claims that they’re based on the weavers’ experiences of war persist? </p>
<p>Part of the answer lies in the global market for handicrafts. Buyers want to feel like they’re purchasing artisanal products when, in reality, they’re sold by the thousands in chain stores and through online storefronts such as Ten Thousand Villages or Etsy.</p>
<p>Implying that rugs are a source of income for traumatized and destitute Afghan women ignores the reality that the overwhelming majority of profits go to middlemen and dealers. A work-from-home model encourages workers to devote all available time to rug production. <a href="https://www.ilo.org/wcmsp5/groups/public/---ed_norm/---ipec/documents/instructionalmaterial/wcms_667934.pdf">It also encourages child labor</a>: Children are either tasked with making the crude rugs or are forced to take up the responsibilities of adults. </p>
<p>The appeal of war rugs – and the insistence that their designs represent a victim’s experience of war – seems to reflect a vicarious desire to peer into the emotional experience of Afghan civilians. </p>
<p>In reality, though, this gives primacy not to the actual experiences of Afghans, but to the viewers’ and customers’ ideas of victimhood. The granular realities of <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/14/world/asia/14afghan.html">the loss of home and animals</a>, <a href="https://watson.brown.edu/costsofwar/costs/human/civilians/afghan">family deaths</a> or <a href="https://www.france24.com/en/live-news/20210820-one-in-three-afghans-at-risk-of-severe-or-acute-hunger-wfp">food insecurity</a> aren’t represented in the rugs. Nor should we assume weavers would wish to put their own traumas on display for the world.</p>
<p>Modern rugs are not venues for self-expression, and the designs tend to contain an index of symbols that reflect an outsider’s understanding of war: AK-47s, 9/11, security politics and drones.</p>
<p>Nowhere in the rugs do we see the <a href="https://www.hrw.org/news/2019/10/07/afghanistan-little-help-conflict-linked-trauma#">well-documented psychological and health impacts</a> on Afghanistan’s population caused by decades of deprivation and violence. </p>
<p>Real trauma is not only hard to turn into a commodity, it is also hard to live with – even in souvenirs.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/167608/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Jamal J. Elias does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
War rugs are more reflections of market forces than memorials to suffering.
Jamal J. Elias, Walter H. Annenberg Professor of the Humanities and Professor of Religious Studies, University of Pennsylvania
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/121594
2019-11-27T14:02:29Z
2019-11-27T14:02:29Z
Atlantic slavery left its mark not just in wealthy city centres, but among the rural poor too
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/295435/original/file-20191003-52801-z9gmys.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Welsh weavers, here in traditional costume that would not have been known to some of the poorest weavers to benefit from slave-driven demand for cloth.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Welsh_spinners_and_spinning_wheel,_Wales-LCCN2001703565.tif">Detroit Publishing Co/Library of Congress</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>The Atlantic slave trade’s legacy of racial injustice continues to vex us. How should a historic wrong be remembered or redressed? It’s a question that has the power to kill, as the violence unleashed by white supremacists <a href="https://theconversation.com/charlottesville-virginia-the-history-of-the-statue-at-the-centre-of-violent-unrest-82476">in defence of a Confederate monument in Charlottesville</a>, Virginia, in 2017 demonstrated. While the debate in Britain is less murderous, it nonetheless raises passions.</p>
<p>For many years the debate in Britain centred on the port cities that were directly engaged in trafficking people out of Africa: Bristol and Liverpool. Consider the recent furore over Edward Colston (1636-1721), the Bristol slave merchant whose name is still <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-bristol-42404825">controversially attached</a> to numerous landmarks in his native city. A mix of lobbying and guerrilla art has succeeded in having prominent buildings re-badged and Colston’s civic philanthropy recast as a problem to be confronted rather than celebrated. </p>
<p>More recently, debates about the impact of Atlantic slavery on British society have broadened out to consider how slave-derived wealth has fed elite institutions and places of privilege, hence the <a href="https://www.cam.ac.uk/news/cambridge-university-launches-inquiry-into-historical-links-to-slavery">University of Cambridge’s inquiry</a> launched this year into its links to enslavement. Hence, too, the efforts of <a href="https://historicengland.org.uk/images-books/publications/slavery-and-british-country-house/slavery-british-country-house-web/">English Heritage</a> and the <a href="https://colonialcountryside.wordpress.com">National Trust</a> to assess the ways in which stately homes embody colonial exploitation. </p>
<p>But this is not a conversation that has extended to less garlanded rural locations, to places that were wretchedly poor. Yet these places often played a vital role in sustaining Atlantic slavery. Mid Wales is a case in point: there would seem to be little connection between this damp, upland region and racial enslavement in the New World. But there was, because woollen cloth produced there clothed enslaved workers in the Caribbean and North America.</p>
<h2>A rural industry</h2>
