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Knitting, crochet, and embroidery are just a few of the ways one can transform thread and yarn into textile, and they’re techniques that have been around for centuries. An excavation in Egypt unearthed a knitted sock that dates to the 11th century CE; and today, museums around the world house similar examples of ancient knitwear that looks remarkably modern: chunky knit, multihued socks with playful color blocking in jaunty colors that one could easily mistake for a pair by The Elder Statesman. Given this long history during which time, quite frankly, very few innovations (apart from mechanization) have been made, it’s a treat when someone comes around with a novel approach. Here, we highlight three textile artisans doing interesting things with the humble needle and thread.
“By now, signs of the Anthropocene are ubiquitous. In Porto, beaches are crowded with trash that comes ashore, especially when there’s a big storm,” says Portuguese textile artist Vanessa Barragão, creator of awe-inspiring and complex tapestries. Hers are oceanic and naturalistic-inspired works that reflect themes of climate change, the perils of conspicuous consumption, and a celebration of the natural world. Barragão’s coral reef tapestries, for example, are crafted with blanched yarns (like the global warming-induced bleaching of our own coral reefs) and combine a layering of various textile techniques—latch hooking, felting, knitting, macrame, and crochet—for a three-dimensional effect that juts out in front of the viewer and commands attention. One piece features high pile shags that wilt downwards, knitted loops of bulbous barnacles, and macramé fringes every so often. All of these works begin with a plain jute canvas and all of her materials are deadstock, sourced from local factories. Formally trained with a degree in fashion design, Barragão credits her grandmother for teaching her almost every technique. Barragão doesn’t sketch; her technique is completely artisanal. “I create while I realize the artwork,” she says. And when she’s not at work in her studio, formerly a plumber’s workshop (“there’s a bunch of metal pipes left over”) she can be found playing the ukulele in Porto’s city park or by the sea. Perhaps getting more inspiration for her next series?
“In my sleep, I had ‘ision’ which had no imagery: a loud voice said to me, ‘you have to knit and it needs to be big’,” explains Jacqueline Fink, “I woke up completely terrified but thought to myself…there was no way I was going to ignore those words.” And so Fink did exactly that: She started knitting big—really big. So large that she produced her own XL needles, first carved out of Tasmanian oak and later using PVC pipes. She created blankets, tapestries, and large-scale installations that feel more like art pieces than home goods. Based out of Sydney, Australia, Fink explains her locality has much to do with her work. “We are blessed with a stunning harbor and clean beaches,” she says, “but Sydney can also feel very frenetic and my work is a form of escapism.” More technicality, Australia and nearby New Zealand is where she sources high grade merino wools for her work. Much like her custom-made knitting needles, the yarn she uses is anything but run of the mill—and it’s not actually yarn. For her oversized knitwear, Fink prefers unspun wools, which are naturally colored (if she knits a chestnut-colored blanket, that’s the color of the sheep’s fleece, and “it can take a farmer over two years to accumulate”) and felted together for strength. All this goes into create Fink’s extra-large (calling them chunky would be an understatement) knitted works that require needles the size of beach parasol stands and sometimes just Fink’s arms. “It’s quite a work-out,” she says. “Extreme knitting is not for the faint of heart that’s for sure.”
Once relegated to Girl Scout vests and varsity jackets, patches and embroidered decals can now be spotted on catwalks the world over, especially those belonging to Gucci. But for those wanting a denim jacket festooned with patches of their own selection, the offerings are ample at Ellie Mac, a line of patches made in Brighton, England by Ellie Macdonald. Though her line is just five years old, Macdonald’s history with textile began early on: she belonged to a family of vintage fabric and clothing collectors and remembers sewing as a young girl. “According to my mum, I started experimenting with hand embroidery at around 8 years old.” MacDonald then cut her teeth at the prominent English embroidery firm Jenny King (who counts Vivienne Westwood, Erdem, and Stella McCartney as clients). In 2016, she was approached by Vogue contributor Sarah Mower to showcase her embroidery works at Cornwall’s Port Eliot Festival [https://www.vogue.com/article/protest-fashion-britain-port-eliot-festival]. Soon after, Macdonald decided to launch a website, selling fantastical flora and fauna iron-on patches all made by hand with the aid of her Vintage Irish Singer machine. Her site features a melange of motifs—dainty cherry blossoms, velvety sea shells, leafy monstera fronds, and pink prawns—with the same easy application of versions you’d find at any crafts store, but with a sophisticated edge and a bit of quirk à la Alessandro Michele. Think of it as a monogram, but with a lot more personality than your initials could ever accomplish.
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