CONTENTS

GLOBAL Textiles from around the world 62 THE POWER IS IN YOUR HANDS The future of the handloom India leads the world in skill, yet this creativity and expertise is under threat – contributions from Ruth Clifford, Uthra Rajgopal and Lila Tyabji 70 LOCAL COLOUR In Rajasthan there’s a rainbow around every corner Written by Terri Judd

COHABIT stunning interiors beautifully photographed 76 COMPANIES HOUSE Beth Smith talks to Antonia Graham about her home from home in Goa Photography by Mel Yates

ATTIRE critical reporting of fashion trends 42 PRECIOUS THREADS Stuart Forster visits the city of Kanchipuram to see what makes their silk saris so special 46 IT’S ALL IN THE DETAIL Manish Arora and Sabyasachi Mukherjee prove Indian couture can bridge continents Written by Divia Patel, Co-curator of The Fabric of India

CONCEPT textiles in fine art 16 BRANCHES OF RELIGION Deidi Von Schaewen’s studies of India’s sacred trees 32 THE FABRIC OF INDIA Curator Rosemary Crill shares her highlights from the V&A’s major autumn exhibition 56 THE BONES OF AN IDEA The light and shade of Rita Parniczky’s art Written by Corinne Julius, portrait by Richard Nicholson 58 BEYOND THE PALE Photographer Imke Klee explores the power and simplicity of white

ANECDOTE textiles that touch our lives 30 THE BANDANNA STORY How handkerchiefs hold the history of India’s export trade An excerpt from a new V&A publication The Fabric of India. Written by Avalon Fotheringham 36 GENUS ANTHERAEA Rosemary Crill tells how her idea for an Indian exhibition took flight Images by stylist Nelson Sepulveda and photographer Mark Eden Schooley 96 FABRIC SWATCH No 26: Chikankari Our regular contributor Sarah Jane Downing explores an Indian fabric almost too delicate to survive. Illustrated by Katrin Coetzer

INDUSTRY from craft to commerce 26 HANDMADE IN DHARAVI In Conversation with fashion designer Viola Parrocchetti

BRANCHES OF RELIGION Deidi Von Schaewen’s studies of India’s Sacred Trees

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LOCAL COLOUR

In Rajasthan there’s a rainbow around every corner

Vibrant, dazzling, vivid, garish – none of these words do Rajasthan justice. Stand in a market place in Jodhpur or Jaipur and search long and hard for a single shade that is not in view. Every street is a sensory assault, from lime to mint, saffron to crimson, turquoise to indigo, magenta to lavender.

This regal Indian state is known for its blue, pink and gold cities (Jodhpur, Jaipur and Jaisalmer respectively) and for the splendour of its forts and Maharajas' palaces, where the sun shines through emerald, ruby and sapphire Belgian glass windows, to dance on paintings of past opulence.

But it is not just Rajasthan's past that shines in a hundred hues. Its present is equally vibrant. Drive down a hot desert road and suddenly there is a shock of brilliance: a group of ladies circled under a tree, their saris crimson, fuchsia and tangerine. Nearby, old men with impressive moustaches gossip while sporting fluorescent turbans that match the yellow, green and pink of highlighter pens.

And behind each colour is a story, from the electric blue of the Brahmin houses to the holy orange of the Sadhus. The Rajput warrior class wear saffron turbans to denote chivalry, the Brahmin scholastic men candy pink, the nomads black; while a white sari might indicate a widow. One combination of red and yellow can only be worn by a woman who has born a son. In spring the favoured Hindu

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COMPANIES HOUSE Mel Yates photographs Antonia Graham’s home from home in Goa

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Below right: Ceremonial hanging, c.1340–80, Cotton, block-printed, mordant-dyed and resist-dyed, Gujarat, for export to Indonesia (used in Sulawesi), 95 x 512 cm Below left: Ceremonial hanging, c.1450–1500, India, Cotton, mordant-dyed and resist-dyed, Gujarat, for export to Indonesia (used in Sulawesi), 550 x 102 cm

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In a nation that celebrates colour like no other, Rajasthan takes the spectrum to extremes.

The cities of blue, pink and gold are just the start of the 'Land of Kings'

festival of Holi is an orgy of colour as people race through the streets showering each other in bright powders and paints.

In a nation known for its colourful quality, Rajasthan outshines its neighbours. Even its flag is a rainbow. The name of India's largest state translates as the “Land of Kings”. It’s the home of the princely Maharajas and the Rajput warriors, who claimed to originate from the sun, moon and fire. It is known as much for its fearsome inhabitants and bloody battles as it once was for opulence. To this day, men wear the earrings that denote their Rajput warrior caste.

So, it's slightly bemusing that when Maharaja Ram Singh decided in 1876 that there was only one colour to paint the city of Jaipur to welcome the Prince of Wales (and future king of England, Edward VII), he chose a pretty pink. From then on, the main streets of the “City of Victory” have remained a delicate salmon, most spectacularly evident in the beauty of the 1799 Hawa Mahal, or Palace of the Winds, with its façade of delicate screens and gold adornments.