<p>To understand that connection, we should spend less time gawping at the wealth, which the masters – the super-rich of their day – extracted from the plantation world, and ask instead what was needed to keep that wealth flowing year after year. Plantations were like oil rigs: they produced a single high-value commodity and everything needed to sustain life on them such as food, clothing, and specialist equipment had to be brought in from outside. This meant that places and people far removed from slavery were in fact integral to its success, whether they were cod fishermen off Newfoundland who supplied dried fish to feed the sugar islands, or miners in Upper Hungary (in present-day Slovakia) who produced the copper from which sugar boilers were made.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/294175/original/file-20190925-51425-13df7dr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/294175/original/file-20190925-51425-13df7dr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=380&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/294175/original/file-20190925-51425-13df7dr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=380&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/294175/original/file-20190925-51425-13df7dr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=380&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/294175/original/file-20190925-51425-13df7dr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=478&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/294175/original/file-20190925-51425-13df7dr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=478&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/294175/original/file-20190925-51425-13df7dr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=478&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">West Indian sugar plantations were highly profitable, yet were entirely dependent upon external imports to sustain themselves.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-illustration/sugar-production-west-indies-17th-century-242298379?src=1JQQVqR4YN-k0AP00IW3Yw-1-2">www.shutterstock.com</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The contribution of Mid Wales came in the form of woollens named “Welsh plains”. The purpose of Welsh plains, declared <a href="http://curioustravellers.ac.uk/en/thomas-pennant/">Thomas Pennant</a>, a knowledgeable local commentator, was “covering the poor negroes in the West Indies”, hence their other, more pointed name: “Negro Cloth”. It was unsophisticated but durable fabric – called “plains” for good reason – and equally importantly it was cheap due to being made by impoverished rural households, by people making a bare living from working the soil and who needed some sort of extra industrial work to make ends meet.</p>
<p>Welsh plains became a major part of the Welsh economy in the 18th century because it catered for one of the most dynamic markets in the Atlantic world. In 1690 there were about 87,000 enslaved workers in the British Caribbean. By 1812, their number had grown to 743,000. All of them had to be clothed. Until the 1830s, when emancipation in the British West Indies sent demand plummeting, Welsh spinners and weavers were kept busy making the coarse woollens from which plantation uniforms were fashioned.</p>
<h2>Unremarked, unremembered</h2>
<p>But if Welsh-made cloth was so important, why is it not better remembered? The existence of this cloth industry was not something that lodged in the collective memory of the communities that produced it. As demand boomed in 18th century, the population of woollen-making districts in Montgomeryshire and Merionethshire rocketed. As demand fell in the 19th century those weavers drifted away, and with their departure the memory of an industry fuelled by the slave trade faded.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/294170/original/file-20190925-51452-1e6r99p.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/294170/original/file-20190925-51452-1e6r99p.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=337&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/294170/original/file-20190925-51452-1e6r99p.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=337&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/294170/original/file-20190925-51452-1e6r99p.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=337&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/294170/original/file-20190925-51452-1e6r99p.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/294170/original/file-20190925-51452-1e6r99p.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/294170/original/file-20190925-51452-1e6r99p.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The tranquil ideal of Mid Wales masks a dark history.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/sheep-evening-sun-near-treorchy-overlooking-789623251?src=lu_bI9KbadrM_lpn7zpLYg-1-6">www.shutterstock.com</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Such economic refugees from Mid Wales often headed to the booming coalfields of South Wales. Indeed, the raucous modernity of South Wales around the turn of the 20th century was a thing of such colour and drama that it for the decades that followed it absorbed much of the attention of professional historians. Mid Wales by comparison seemed a quaint backwater, offering little of interest.</p>
<p>But by the mid-20th century, Welsh nationalist intellectuals were keenly interested in the green uplands of mid Wales because they identified rural communities there as embodying an authentic, organic Welshness. The industrial south was damned as anglicised and mongrelised. Mid Wales, in their eyes, was uncontaminated by modernity and all the better for it. But this rural tranquillity that historians then and so many people today still look for in Mid Wales is a mirage. </p>
<p>To look at upland the parishes of Montgomeryshire is not to see an unspoilt rural landscape but in fact a de-industrialised wasteland, which once thrummed with what the poet and editor Walter Davies <a href="https://archive.org/details/generalviewagri16britgoog/page/n9">called</a> the “incessant monotony of looms, fulling-mills, and other machineries” – energised by the slave economy of the 18th-century Atlantic world.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/121594/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Chris Evans has received funding from the Pasold Research Fund. He is a consultant to the National Heritage Lottery Fund-supported project 'From Sheep to Sugar: Welsh Wool and Slavery'. </span></em></p>
How even sleepy, rural Mid Wales was once an industrial heartland feeding the slave trade.
