CONTENTS

INDULGE textiles to buy, collect or simply admire 78 HUNG, DRAWN AND QUARTERED The capital celebrates its wealth of creative talent with the London Design Festival, 13-21 September 2014, www.londondesignfestival.com

INDUSTRY from craft to commerce 28 FAIR SHARE Sarah Laurenson unravels the wide appeal of one of Scotland’s most distinctive knits 76 STEPPING OUT Ptolemy Mann follows Roger Oates as they take carpet in a new direction Portrait by Richard Nicholson

GLOBAL Textiles from around the world 15 FROM THE LAND COMES THE CLOTH Ian Lawson photographs the island of Harris and its tweed 19 THE SCOTS BLUE BONNET Each cavalier who loves honour and me, Let him follow the bonnets of bonnie Dundee Enid Gauldie has researched the history of this iconic headgear 66 SPLENDID ISOLATION Illustrated by Sarah Burwash We asked textile designers from the Scottish Islands to send us a ‘postcard’ from the place they call home

COHABIT stunning interiors beautifully photographed 60 HOME COMFORT Clare Lewis visits knit designer Katie Mawson and admires her cosy colour palette Photographed by the late Claire Richardson 66 CHECKMATE ANTA and others prove there’s no endgame in sight for tartan in interiors Written by Elizabeth Machin

ANECDOTE textiles that touch our lives 96 SCOTLAND THE BRAVE As the V&A announce their forthcoming Alexander McQueen retrospective Sarah Jane Downing examines tartan, a fabric that is a symbol, stereotype and fashion staple 70 THE GOLDEN FLEECE Meg Lukens Noonan’s quest to find the ultimate luxury fibre

ATTIRE critical reporting of fashion trends 30 POPULAR OPINION Dr Nicola Donovan considers the commercial success of fashion’s crowd pleaser; Giles Deacon London Fashion Week, 12-16 September, www.londonfashionweek.co.uk

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POPULAR OP I N I ON Nicola Donovan considers fashion’s crowd pleaser, Giles Deacon

Home grown in the Northern territories of Britain, designer Giles Deacon is now without any doubt whatsoever a senior member of fashion royalty. But in spite of his elevated status, he’s a man of the people and a million miles away from the high fashion propensity to appear aloof, arrogant and perhaps even disdainful.

Indeed, it is clear from the plentiful online footage that shows him chirruping happily about his thoughts on allsorts, that Deacon is a genial fellow endowed with an open and democratic approach to the business of being a fashion giant. Moreover, Deacon’s approach to fashion as something that everyone can enjoy, was demonstrated by his collaboration with the high street chain ‘New Look’. A more recent and perhaps unexpected pairing occurred between Deacon and the now mainstream purveyors of bedroom-time essentials ‘Anne Summers’. Not one for sitting back for a breather, unless it’s on the hand-built ‘Lipgloss’ sofa he conceived for the British furniture chain DFS, Deacon is almost incontinent in his creative output: last year he even designed decorated packaging for style conscious consumers of Muller yoghurt.

So, Deacon is a designer whose democratic attitude is filtered through market savviness: and importantly, he clearly understands contemporary consumers’ desires to acquire branded design. Although some might regard his infiltration of grocery and budget end fashion as a cynical exercise in retail annexation, he does nevertheless offer unusually wide-ranging access to his brand.

Initially a failed trainee marine biologist, Deacon began to develop his label as he finished a formal education at British fashion design’s hothouse,

Central St. Martin’s. Deacon learned how important popular culture often is to marketing fashion design and took inspiration from ancient TV sitcoms and sex-shop tack. He also absorbs high cultural influences, such as classical sculpture and historic portraits, which have appeared on the catwalk as large scale, digital prints. Deacon has featured trompe d’oile prints of life size classical semi-nude figures, partially swathed in drapery, and with hand drawn heads.

Like fellow establishment Brits Dame Vivienne Westwood and the late Alexander McQueen, Deacon displays a streak of willful eccentricity that sets his work apart from the classic conformity of French and American design. But unlike Westwood, whose idiosyncratic and complex approach to form, texture, scale and surface can result in her work being utterly bewildering to the inexperienced, or un-emboldened dresser, Deacon’s designs are pretty user-friendly. Certainly, they might sometimes be adorned by giant prints of marble backsides and massively scaled up cockroaches; but the shapes, or forms of his designs are generally easy to wear.

