THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD Madda Studio honouring tradition through minimalistic design
The January fiesta honouring Saint Sebastian, the patron saint of sheep, has particular importance among the Tzotzil speaking Mayans of Chamula in the south-eastern state of Chiapas, Mexico. A couple of days before the fiesta, sheep owners, both men and women, visit their church carrying ribbons, salt and tzelpat, a shrub used as fodder for goats, sheep and deer. They first approach one of the annual cargo holders sponsoring the fiesta, and hand him the ofrenda (offering). The cargo holder takes it and first touches the robe of Saint John’s statue, before placing the ribbons in a book hanging from the saint’s hand. The worshippers then address each saint in turn. To Sebastian they say, ‘Heed here, Lord Saint Sebastian, please watch over my sheep, make sure that nothing happens to them.’ They then address Saint John and say ‘Please Lord Shepherd, take care of my sheep every day, wherever they wander on this earth, wherever they drink water’. The sheep owners return home with the blessed offering, and place the ribbons around the necks of their youngest sheep, assured that the flock is protected. This tradition has made eating sheep meat taboo. The sheep are never killed, only left to die of old age. The shepherds, who are all women, are also weavers, and they say of their flock, ‘they are our brethren, they dress us, if we were to kill or eat them, the Yajval (Lord or Patron) would get very angry and would not give us any wool.’ Sheep are not native to the Americas, they were introduced shortly after the Spanish conquest The Spanish landowners who
distributed the sheep in Chamula, wary they might be eaten during the continuous famines, instilled these beliefs which are still held sacred. Unlike llama and alpaca, the domesticated woolbearing animals of the Andes, sheep were a novelty in Middle America. According to a 16th century Spanish-Tzotzil dictionary, they were named tushnuk or tunim chij, cotton-deer, in allusion to their physical similarity to deer, and their cotton-like fibre-giving quality. Today they are simply chij, sheep, and deer are tetikal chij, mountain sheep. Spanish landowners exacted high tributes from the Mayans, which included spun wool and weavings. However, in this region they also selectively introduced certain parts of European technology used to transform wool such as shearing scissors and carding combs. These were made in the city of San Cristobal de las Casas. What was not introduced in Chamula was the spinning wheel or the treadle loom. Instead, the shepherd-weavers continued to use the spindlewhorl and backstrap loom, which were both portable and compatable with being productive during the hours invested in shepherding. Indeed, this may be why it was not practical to introduce the ‘modern’ wheel and loom in Chamula, whereas this technology was in use in the urban centre of San Cristobal, 10 km away. Adapting to this new fibre, the spindle grew to twice the size of the cotton spindle to adjust to the longer, thicker wool and the waist loom4
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REBOZO Shawls of significance
At the age of 22, Frida Kahlo married fellow artist Diego Rivera. She wore an extravagant floorlength skirt with patterned tiers, a bow in her hair and wrapped herself in a fringed rebozo scarf. Kahlo passed away in 1954, but her iconic image never disappeared. Feminist movements and popular culture have often resurrected her image on protest posters and modern memorabilia in which her rebozo shawl takes centre stage. It formed a part of her unique personal wardrobe, drawing attention to her Mexican roots and hybrid heritage. However, this garment predates the artist’s flamboyant style and is enmeshed with Mexico’s artisanal past and textile future. Rebozos are long and loose rectangular shawls made from a single piece of uncut cloth. They can be worn in a variety of ways, either covering the hair, layered across the torso or off the shoulders like a modern pashmina. Kahlo would pair hers with casual and elegant outfits alike and draped her rebozo across her chest with one side hanging longer than the other. Rebozos emerged during the Spanish Conquest of Mexico in the sixteenth century. They are products of this colonial period, combining native influences such as the agave leaf spun shawl, used to carry heavy loads, and the more tailored Spanish mantilla coat. At this tense time, punctuated by the arrival of new European travellers, the rebozo quickly became an indicator of social status in a richly diverse colonial community. For instance, the draping of the shawl could distinguish a married woman from a single one and the choice between