Chris Evans, Professor of History, University of South Wales
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/123514
2019-09-25T05:13:44Z
2019-09-25T05:13:44Z
Place Makers review: tapestries interweave traditions with a new sense of place
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/293943/original/file-20190925-51421-1s6sj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=37%2C22%2C5004%2C3333&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Ema Shin's Soft Alchemy (Fertile Heart) 2019,
cotton, wool, wire.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: Oleksandr Pogorilyi</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>The spare, white-walled <a href="https://www.austapestry.com.au/">Australian Tapestry Workshop</a> gallery is very much of its place, a wall of windows fronting the South Melbourne street. Cars, trams and shoppers are just metres away, the occasional pedestrian observing the observer. It’s a stark space ill-suited to introspection, but perhaps apposite given that the eight artists showing here are examining their own place and the intersection of their heritage with life in present-day Australia.</p>
<p>Five are migrant women drawing on textile traditions in exploration of their identity in a contemporary Australian context, although little information is provided to illuminate those traditions. Two or three paragraphs in the free program’s four pages of notes are devoted to each artist and, for all except two, this information is duplicated on a wall plaque. More about the artists, their works and the techniques used might have enabled a more nuanced appreciation. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/293912/original/file-20190925-51425-y2v3fq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=15%2C7%2C836%2C1270&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/293912/original/file-20190925-51425-y2v3fq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=15%2C7%2C836%2C1270&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/293912/original/file-20190925-51425-y2v3fq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/293912/original/file-20190925-51425-y2v3fq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/293912/original/file-20190925-51425-y2v3fq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/293912/original/file-20190925-51425-y2v3fq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/293912/original/file-20190925-51425-y2v3fq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/293912/original/file-20190925-51425-y2v3fq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Paula do Prado, El Grito, 2018, cotton, wool, hemp, linen, raffia, Bobbiny cotton rope, twine, paper covered wire, wire, glass seed beads, wooden beads, açai seed beads. 110 x 60 x 5cm.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: Document Photography</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The woven tapestry style associated with the Australian Tapestry Workshop features in some work. Karen migrant Mu Naw Poe learned weaving from her mother and continued it in a refugee camp for 20 years. Once in Australia she undertook an Australian Tapestry Workshop program. Her Night Sky 2018 and Global Warming 2014 are bold, multicoloured geometrics; Faces 2016 is more abstract. The three woven strips of Here We Are Sisters 2018 by noted textile artist <a href="https://people.unisa.edu.au/Kay.Lawrence">Kay Lawrence</a> record the names of participants in a Women’s Wealth Project in traditional European storytelling style.</p>
<p>For <a href="https://emashin.org/home.html">Ema Shin</a>, of Japanese and Korean descent, such techniques are the starting point for two densely woven, three-dimensional works, Soft Alchemy (My Pelvic Bone) 2018 and Soft Alchemy (Fertile Heart) 2019. Referencing her pregnancy and including tufted Korean floral symbols of fertility, she adds padding and wrapped wire to produce an alarming profusion of veins.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/293941/original/file-20190925-51438-cd78zy.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/293941/original/file-20190925-51438-cd78zy.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/293941/original/file-20190925-51438-cd78zy.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/293941/original/file-20190925-51438-cd78zy.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/293941/original/file-20190925-51438-cd78zy.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/293941/original/file-20190925-51438-cd78zy.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/293941/original/file-20190925-51438-cd78zy.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Ema Shin’s Soft Alchemy (My Pelvic Bone), 2018, cotton, wool, wire woven tapestry.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: Oleksandr Pogorilyi</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p><a href="https://www.ngv.vic.gov.au/melbournenow/artists/lisa-waup.html">Lisa Waup</a>’s works also have a 3D quality. A Gunditjmara and Torres Strait woman, her small, woven vessels combine thread, feathers, found objects, even false hair. Her three-part 2019 series It’s in my DNA symbolises passing her DNA to her children, while the other, Past, Present, Future 2019 references living family and ancestors.</p>
<p>Indigenous Australian <a href="https://www.mirrnongminnie.com.au/">Bronwyn Razem</a> (Gunditjmara/Kirrae Whurrong), a Master Weaver, is keeping alive weaving skills used to create a traditional eel trap and the weaving’s cultural importance. Eel Trap 2018, is precisely that – a metre-long raffia trap, as used by her people in Victoria’s Western District. The program notes she has played a vital role in this trap’s revival but this information is tantalisingly brief.</p>
<p>Somali weaver <a href="https://www.sbs.com.au/language/english/audio/muhubo-and-hawo-expressing-their-hope-with-the-new-year-2019">Muhubo Suleiman</a>’s Raar 2018 hangs in the window with no identifier, the program revealing who made it and her use of traditional Somalian finger weaving, once essential in nomadic communities, now evoking home in her new country.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/293949/original/file-20190925-51438-9u0ghr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/293949/original/file-20190925-51438-9u0ghr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/293949/original/file-20190925-51438-9u0ghr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/293949/original/file-20190925-51438-9u0ghr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/293949/original/file-20190925-51438-9u0ghr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/293949/original/file-20190925-51438-9u0ghr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/293949/original/file-20190925-51438-9u0ghr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/293949/original/file-20190925-51438-9u0ghr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Muhubo Suleiman with Raar (2018)</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: Marie-Luise Skibbe</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Three striking beaded works by Uruguayan migrant <a href="https://www.pauladoprado.net/about.html">Paula Do Prado</a>, one of which, El Grito 2018, is on the program cover, are described as using traditional and non-traditional craft techniques and materials. Open shapes are made from beaded wire and blanket-stitched rope. The work is described as “highly personal and autobiographical”, but just how so remains elusive. So, too, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/B2STUfvAyQy/">Yunuen Perez</a>’s weaving, which draws on Mexican Indigenous stories and traditional textile techniques.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/293945/original/file-20190925-51452-1898wq9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/293945/original/file-20190925-51452-1898wq9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/293945/original/file-20190925-51452-1898wq9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/293945/original/file-20190925-51452-1898wq9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/293945/original/file-20190925-51452-1898wq9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/293945/original/file-20190925-51452-1898wq9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/293945/original/file-20190925-51452-1898wq9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/293945/original/file-20190925-51452-1898wq9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Artist Yunuen Pérez with Ketzal (2016) and Colibries (Hummingbirds) (2019). Photo: Marie-Luise Skibbe.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: Marie-Luise Skibbe</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This is a small but important exhibition, showcasing textile work by women of extraordinary patience, dexterity and expertise. Traditional techniques are given new life, record reflections, keep history alive and salve divided loyalties by weaving links between home and home. Rich histories, personal and cultural, are embedded in these works but the audience is denied access to these histories given the paucity of information available about them.</p>
<p><em>Place Makers can be viewed at the <a href="https://www.austapestry.com.au/">Australian Tapestry Workshop</a> until December 6. A community workshop will be held on Saturday 16 November</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/123514/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Sue Green does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
Eight artists use textiles to investigate history, self and place in a new exhibition that draws on rich histories, but could use more contextual information in its presentation.