Deacon claims there is a ‘dark’ aspect to his design apparent in printed and 3D embellishments of ‘creepy’ wildlife, such as bats and beetles. But, given the late Alexander McQueen’s expert handling of genuinely uncanny, tortured, phantasmagorical and dangerous darkness, Deacon’s ‘gothnicity’ is probably better understood as a cartoonish, Hammer Horror theatricality. Nevertheless, with his fusion of playful, sometimes naughty-ish imagery, and classic but contemporary silhouettes, Deacon demonstrates a modern approach to fashion, which he aptly defines as “sophistipop”.

This combination of timelessness and market aware modernity appears again in Deacon’s big, cool knits for A/W 2014. Deacon commissioned Dalston based, urban knit outfit ‘Wool & the Gang’ to step in, log-sized needles at the ready, and deal with the chunky end of his knitwear collection. On the catwalks stompy models in big boots showed us that skinny biker jeans topped with huge cuddly jumper dresses create a relaxed vibe. True, the huge and front facing cartoon eyes on beanie hats might be a bit playful (or childish) for many grown-ups; but overall Deacon has his eye on reality.

Less ‘of the people’ but nonetheless spectacular were Deacon’s improbable gigantiknits from a few seasons ago. Constructed using a 3D ‘dragon stitch’ designed by hip knitwear label Sibling’s Syd Bryan, Deacon’s ‘dragon knits’ brought an extra aspect of engineering to the craft of winding wool around needles and pulling it through loops. Wearing one of these beautiful, monster knits must be something of a challenge too; after all they’re not your everyday, shrug-on cardi. Deacon seems to like a challenge, as exemplified by his position as a champion of ‘real’ women as models; which despite being a predisposition not welcomed by the fashion establishment, he continues to stand by.

Giles Deacon, formerly of luxe labels Bottega Veneto and Gucci is, for the most part, a very British, very commercial designer. He recognises that contemporary consumers want fashion designers to offer more reflection on the ‘real world’ than many are prepared to do – a sophistipopulist providing sophistipopulism for a sophistipopulace. London Fashion Week, 12-16 September 2014, www.londonfashionweek.co.uk, giles-deacon.com

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FA I R SHARE

Sarah Laurenson unravels the wide appeal of one of Scotland’s most distinctive knits

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Opposite: Child’s Jumper, C.1950s

Below: Prince Edward, Duke of Windsor, John St

Helier Lander, IllustratedLondonNews, 1925

Fair Isle is renowned for its knitted textiles and for being a place of astonishing natural beauty. In the northern half of the island, jagged cliffs stretching to upwards of 200 metres, plummeting valleys and heather hills dominate the landscape. This wildness settles into a relatively flat, rolling southern half, which is dotted with the homes and crofts of the people who live there, on the UK’s most remote inhabited island.

Thinking about Fair Isle as an island of two halves is a good way to think about the knitwear with which it is synonymous. The earliest written records of Fair Isle knitting, which date to the first half of the 19th century, tell us that it has always been a form of ‘native’ local dress and a product sold outside the island. The abstract motifs across bands of colour mean that the finished garment is both decorative and, as a result of the double layer of fabric created by the stranding technique through which the patterns are created, highly practical. The craft is bound with place, inseparable from this tiny island in the North Atlantic, but has evolved and been successful as a result of that island’s outside links.

Even the origins of Fair Isle knitwear are double-sided. The most enduring story relates to the wrecking of a Spanish Armada ship, ElGran Griffon, in 1588, when locals are said to have been influenced by the coloured knitwear of stranded sailors. This tale demonstrates the power of marketing stories, and their ability to dominate and distort history. A more widely accepted theory is that Fair Isle knitting grew up around the various styles of stranded colourwork that developed in Scandinavia and the Baltic regions. Fair Isle was an important stop on busy trade routes between these coastal communities, so it makes sense that shared influences led to the development of the island’s distinctive technique over an extended period.

The origins of Fair Isle knitwear will probably always be a mystery. But the defining feature of its development – its versatility – could not be clearer. From its rise to fame in the second half of the 19th century, right through to the present, Fair Isle knitwear has shifted with the ebb and flow of wider fashions.

In the 1920s, the fashionable and eminently handsome Prince Edward was photographed sporting Fair Isle knits on the golf course and was immortalised in a V-neck pullover in a portrait by John St Helier Lander in 1925. In the 1930s, a shop girl from Lerwick’s capital, Jeannie Jarmson, put shiny Rayon yarns to the test in a sweater which, as a result of its intricacy and innovative design, won her a prestigious prize from a national magazine. Strengthened links between Shetland and Norway during the Second World War saw a distinctly Scandinavian influence on patterns and garment shapes. And we’re all familiar with the images of the McCartneys and Twiggy in their Fair Isle yokes in the 60s.