a lustrous silk and a more modest cotton, pointed towards the wearer’s wealth. Later on, after the invention of cheaper synthetic fabrics such as rayon in the nineteenth century, decorative rebozos became more affordable and were eventually found across all layers of Mexican society. During the Mexican Civil War in the 1910s, the rebozo acquired a new meaning as a symbol of revolution; an image forged by the Adelitas women who fought for their country, weapon in hand and their child tucked in a rebozo. Skilled weavers in indigenous Mexican communities have created rebozos of incredible beauty with the native ‘telar de otate’ (backstrap loom). The technology is simple, but the textile is complex. The body-tensioned loom requires intense communication between the fabric and one’s own movement. Brocaded decorations demand further attention and fine flowers and bold geometric motifs are made with the supplementary weft threads. The shawl’s length can range from 1.5 to 3.5 metres and a single long warp can create as many as thirty rebozos. Admired for their bright and eclectic colours, rebozos often use natural dyes including indigo and cochineal. The fine patterns are achieved with a technique called ‘ikat’, most commonly known in Mexico as ‘jaspe’, in which weavers create colour sequences by tie-dying selected warp threads before they are woven. These different threads are firstly divided into sets, then bound together in the desired pattern and finally dipped into a dye-bath. Once carefully set up on the loom, the warp
threads of the finished rebozo are then knotted at both ends to form an intricate finger-woven fringe called ‘rapacejos’. Today, rebozos are seen less frequently in cities, but they remain popular in Mexico’s rural regions. The regional rebozos largely differ in their Oaxaca, Chiapas and Guerrero styles and the colour, pattern and quality of the weave help to locate their provenance. For example, a tightly woven black and indigo rebozo is typical of the Michoacán mountainous region. Beyond its demanding weaving technique, the rebozo has been widely recognised as a cultural symbol related to concepts of gender and nation. To Spanish speakers, the verb rebozo means to cover oneself, but the shawl has many names in indigenous communities too; in the Aztec language of Nahuatl it was referred to as ‘ciua nequealtlapacholoni’ translating as ‘that which touches a woman’. The Mexican painter Dr. Atl even described rebozos as emblematic of his country, tracking the wearer throughout her life; ‘[it is] a temporary cradle for children of the poor, a kerchief with which women dry their tears, an improvised basket...The beauty of a Mexican woman is to be judged by her braids and her rebozo...it is my nomination for the flag of Mexico.’ Rebozos represent the multi-dimensionality of textiles and the deeply personal and emotional attachments wearers can form to them. Rebozos protect loved ones from the cold, carry precious goods, mark an anniversary and cover scars and wounds like Kahlo’s amputated leg.
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Right; Anni Albers, Study for Camino Real, ca. 1967, Gouache and diazotype on paper, 44x 40 cm
Mountain College in North Carolina. This was the place that hosted part of the Bauhaus diaspora. Josef and Anni Albers had arrived the year before, igniting a creative revolution at the school in their teaching on textiles and colour. Meeting Porset at Black Mountain College inspired Albers and her husband to start thinking about Latin America. The three became good friends and it was Porset who invited the Albers to visit Cuba in 1934, and later Mexico, Peru and Chile. For Anni Albers Latin America represented a place of creativity. Everything from the wealth of pre-Columbian cultures and their impressive architecture, the traditional communities and their folk art expressions, to the leading painters of the time, all of them were to influence her work during those years. The traditional weavers of Peru and their ancestral knowledge were an essential part of the spirit of Anni Alber’s work, but Mexico left a powerful imprint on her aesthetic approach. She wrote to her friends Niba and Wassily Kandisky, ‘Mexico was a country like no other, temples, ancient sculpture, the whole country is full of it…and folk art, still very much alive and good’. Starting from their experience in Mexico, the Albers together began an extensive collection of pre-Hispanic sculpture
that was exhibited at Yale University in 1970 when she was a resident artist there. The Albers were in Mexico for the last time in 1965 but in 1967, the architects Ricardo Legorreta and Luis Barragán travelled to meet them in New Haven with the intention of commissioning work from Josef for Hotel Camino Real, a large commission that Legorreta was leading with Barragán’s advice. The hotel was planned to be one of the hosting
hotels for the 1968 Mexican Olympics. The hotel, inspired by colonial monastic architecture and pre-Hispanic constructions became a symbol of the national amalgamation of historical influences, combined with dash of modern spirit. The Mexican architects were fascinated by the work of Annie Albers and she received a commission for a wall hanging for the hotel bar. The piece was made from industrial felt in red