Sue Green, Deputy Co-ordinator, Journalism Program, Swinburne University of Technology
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/114388
2019-04-04T20:15:10Z
2019-04-04T20:15:10Z
‘Made in Van Phuc’: How place identity can help artisans survive in a globalised world
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266879/original/file-20190401-177171-1ints7z.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C3264%2C1817&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">An artisan is working with a silk weaving loom in her workshop</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="license">Author provided</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>The identity of luxury goods firms is often anchored in the creativity and skill of the artisans behind the objects. A case in point is Hermès, where workers spend years learning to work with precious materials such as <a href="https://theconversation.com/hermes-behind-the-scenes-of-the-frenchluxury-gem-80551">leather and silk</a>. This approach allows such companies to distinguish themselves and compete in a marketplace flooded with goods that cost less but don’t have an identity strongly connected to craft, tradition and place.</p>
<p>This approach isn’t the unique domain of just a few firms, of course – it can be extended to those that are currently less known and in more peripheral places. An eloquent example is the Vietnamese town of Van Phuc, in the Ha Dong (Hanoi) district, which has specialised in silk weaving since the 13th century. Establishing a strong place identity – how meanings attached to a locality can affect locals’ sense of self – was essential for their craftsmen to stand out from the crowd.</p>
<h2>Ancient traditions, “new” competitors</h2>
<p>Located approximately 10km from the centre of Hanoi, Van Phuc is considered the <a href="http://horizon.documentation.ird.fr/exl-doc/pleins_textes/divers12-06/010055064.pdf">oldest and best-known silk-producing village in Vietnam</a>. During our research team’s initial fieldwork, we found that in boutiques where Van Phuc silk products were sold, there were similar goods made in China. Based on the products’ variety and price, distinguishing between the two was relatively easy, and because of the craft methods used by Van Phuc’s artisans, their offerings are often much more expensive than similar ones from China.</p>
<p>In a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JeWtFQNl9Wg&t=102s">report</a> on Van Phuc made by the national television broadcaster of Vietnam, a storekeeper in the village stated:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>“I sold a lot of Chinese silk products, compared to Van Phuc ones, because they are cheaper and there are a wide range of products.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>An experienced silk weaving artisan added:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>“Van Phuc’s silk patterns are not as diverse as Chinese ones because our products are made manually. Therefore our patterns are still very ‘naive’. There is something unmistakable.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>According to a local shop owner and artisan, the price of natural silk is around 1,700,000 dong per kilogram (approximately 73 US dollars) while the price of a kilogram of polyester yarn is about 50,000 to 60,000 dong per kilogram (2 to 3 dollars).</p>
<p>Van Phuc’s products are not only made of natural silk, but they also have traditional patterns created during a sophisticated weaving process. By comparison, foreign-made goods have printed patterns and made by polyester or polyester silk fabrics. The savoir-faire of each creation has been improved for one generation to another, guaranteeing high quality.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266682/original/file-20190331-71006-1u9keu2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266682/original/file-20190331-71006-1u9keu2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266682/original/file-20190331-71006-1u9keu2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=290&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266682/original/file-20190331-71006-1u9keu2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=290&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266682/original/file-20190331-71006-1u9keu2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=290&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266682/original/file-20190331-71006-1u9keu2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=364&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266682/original/file-20190331-71006-1u9keu2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=364&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266682/original/file-20190331-71006-1u9keu2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=364&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Several Van Phuc’s silk products with traditional patterns in a retail shop.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">The authors</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Still, appreciating handmade craft items and being able to pay for them is not easy for all consumers. Despite its strong place identity and the quality and creativity of its products, Van Phuc is at risk of losing ground.</p>
<p>In the village, silk fabrics and other silk products are directly sold at home-based workshops of craftsmen or retail stores, among which some are owned by artisans. Nevertheless, due to urbanisation, more and more craftsmen do not have enough space for silk weaving tools to produce their own products. The traditional silk workshops are at risk of disappearing, to be replaced by imported products from China sold at retail outlets.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266683/original/file-20190331-177181-17tyovx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266683/original/file-20190331-177181-17tyovx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266683/original/file-20190331-177181-17tyovx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=313&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266683/original/file-20190331-177181-17tyovx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=313&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266683/original/file-20190331-177181-17tyovx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=313&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266683/original/file-20190331-177181-17tyovx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=393&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266683/original/file-20190331-177181-17tyovx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=393&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266683/original/file-20190331-177181-17tyovx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=393&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Numerous retail shops in Van Phuc.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">The authors</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>For the moment, Van Phuc silk products still have a stable customer base. They are often bought by <a href="http://ven.vn/van-phucs-silk-targets-world-market-24231.html">foreign tourists</a> who seek out unique Vietnamese products, or by Vietnamese who prefer to use high-quality domestic goods. Residents of Vietnam often go to Van Phuc workshops directly and choose the products they like instead of buying at eye-catching retail outlets in the village.</p>