It is this re-invention that continues to define Fair Isle knitting today. The endless creativity afforded by infinite combinations of pattern and colour mean that the technique is personal, exciting and highly addictive. Fair Isle knitting is not a dead tradition, revived for the 21st century – it remains a living, breathing craft.

In the south of Fair Isle, makers like Kathy 4

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THE SCOTS BLUE BONNET

“Each cavalier who loves honour and me. Let him follow the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee”

The Scots blue bonnet is famous in story and song, especially as worn by the romantic Highlander. Round knitted bonnets were once the universal head covering of men in Northern Europe. When, in the later Middle Ages, brimmed felt hats became generally adopted, the wearing of woollen bonnets was pushed out to the northern fringes. It lingered on until the present day, when it became the sign by which a Scotsman was everywhere identified.

Bonnets traditionally made in Dundee were not the neat little caps nowadays worn by the kilted fraternity. They were, in their heyday, serious affairs, built to keep out the extremes of weather. They were heavy and dense, weighing as much as 18 ounces and made of rough, coarse wool. Their circumference was much larger than the head so that they sat low on the crown and hung down over the ears, neck and forehead. The wide, wheel-like crown was gathered into a narrow headband which fitted closely round the brow. Sometimes an extra depth of band allowed a pattern of checks or stripes to be knitted in and sometimes there was a finishing touch of a ‘toorie’, a bobble made of wool ends; bright red, or more often – for the elderly and dignified – flatter and black to match the bonnet.

The blue bonnet was frowned upon by town society, perhaps because it was generally worn by the men who came down from the glens to trade or by the wild troops who followed one marauding leader after another in raids upon the town. The black bonnet was “douce” and respectable but it did not aspire to elegance. It is not surprising that, as they gained some prosperity, those who cared to cut a dash adopted a hat. A hat could be worn with an air, while the bonnet was practical, serviceable and sensible.

Just the same, a bonnet was a garment a man could grow fond of. After a little wearing it grew to fit the head, comfortable and moulded into shape. It was cheap enough for the poor, who owned little else. It was hard wearing and suited to the roughest weather but it was worn indoors as well as out. A man put on his bonnet as he put on his trousers and he kept it on all day. It was a receptacle as well as a protection. Bothy men, after each meal, would suck their horn spoons clean and tuck them in their bonnets where they lay unnoticed until wanted again, each man sure of his own.

The historic ‘bonnet of Bonnie Dundee’ was the regular headgear of working men, until cheaper machine production caused its replacement by the factory-made cloth cap. Even then the old name was retained and, in country parts at least, a man’s cap is still known as a ‘bunnet’.

Dundee was the first of the Scottish towns to have an Incorporated Trade of Bonnetmakers. Its ‘Seal of Cause’ is dated 1496, ten years before Edinburgh’s, 25 years before Aberdeen’s and at least a century before Stewarton’s. This suggests that, before the end of the 15th century, there were enough people crafting bonnets to require some regulation and need some quality control if the products of the trade were to be saleable.

The manufacture of a bonnet was not difficult but it was laborious. It involved a large number of successive processes almost all of which were carried out within the same household. Bonnet makers were independent and purchased and prepared their raw materials. The broad flat heavy bonnet made in Dundee was manufactured of coarse wool bought as fleece. The coarseness and cheapness of the raw material was one reason why bonnetmakers were thought of as a lowly trade, from which no one seems to have emerged to riches or high social position. They were producing a cheap headgear for working people and they could enter the trade with small outlay of capital, on poor quality fleece and with only the simplest of tools.

The wool was carded and spun in the cottages and dyed in their yards. The most common blue was at first woad, which grew wild in parts of Scotland but was often imported from Bordeaux and Dieppe. John Smollett was importing woad into Scotland at the beginning of the 16th century at £7 Scots a ton. David Wedderburn’s account book records frequent imports of dye stuffs with woads of different varieties, one marked with a double crescent, one with a rose, another one with a heart.

Another blue dye could be obtained from scabious, a wayside flower readily available to those unwilling to spend money on imported dye stuffs. But woad and scabious both gave fugitive and unsatisfactory blues compared with indigo which became available with the opening up of the West Indies. Indigo did not reach Scotland until the end of the 16th century, so bonnetmakers in Dundee had been operating without it for at least a century.

Both woad and indigo were imported in the form of hard balls of paste which had to be ground down into powder, then steeped in urine before the yarn was boiled in it. Woad gave a lightish blue, indigo a darker hue. To achieve black took several stages of dyeing over a period of days, with the addition of oak galls to build up black from blue.

Carrying out these processes as a domestic 4

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tland f Sco

National Galleries o

An incident during the visit of George the IV to Edinburgh, Sir David Wilkie, 1822, pencil and watercolour on paper, 137 x 189cm

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