THREADS OF MEMORY
GHADA AMER AND REZA FARKHONDEH, CONRAD ATKINSON, DOUG BOSCH, LOUISE BOURGEOIS,
AMBREEN BUTT, ORLY COGAN, ELISA D'ARRIGO. MARGUERITE DAY, ELENA DEL RIVERO, LESLEY DILL,
TRACEY EMIN, FRED FLEISHER, AMANDA GUEST, KENT HENRICKSEN, NENE HUMPHREY, NINA
KATCHADOURIAN, KE-SOOK LEE, SARAH LOVITT, BONNIE LUCAS, CHINA MARKS, MERIDITH MCNEAL,
KATHERINE PORTER, LILIANA PORTER, MICHAEL RAEDECKER, ELAINE REICHEK, RACHEL SELEKMAN,
DONNA SHARRETT, MIMI SMITH, STEPHAN SOLLINS
As digital technologies increasingly dictate how we
see the world around us and how we communicate
with one another, a growing number of contemporary
artists seek to reaffirm the human presence
through their use of traditional handwork such
as quilting, embroidery, knitting and crocheting. The nostalgia
associated with the simple act of sewing, in particular, resonates
for artist and viewer alike. It reminds us of the past—of our
mothers or grandmothers making and mending clothes by
hand, when time did not seem so rushed. This quiet domestic
task is somehow both productive and comforting.
The recent proliferation of sewing and embroidery in the
work of contemporary artists—both male and female—has
spawned a concomitant rise in the number of exhibitions
devoted to such work. Among the most widely acclaimed
perhaps is the Whitney Museum's 2002 exhibition of quilts
by African-American women from the rural community of
Gees Bend, Alabama. Here, the handicraft of four generations
represented the essence of life in this small southern town.
Although their materials and tools were simple, the expressive
artistry of Gees Bend quilt makers—all descendants of slaves—
appealed to a wide audience and attracted serious critical
attention. Recycled fabrics and used clothing—the stuff of daily
life—were the medium. Thread was the "glue" that held the
stitched pieces together, marking the creative progress of each
artist. Memories, both personal and communal, were inherent
in each of these objects, so tenderly wrought by hand.
The impetus for Threads of Memory had its roots in the
mid-1990s when I first started to notice artists turning to
needlecraft and the use of thread as an expressive and markmaking
device, a trend that seemingly has accelerated after
9/11/2001. Thematically and conceptually, their work is richly
varied—paralleling the pluralistic tendencies in art-making today.
For many of these artists, thread symbolically references the hand.
For others, the repetitive push/pull of sewing provides an inner
calm in the wake of post 9/11 trauma. Through the linear reach
of each binding stroke, thread also infers a yearning for cohesion
and inter-connectedness in a chaotic and uncertain world.
Threads of Memory features the work of 30 artists for whom
the medium of thread resonates personally as a reference
to specific life experiences or to the creative impulse and,
universally, as a signifier of the human spirit. It is inherently
rhythmic, meditative—even transcendent. Yet it can also be
erotic, expressive, desperate—even violent. Although the
expressive range of thread might seem limited, these artists
have adapted the medium to their individual needs and
produced work of unusual diversity of form, tactility and
content. For each of them, memory is as deeply embedded
in the objects they make as it is in the work of the Gees Bend
artisans. Varying in scale from the intimate "samplers" of
Tracey Emin to the room-size installation of Meridith McNeal,
the artists in this exhibition examine the metaphoric fabric of
their lives through the innovative use of thread.
Historically, samplers served as educational tools for young
women. As they became adept at needlework, they also learned
basic lessons of life. In addition to the usual alphabets and
numbers, text in samplers provided messages about morality,
codes of behavior, aesthetics and the accepted notions of
femininity and domesticity. Looking to this tradition, which
had its roots in 19th century European and American samplers,
Stephen Sollins often appropriates found linens. In his diptych,
Elegy (Let me live in a house…), 2004, he removed the original
threads from existing samplers, replacing them with a modernist-
inspired pattern of his own. The instructional penciled
message of the samplers can still be seen—the pentimenti of
a voice from the past: "Let me live in a house by the side of
the road and be a friend to man." In another work, Untitled
(threadsuns), 2005, the artist arranges 105 hand-crocheted
handkerchiefs dating from the 1940s and 50s in a minimalist,
grid-like pattern. On each of these objects, an erratic, meandering gray line of tightlysewn
stitches traces the
irregular outline of the
right edges of 105 poems
by the Romanian-born
surrealist poet, Paul
Celan.1 Sollins sees the
handkerchiefs as human
surrogates; each one
carries the imprint of its
owner just as the threads
contain the memory of
each verse of poetry.
Vintage printed fabrics
and found embroideries
appeal to Orly Cogan,
best known for her erotic
embroidered scenes of
young women flirting or flaunting their sexuality. Opting for
sugar-sweet needlework on tablecloths, bureau scarves or table
runners dating from the 1940s, she acts as collaborator with
unknown women from the past, updating their work with an
edgy overlay of provocative images of the archetypal seductress.
Her modern day femmes fatales freely engage in the pleasures
of life, trading "Home Sweet Home" for the life of a party girl.