<h2>Place and identity</h2>
<p>The story of craft products threatened by mass-produced goods is not a new one, and can appear everywhere. How to arrive at a long-term solution is the real question. In the case of Hermès, its identity is tightly linked to a place – it is not just “Hermès”, but <a href="https://theconversation.com/hermes-behind-the-scenes-of-the-french-luxury-gem-80551">“Hermès Paris”.</a> Here, the associated “memories, ideas, feelings, attitudes, values, preferences, meanings, and conceptions of behaviour and experience” play a <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0272494483800218">huge role</a>. Indeed, the feeling of belonging to Paris, and French elegance in general, is a significant part of what attract clients to the goods.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/267158/original/file-20190402-177181-179cow3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/267158/original/file-20190402-177181-179cow3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/267158/original/file-20190402-177181-179cow3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/267158/original/file-20190402-177181-179cow3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/267158/original/file-20190402-177181-179cow3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/267158/original/file-20190402-177181-179cow3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/267158/original/file-20190402-177181-179cow3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/267158/original/file-20190402-177181-179cow3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Silk cloth with ‘Vạn Phúc silk’ woven into its edge.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://nld.com.vn/ban-doc/ve-dau-ao-lua-ha-dong-20130324014420373.htm">Thế Anh</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>While <a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/1470593112467268">place branding cannot be carried out for every geographic locality</a> – there’s only one Paris in the world, after all – Van Phuc’s artisans have recently perceived the importance of place identity, and on their products now feature the words “Van Phuc silk” or “Ha Dong silk”. This allows local artisans to distinguish themselves, affirm the high quality of Van Phuc’s traditional silk products, and gain or regain the confidence of Vietnamese consumers. This initial step also allows producers to “shine a light” on local products among numerous foreign ones, in particular after one of the biggest silk brands in Vietnam was found to be selling <a href="https://tuoitrenews.vn/news/business/20171213/vietnams-khaisilk-found-selling-products-with-zero-silk/43126.html">“silk” products with no silk at all</a>.</p>
<p>In the long term, if Van Phuc’s reputation can be expanded to a wider geographic scale – not just domestically but also internationally – their products will surely have a place (identity) in the market.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/114388/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Les auteurs ne travaillent pas, ne conseillent pas, ne possèdent pas de parts, ne reçoivent pas de fonds d'une organisation qui pourrait tirer profit de cet article, et n'ont déclaré aucune autre affiliation que leur organisme de recherche.</span></em></p>
Many major luxury goods firms have long made place a key part of their identity, and a visit to a traditional silk-weaving centre in Vietnam shows that the approach could work for small firms too.
Hung M. Nguyen, Postdoctoral researcher (ORCILAB project, ANR-17-CE10-0013-01), Grenoble École de Management (GEM)
Marcos Barros, Associate professor, Grenoble École de Management (GEM)
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/96780
2018-05-17T05:06:16Z
2018-05-17T05:06:16Z
Why are ‘feminine’ crafts like basket weaving disparaged by politicians?
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/219324/original/file-20180517-155616-1sty2ag.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Basket weaving is an important cultural and economic activity in many parts of the world, including Australia. </span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/imsbildarkiv/11854892393/in/photolist-j4zqur-7vPiDZ-9qB8rx-bEqzBG-9r1uPX-crMaSY-7vSJGs-8ohFb8-D6fcN-D6eXr-D6get-s1cCzT-6JGM6x-2Ht6YR-CyAqX-hLB1BA-2Ht7vB-fiiSey-bX2Tsr-9Z4tjD-5hev7k-6yD5Yr-bAMcGX-f2rRXo-69r3AA-fLYjLk-aP5gdc-UeFxZf-7BfKqM-6vrSpu-q4b7wa-4aTfkr-j5qkAv-jNrjzi-pYWfxz-8Sbc57-jNrjKD-79HNgS-azxyPR-4HeEEd-7wn55R-5ko9vk-6Tw1Et-aAJNpA-gCNYsY-9dnLFK-dPcEuT-n9ULcR-bq5W4V-3fwEgQ">IM Swedish Development Partner/Flickr</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/">CC BY-NC-ND</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Basket weaving. It doesn’t sound much of an insult does it? But Education Minister Simon Birmingham appeared to use the term in this way in an interview following opposition leader Bill Shorten’s budget reply speech. <a href="https://www.senatorbirmingham.com.au/doorstop-interview-adelaide-33/">Birmingham reacted disdainfully</a> to Shorten’s commitment to fund fees for TAFE students, sneering at Labor’s “disastrous VET FEE-HELP program that subsidised everything from energy healing to basket weaving.” </p>
<p>Shadow treasurer Chris Bowen described this comment as <a href="https://www.sbs.com.au/news/federal-government-insulting-tafe-labor">an insult to TAFE teachers</a>. Bowen is right, of course. But more than that, this insult derives its power from denigrating and trivialising crafts traditionally practised by women. By extension, it denigrates women themselves.</p>