tones. This was an unprecedented palette in Alber’s work, and the motifs were a series of triangles that invited association with the geometric figures of Montealban in Oaxaca. The piece was in place for the opening of the hotel and can be seen in the photographs that commemorated the event. This textile work was one of a number of pieces Legorreta curated for the hotel, which also included a mural by Rufino Tamayo, a piece by Mexico-based painter and sculptor Mathias Goeritz, and a spectacular sculpture by the American artist Alexander Calder. Alber’s wall hanging disappeared sometime in the eighties. Happily, it was recently recovered, restored and replaced on the wall where it was intended to hang, in homage to the profound love that Albers felt for Mexico.4
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HOMAGE TO THE CUBE Luis Barragán explores colour theory
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At first glance, textiles and architecture appear to be poles apart. Architecture is associated with density and mass, while fabric is usually perceived as flimsy, lightweight and frail. Yet textiles have a long history as an architectural material, and continue to play a significant role in architecture today. Colours, textures and patterns inspire key elements of architectural design, often determining the sense of presence a building can convey. So while robust structures and tactile fabrics may seem to be distinct, or even oppositional, there are threads that bind the two. The relationship between textiles and architecture can be observed in the work of Mexican architect Luis Barragán, whose buildings were imbued with points of reference that extended out beyond the structures he designed. Launching his career at a time when architects were pioneering functionalist styles and understated modernist designs, Barragán
was unusual for his use of colour. He introduced the intense colours of Mexico to architecture, using natural tones seen in the country’s landscapes, and vibrant hues taken from traditional textiles. Barragán had practised as an architect in Europe during the 1930s and 1940s. When he returned to Mexico, he brought the clean lines of European Modernism with him. Despite his admiration for the modernist aesthetic, Barragán’s philosophy was at odds with Le Corbusier’s vision of the house as ‘a machine for living’, a mandate many European and North American architects subscribed to. When he returned to Mexico, Barragán gravitated away from European influences and began creating an indigenous Mexican style. His style was partially inspired by artist Rufino Tamayo and interior designer Jesús Reyes Ferreira, two men who placed vibrant colours, rich textures and textile knowhow at the heart of their work.
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COHABIT stunning interiors beautifully photographed 54 HOMAGE TO THE CUBE Luis Barragán explores colour theory by Bradley Quinn EVENTS dates for your diary 13 July 2019, Lines of Thought: 3-D Threads for Textiles with Michael Brennand-Wood, London 20 July 2019, Patching and Mending with Tom Of Holland, London, 27 July 2019, Pin Cushions with Ruth Singer, London 7 September 2019, From Textile To Metalwork with Julia Griffiths Jones, London 14 September 2019, Folk Tales with Anne Kelly, London 8-15 August 2020, Julia Griffiths Jones, From Textile To Metal, Chateau Dumas, France 8-15 August 2020, Mandy Pattullo, Recycle, Repair and Reconsider, Chateau Dumas, France 22-29 August 2020, Susie Vickery, Making Historic French Mannequins, Chateau Dumas, France 22-29 August 2020, Emily Jo Gibbs, Illustrative pictures, Chateau Dumas, France PRIZES THIS ISSUE One hundred Tetetlán commemorative canvas tote bags www.tetetlan.com Three Casilda Mut embroidered Arquelia blouses, worth £120 each www.casildamut.com.mx A luxury Angela Damman bag, worth £365 www.angeladamman.com A Madda Studio silk Nuno pillow, worth £270 www.maddastudio.com
INFORM the latest news, reviews and exhibition listings
05 BIAS /CONTRIBUTORS A letter from the founder, Polly Leonard and comments from our contributors 07 NEWS Wallace Sewell’s Bauhaus blanket, The Museum of Science and Industry, Timorous Beasties at Harewood House, Modernist British Print Making at Dulwich Picture Gallery 09 CLEAN CLOTHES Selvedge searches for sustainable solutions
84 READ ‘Woad to This’ and the Cloth Trade of Frome by Carolyn Griffiths, Frome Society for Local Study, reviewed by Jenny Balfour-Paul, Vitamin T: Threads and Textiles in Contemporary Art, Phaidon, reviewed by Jessica Hemmings 86 VIEW Textile Traces: Personal Stories in Cloth, Llantarnam Grange, reviewed by Eirlys Penn. Sara Berman’s Closet, National Museum of American
Jewish History, reviewed by JoAnn Greco. Camp: Notes on Fashion, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, reviewed by Magali An Berthon. Sorolla: Spanish Master of Light, National Gallery, reviewed by Liberty Leonard-Shaw. Ella Doran: Sheep to Seat, Fleece to Floor, Yorkshire Sculpture Park, reviewed by Jane Audas. 95 COMING NEXT West: Textiles on the wild side
SELVEDGE ('selvid3) n. 1. finished differently 2. the non-fraying edge of a length of woven fabric. [: from SELF + EDGE]
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