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Jaipur, the capital of Rajasthan, is the most visited by tourists, but still feels untouched enough to seem like a venture into the unknown. Battered Ambassador cars and adorned lorries may vie for space with bicycles and auto rickshaws in the crazed mayhem of its streets, but so do elephants, camels, curlyeared Marwari horses and pigs. Those sacred cows can still bring a main thoroughfare to a screeching halt, simply by lazily stepping out across a junction. Impertinent long-tailed monkeys leap across the roofs and perform commando descents down the front of pink buildings to greet observers.

A slightly darker shade of coral, the City Palace is an Aladdin's cave of treasures, bejewelled daggers and pistols or ornate gowns the size of tents – for some of the more portly princes. Within the museum are two giant silver urns bigger than India's tiny Tata car. These were used by the current Maharaja's grandfather, Madho Singh II, to transport the water of the Ganges to Britain (as he wasn't prepared to drink any other). Other curiosities include the intricate metal ball, with a candle inside used for night time polo matches by Maharaja Sawai Man Singh II. To his hosts’ consternation, he actually died on the playing fields of England.

Centuries blend into each other here. The pale yellow structures that stretch skywards at Jantar Mantar could be modern works of art; but this is an observatory built in 1728 by Maharaja Jai Singh II, where giant sundials tell the time to within two seconds. It’s here that astrologers assess the compatibility of young couples who want to wed and see how many of 36 "likes or dislikes" they have in common. Too few and the marriage is doomed; but too many would also be an inauspicious start.4

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The parallels are not perfectly aligned but something about Antonia Graham brings to mind a Mary Wesley novel. It could be her London home which is filled to the ceiling with Indian textiles, assorted antiques and her rather dashing red-headed lodger who lives on the top floor. More likely it’s her air of independence and disregard for convention. A retail pioneer and consummate self starter, now 73 Antonia travels more than ever, “There’s lots of travel in our family,” (ethnographic textile expert Joss Graham is her brother) and she has no intention of slowing down.

A trip to Vietnam is planned for the next few weeks and though it gave her a moment’s pause – “It’s four years since I last went to Vietnam and I did wonder if I still could,” – she said to herself “I can go because I have friends there.” Even if she didn’t, Antonia would make some: “I like travelling by myself,” she declares, “you meet people.”

The journey Antonia makes most frequently is to Goa where 12 years ago she bought a dilapidated house with her son Jamie. It was the resolution of a long held, if slightly vague, plan. “I always thought I’d end up in Goa,” offers Antonia as the basis for the decision. “It’s a laid back, gentle place – someone said there is ‘a softness to life’ here.” Dreamy as that sounds, making it a reality necessitated overcoming a few real life obstacles. “In India you don’t have estate agents, you have ‘finders’. I spotted the house while visiting a friend. It hadn’t been lived in for 10 years and had these wonderful grey-green shutters. Our finder located the owner in Mumbai. We all got on really well but it took time – at one point all the paperwork was lost in a monsoon.”4

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Below: Bed or wall hanging, c.1700, Cotton with silk embroidery, Gujarat, for export to Europe, 190.5 x 164 cm throughout India. Canopies, fabric screens and even whole tents are used for outdoor gatherings and decorated in different ways according to the region in which they are made, used and the level of patronage available to their owner. The appliqué roomsetting is in the same tradition as the beautiful floral tent owned by Tipu Sultan of Mysore, which is also on show and gives an idea of the lavish surroundings enjoyed by Indian rulers even when on the move, on campaign or a day out. Royal tents would be beautifully furnished with decorative floor-covers and wall-hangings, just as in a permanent palace.

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Textiles made for rulers or wealthy patrons were not necessarily the most ostentatious. While we often associate the maharajas of the 19th century with heavily encrusted garments covered with gold-thread embroidery, the taste of earlier rulers was much more subtle. They often valued fine materials such as Bengali muslin or undyed Kashmiri shawls over lavish decoration, even if those simple but exquisite materials might be teamed with a necklace of huge pearls or diamonds.

Mughal paintings often show the emperors and their courtiers with shawls draped around their shoulders. Originally in undyed natural white or brown tones, Kashmiri shawls only started to be decorated in the 17th century, with a simple row of flowers at each end: these evolved into the stylised floral motif called the buta or boteh. Widely imitated in Britain and

France it became known to us as the Paisley pattern, obscuring its Indian origins.

India’s textiles have been sent abroad to foreign buyers for many centuries, and one of the great skills of the Indian makers was in adapting techniques and designs to suit each market’s taste and demands. This extended to the feel and even the smell of some export textiles – if the ikat telia rumals from South East India did not have the right smell and oily texture it meant that the traditional processes of steeping the cloth in gingelly oil (a type of sesame oil) prior to dyeing had not been carried out, and the cloth would be rejected by consumers in the Middle East and West Africa. The flower-patterned cottons which came to be known as chintz in the West used the same techniques of resist and mordant-dyeing as textiles made for local South Indian patrons, but with different designs.

The hand skills of India’s textile makers have been undermined since the early 19th century but designers and independent organisations are working to ensure their survival. Today contemporary Indian designers continue to adapt and re-fashion traditional techniques: like this exhibition, they are inspired by the past while looking to the future. The Fabric of India, 3 October-10 January 2016, co-curated by Rosemary Crill and Divia Patel, supported by Good Earth India, V&A Museum, South Kensington, Cromwell Road, London SW7 2RL, T: +44 (0)20 7942 2000, www.vam.ac.uk

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