<p>It calls to mind a similar jibe <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2017/mar/18/marriage-equality-peter-dutton-singles-out-alan-joyce-in-fresh-attack-on-ceos">delivered by home affairs minister Peter Dutton</a> during the gay marriage debate in March last year, when he told leading Australian company CEOs who urged government action on the issue to “stick to their knitting”. Three days later, Greens senator Janet Rice pulled out her knitting and worked on a rainbow-striped scarf during question time.</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/craft-in-australia-lets-not-forget-the-real-value-of-the-handmade-42168">Craft in Australia: let's not forget the real value of the handmade</a>
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<p>Why is it that when dredging for an insult, male politicians turn to traditionally female crafts? It seems their gendered nature, pigeonholed as women’s hobbies - mundane and domestic, unpaid and undervalued - makes them suitable targets for ridicule. We don’t see such sneers at woodwork, metalcrafts or other “manly” pursuits.</p>
<p>Oppressive attitudes towards women have engendered such characterisations of their leisure pursuits. In 1986 feminist theory pioneer <a href="https://books.google.com.au/books?id=27TrCuk4LRgC&pg=PA18&lpg=PA18&dq=In+virtually+all+cultures,+whatever+is+thought+of+as+manly+is+more+highly+valued+than+what+is+thought+of+as+womanly&source=bl&ots=qDgsyp3HUV&sig=hnNI3zdTysuXyzGNfptI9ZmDFKs&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwieuvjjr4vbAhVNO7wKHUVBCa0Q6AEILjAD#v=onepage&q=In%20virtually%20all%20cultures%2C%20whatever%20is%20thought%20of%20as%20manly%20is%20more%20highly%20valued%20than%20what%20is%20thought%20of%20as%20womanly&f=false">Sandra Harding wrote</a>: “In virtually all cultures, whatever is thought of as manly is more highly valued than what is thought of as womanly”. More than 30 years on, the insults from Birmingham and Dutton illustrate that this view is as pertinent today.</p>
<p>Birmingham’s comment also marginalises and undermines the merits of the highly skilled craft of basket weaving, which has a rich history, including in Aboriginal culture. Created with extraordinary dexterity and patience, items that once served utilitarian purposes, such as carrying food or even babies, are today preserved as museum pieces. </p>
<p>Such weaving “expresses cultural identity and traditions that date back tens of thousands of years”, the <a href="http://aiatsis.gov.au/news-and-events/events/weaving-culture-market-day">Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies</a> says. Baskets carried by figures and ancestor spirits have been depicted in Arnhem Land rock art dating back more than 40,000 years. </p>
<p>Home to some of Australia’s finest fibre works, the <a href="https://maningrida.com/artworks/weavings/about-weaving/">Maningrida region’s Arts and Culture website</a> notes: “There are also spiritual dimensions to weaving, which vary according to the materials used and the totemic significance of the object made.”</p>
<p>Curator Dr Kevin Murray, former artistic director of Craft Victoria, now an adjunct professor at RMIT University and editor of online craft publication Garland, reacted angrily to Birmingham’s insult. “Sure, basket weaving can thrive in Australia without TAFE support, but we need to address the way it is often demeaned as an art form by men in suits. What’s more meaningful: adding up figures in a spreadsheet or weaving objects for people to use that reflect a relation to the land and tradition?” he posted on the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/craftinaustralia/">Craft in Australia Facebook page</a>. </p>
<p>Two days later on that page, the World Crafts Council – Australia posted a notice of the National Basketry Gathering 2019 in South Australia with the comment, “Basket-makers stand proud!”</p>
<p>The inference attending the Birmingham insult is that basket weaving is a waste of money, while Dutton’s message is essentially that the CEOs should mind their own business and concentrate on what they know. </p>
<p>Many women are very familiar with the message of “don’t bother your pretty little head with that”. Yet crafts are increasingly recognised as appropriate subjects for scholarship. Finnish design <a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s12130-007-9028-2">scholar Maarit Makela</a> has noted that “the making and the products of making are seen as an essential part of research”. They are “strongly connected with the source of knowledge. In this sense we are facing the idea of knowing through making.” </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/knit-one-purl-one-the-mysteries-of-yarn-bombing-unravelled-23461">Knit one, purl one: the mysteries of yarn bombing unravelled</a>
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<p>Also worth noting is that a <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/01612840.2016.1230160?journalCode=imhn20">significant body of research</a> has confirmed what crafters have long known – that their crafts have mental health benefits. Craft has been found to enhance wellbeing – indeed some psychologists prescribe knitting for their patients. </p>
<p>Crafts also promote social connections, a counter to the loneliness and social isolation of contemporary life. Even trauma can be eased by participating in them, researchers have found. “The analysis revealed that feelings of agony or pain could be pushed away and turned into bodily activity or symbolic imagery by hand work,” writes <a href="https://www.nrpa.org/globalassets/journals/jlr/2015/volume-47/jlr-volume-47-number-1-pp-58-78.pdf">Finnish researcher Professor Sinikka Pollanen</a>.</p>
<p>Increasingly, craft practitioners are using their skills for other purposes than the purely decorative or utilitarian. They are actively protesting aspects of society – the <a href="https://www.smh.com.au/opinion/knag-power-knitting-nanas-on-the-march-against-fracking-polluters-20170831-gy824u.html">Knitting Nannas</a> who oppose coal seam gas exploration or <a href="https://theconversation.com/knit-one-purl-one-the-mysteries-of-yarn-bombing-unravelled-23461">yarn bombers</a> enhancing desolate urban landscapes, for example. While some men are using craft to buck the gender stereotypes, for activist women it’s a means of drawing attention to and rebelling against the restrictions placed on them because of their gender. The message: craft matters; we matter.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/96780/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Sue Green is a member of Victoria’s Handknitters Guild and member of Craft (formerly Craft Victoria).</span></em></p>
Basket weaving and knitting are used pejoratively to make a point but not ‘manly’ pursuits such as metalcrafts or woodwork.
Sue Green, Deputy Director, Journalism Program, Swinburne University of Technology
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/91325
2018-02-07T19:06:14Z
2018-02-07T19:06:14Z
Explainer: the symbolism of The Lady and the Unicorn tapestry cycle
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205015/original/file-20180206-14100-1j179ta.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Detail of 'Smell' c1500, from The lady and the unicorn series
wool and silk, 368 x 322 cm
Musée de Cluny – Musée national du Moyen Âge, Paris
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo © RMN-GP / M Urtado</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>The arrival of The Lady and the Unicorn tapestry cycle at the Art Gallery of New South Wales from February 10 presents a rare opportunity to see a work of art revered by specialists and enthusiasts alike. It has been called everything from the “Mona Lisa of the Middle Ages”, to “a national treasure of France”. Comprising six individual pieces and made around the year 1500, tapestries of such quality are rare, and few examples survive.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205025/original/file-20180206-14067-ig0p5q.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205025/original/file-20180206-14067-ig0p5q.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205025/original/file-20180206-14067-ig0p5q.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=703&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205025/original/file-20180206-14067-ig0p5q.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=703&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205025/original/file-20180206-14067-ig0p5q.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=703&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205025/original/file-20180206-14067-ig0p5q.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=883&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205025/original/file-20180206-14067-ig0p5q.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=883&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205025/original/file-20180206-14067-ig0p5q.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=883&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">‘Smell’ c1500, from The lady and the unicorn series.
wool and silk, 368 x 322 cm
Musée de Cluny – Musée national du Moyen Âge, Paris</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo © RMN-GP / M Urtado</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Materially, they are breathtaking. Their elaborate millefleur (“thousand flowers”) backgrounds form hypnotic patterns. The sumptuous stuff from which they are woven – wool and silk, dyed with rich, natural dyes – insulate the beholder (literally part of their original function.) They muffle sound, creating an atmosphere of quiet mediation. The air is stilled, and light is enriched by their surfaces, generating a transcendental aura that draws the beholder into their complex internal universe.</p>
<p>The cycle first came to public attention in the middle of the 19th century, discovered languishing in the decaying château de Boussac, located in central France. Gnawed at by rats and threatened by the dank conditions, they were rescued by the <a href="http://www.musee-moyenage.fr/">musée de Cluny</a> in 1882, bought for the princely sum of 25,500 francs.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205022/original/file-20180206-14089-1pdefq0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205022/original/file-20180206-14089-1pdefq0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205022/original/file-20180206-14089-1pdefq0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=623&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205022/original/file-20180206-14089-1pdefq0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=623&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205022/original/file-20180206-14089-1pdefq0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=623&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205022/original/file-20180206-14089-1pdefq0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=783&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205022/original/file-20180206-14089-1pdefq0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=783&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205022/original/file-20180206-14089-1pdefq0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=783&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">‘Touch’ c1500, from The lady and the unicorn series.
wool and silk, 373 x 358 cm
Musée de Cluny – Musée national du Moyen Âge, Paris</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo © RMN-GP / M Urtado</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The amount paid by the Cluny museum would have represented just a fraction of the original cost of their production, however. Tapestries of such quality would have commanded more than the annual income of all but the richest members of the nobility. More than a battleship. Far more than Michelangelo was paid to paint the Sistine ceiling.</p>
<p>Unsurprisingly then, the patron of the cycle came from a noble family with close ties to the French monarchy – the Le Viste. This is made clear from the heraldic symbols shown in the tapestries themselves. They were most likely <a href="https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/taps/hd_taps.htm">designed</a> by the “Master of Anne of Brittany” (so called because he designed a <a href="http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b52500984v/f14.item.zoom">book of hours</a> for the French queen, Anne of Brittany), a preeminent artist of the day.</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205027/original/file-20180206-14089-q0fvid.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205027/original/file-20180206-14089-q0fvid.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205027/original/file-20180206-14089-q0fvid.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205027/original/file-20180206-14089-q0fvid.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205027/original/file-20180206-14089-q0fvid.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205027/original/file-20180206-14089-q0fvid.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205027/original/file-20180206-14089-q0fvid.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205027/original/file-20180206-14089-q0fvid.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Detail of ‘Taste’ c1500, from The lady and the unicorn series.
wool and silk, 377 x 466 cm
Musée de Cluny – Musée national du Moyen Âge, Paris</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo © RMN-GP / M Urtado</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Though we might fixate on the artist who designed the composition, tapestries were made collaboratively, and the Lady and the Unicorn cycle was probably woven in the Southern Netherlands, not France, for the standard of weaving was higher there.</p>
<p>Given the effort and investment required to produce them, it is little surprise that the subject of the tapestries is complex – something worthy of more than a mere glance. The meaning of the cycle has been much debated. Experts now (generally) agree that they present a meditation on earthly pleasures and courtly culture, offered through an allegory of the senses.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205024/original/file-20180206-14104-19mms7i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205024/original/file-20180206-14104-19mms7i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205024/original/file-20180206-14104-19mms7i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205024/original/file-20180206-14104-19mms7i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205024/original/file-20180206-14104-19mms7i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205024/original/file-20180206-14104-19mms7i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205024/original/file-20180206-14104-19mms7i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205024/original/file-20180206-14104-19mms7i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Detail of ‘Taste’ c1500, from The lady and the unicorn series.
wool and silk, 377 x 466 cm
Musée de Cluny – Musée national du Moyen Âge, Paris</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo © RMN-GP / M Urtado</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Five of the tapestries each depict one of the senses (Touch, Taste, Smell, Hearing and Sight.) Each shows a woman (the “Lady” of the title) performing some action intended to exemplify the sense in question. In “Smell” the Lady is presented with a dish of carnations. In ‘Hearing’ she plays at an organ. In “Sight”, she holds a mirror, which reflects the image of a unicorn that rests in her lap.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205017/original/file-20180206-14083-1h8i2e1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205017/original/file-20180206-14083-1h8i2e1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=574&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205017/original/file-20180206-14083-1h8i2e1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=574&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205017/original/file-20180206-14083-1h8i2e1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=574&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205017/original/file-20180206-14083-1h8i2e1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=721&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205017/original/file-20180206-14083-1h8i2e1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=721&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205017/original/file-20180206-14083-1h8i2e1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=721&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">‘Sight’ c1500, from The lady and the unicorn series.
wool and silk, 312 x 330 cm
Musée de Cluny – Musée national du Moyen Âge, Paris</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo © RMN-GP / M Urtado</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Each of these gestures is presented with much charm and grace, conveyed through gently curving lines that show no sharp transitions. Yet, all is not as peaceful as it may seem. For there is a sixth tapestry. Though it is clear that all six are meant to form a unit, as each displays the same basic format and figures, the sixth work breaks the pattern of the other five.</p>
<p>Here, the Lady is depicted returning jewels (worn in the other tapestries) to a casket. She stands before a tent emblazoned with the words Mon Seul Désir (“my only desire”.) Her action does not connect with sensory or empirical experience, as with the other five, but is instead driven by some alternate force – cognition, moral reasoning, or emotion.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205014/original/file-20180206-14100-6k8coo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205014/original/file-20180206-14100-6k8coo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205014/original/file-20180206-14100-6k8coo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=494&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205014/original/file-20180206-14100-6k8coo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=494&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205014/original/file-20180206-14100-6k8coo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=494&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205014/original/file-20180206-14100-6k8coo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=620&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205014/original/file-20180206-14100-6k8coo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=620&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205014/original/file-20180206-14100-6k8coo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=620&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">‘Mon Seul Desir’ c1500, from The lady and the unicorn series.
wool and silk, 377 x 473 cm. Musée de Cluny – Musée national du Moyen Âge, Paris</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo © RMN-GP / M Urtado</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>A sixth sense</h2>
<p>A sixth sense is represented in this sixth tapestry, which presents a further way of knowing the world. This sense seems to have not one, but multiple dimensions. Intellectually, it may be thought of as common sense, or “internal” sense. Morally, it may be understood to encapsulate neo-platonic philosophy’s emphasis on the soul as the source of beauty (read the “good”.) In terms of courtly rhetoric, the sixth sense may be thought of as the heart, the source of courtly love and the home of complex or competing forces – free will, carnal passion, desire.</p>
<p>It is this sixth sense that leads the Lady to return her jewels to her casket. The gesture may be read as a sign of her virtue, an expression of the dominance of her reason over the physical sensations she experiences in the other tapestries, or, of the will as the centre of being. In this interpretation, the phrase Mon Seul Désir could be read not as “my sole desire” but “by my own free will”.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205021/original/file-20180206-14096-xysce4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205021/original/file-20180206-14096-xysce4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205021/original/file-20180206-14096-xysce4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205021/original/file-20180206-14096-xysce4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205021/original/file-20180206-14096-xysce4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205021/original/file-20180206-14096-xysce4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205021/original/file-20180206-14096-xysce4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205021/original/file-20180206-14096-xysce4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Detail of ‘Mon Seul Desir’ c1500, from The lady and the unicorn series.
wool and silk, 377 x 473 cm
Musée de Cluny – Musée national du Moyen Âge, Paris</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo © RMN-GP / M Urtado</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This multi-layered approach to interpreting the tapestries is echoed in other, localised features. For instance, the unicorn, which is represented in all six tapestries, embodies various, overlapping meanings. Unicorns were common heraldic animals, and frequently appear in courtly literature. Since the second century they were understood to represent chastity or purity. Certainly, this meaning connects with the reading of the Mon Seul Désir tapestry offered above.</p>
<p>The unicorn also acts as a canting emblem – that is, a pun on the name of the patron. Le Viste may be pronounced more like “Le Vite” in French, meaning fast. Fast, like a unicorn.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205019/original/file-20180206-14089-9f21am.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/205019/original/file-20180206-14089-9f21am.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205019/original/file-20180206-14089-9f21am.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205019/original/file-20180206-14089-9f21am.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205019/original/file-20180206-14089-9f21am.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205019/original/file-20180206-14089-9f21am.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/205019/original/file-20180206-14089-9f21am.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Detail of ‘Sight’ c1500, from The lady and the unicorn series.
wool and silk, 312 x 330 cm
Musée de Cluny – Musée national du Moyen Âge, Paris</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo © RMN-GP / M Urtado</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The inclusion of the unicorn also contributes to the sense that the tapestries intentionally encourage a viewer to evaluate types of knowledge or understanding. Representations of unicorns (both past and present, it could be argued) raise questions regarding how we come to know, and how empirical knowledge exists alongside tradition, culture, imagination, and creative expression.</p>
<p>More than a series of objects with remarkable aesthetic, historical and economic significance, the Lady and The Unicorn tapestries offer an opportunity to confront how different forms of understanding and experience overlap to form beliefs, shape perspectives, and precipitate action. </p>
<p><em>The Lady and the Unicorn tapestries will be at <a href="https://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/exhibitions/the-lady-and-the-unicorn/">the Art Gallery of NSW from February 10 to 24 June</a>. The gallery is mounting a <a href="https://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/exhibitions/the-lady-and-the-unicorn/related-events/">series of programs</a> around the tapestries.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/91325/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Mark De Vitis does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
The Lady and the Unicorn tapestries, woven around 1500, have been called the ‘Mona Lisa of the Middle Ages’. While they make for breathtaking viewing, their threads are encoded with much meaning.
Mark De Vitis, Lecturer in Art History , University of Sydney
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.