Boldly executed in colorful thread, her stitches are hurried and
expressive, lacking the disciplined order of vintage works that
women once labored over so diligently. Subversive yet oddly
respectful, Cogan's dialogue with the history implicit in these
objects is particularly complex in her installation, Detached,
2005, where fragments of female nudes with Gen X attitude
bare all while cavorting on old-fashioned embroidery hoops.
Fabrics with a history have special resonance for Louise
Bourgeois whose Untitled, 2002, is a patchwork head of worn
tapestry fragments—keepsakes from the artist's past. Growing
up outside of Paris, where her parents had a thriving business
restoring tapestries from abandoned or disused chateaux,
Bourgeois often assisted her mother, an expert weaver, who
taught her the basic sewing skills. In this iconic portrait, she
embraces the medium with renewed interest, presenting a
timeless female figure. Like an ancient, omniscient oracle or
primitive priestess, she looks toward the unknown with a
sideways glance, mouth open wide in tentative wonder, awe
or fear at what life may deliver next. At age 94, Bourgeois's
fascination with memories of her own past persists as she
continues to use vintage fabric, garments and linens, some of
which she has been saving since childhood.3 Among her recent
projects is Ode `a L'Oubli ("Ode to Forgetfulness"), an editioned
book from 2004, incorporating replicas of these fabrics with
layers of hand and machine needlework.
Like Louise Bourgeois, China Marks also uses vintage textiles.
Searching through second-hand shops and flea markets, she
selects fabrics with existing narratives such as reproduction
French toiles. In Sea Change, 2005, she adeptly transforms
the quaint vignettes with erotic and playful machine-stitched
elements. A lighthouse becomes a phallus, figures sport heads
of animals, birds and so on; the past is transformed into a
modern-day fantasy gone awry—a not-so-subtle allusion to the
chaotic state of the world today. In a similar manner, Kent
Henricksen digitally embroiders his own subversive images rife
with political commentary on fabrics inspired by the romantic
pastoral scenes commonly found on toile. Though his hooded
figures from The Childrens' Fables series of 2005 seem to frolic
innocently, they strike a more sinister note. Among the images
that spring to mind are the hood-shrouded Iraqi soldiers from
Abu Ghraib prison or midnight raids by members of the Ku
Klux Klan.
Using thread as a symbolic device to bind with or encapsulate
the past, Bonnie Lucas, Rachel Selekman and Elisa D'Arrigo
employ readymade objects to reference childhood memories. For
Cross Section #4, 2004, D'Arrigo collected outgrown socks worn
by her children and their friends, fastening them in a honeycomb
or cellular assemblage held together by bold, elongated
stitches. Bonnie Lucas, longtime resident of Chinatown and
veteran scavenger of nearby notion shops, layers her tawdry
treasures and compresses them tightly in small round containers.
Beads, bracelets, fake flowers, ribbons, dolls, and myriad girlish
trinkets—all objects associated with stereotypes of femininity—
are bound with stitches and lashings of thread. Ready to burst,
her roiling tondos are ripe with burgeoning female sexuality and
remembrances of lost innocence. In her Untitled (spring purse),
2000, Rachel Selekman appropriates a small vintage change
purse, a familiar accessory often carried by her grandmother,
who taught her the craft of sewing. The purse is open, its mouth
agape like a hungry bird or vaginal cavity. Long strands of earthgreen
thread are attached inside with minute French knots like
so many stamen or human sperm. This object, transformed
through the addition of thread, references not only the fecundity
of nature but also the cyclical nature of human existence.
A growing number of artists today use thread to reference
the words and language of daily communication. Lesley Dill
incorporates a fragment of a poem by Pablo Nerudo in White
Corolla and Black Corolla, both of 2005. Drawn to the visionary
language of this well-known Chilean-born poet, Dill uses
thread as metaphorical connectors to Neruda's fertile mind and
Nature itself. In these works, an iconic female with Afro-style
hairdo morphs into the tree of life. Elaine Reichek summons
the wit of William Shakespeare in samplers from her As She
Likes It series of 2001. In the tradition of the historical sampler,
the passages she selects from "A Midsummer Night's Dream"
and "Troilus and Cressida" serve as instructional lessons in
female behavior. Here, women protagonists speak forcefully
about their sex and their place in the world; of a woman's
resilience, empowerment and moral strength. Tracey Emin's
white-on-white samplers, though whisper-soft at first glance,
belie the desperate lament of a lonely woman abandoned by
her lover. Her histrionics are spelled out in hand-wrought
needlework: "I Keep Dreaming of You" and "Always on My
Own. Want to Be With U." Personal tragedy is also the subject
of Mimi Smith's Knit Baby, 1968. After suffering a miscarriage,
the artist knit a life-size infant, dressing it in a white undershirt
embroidered with "The Baby is Dead." Complete with instructions,
it might not offer solace to other grieving mothers, but
it was nonetheless a way for the artist to express her own.
The object invites cradling and caressing that could serve as
cathartic release from the memory of such a profound loss.
Nina Katchadourian uses language in a poignant video
documenting her own intervention in the world of nature
while visiting relatives
on a Swedish-speaking
island in the Finish
archipelago. Here, she
inserts the word "gift"
into a spider's web. Each
letter, written in red
thread, is rejected by the
creature who casts out
the artist's unwanted
gift—the spider's
instinctive memory of
the proper way to make
a web superceding the
artist's ministrations.
Although text does
not appear in Conrad
Atkinson's Wordsworth
Suit, 2003, he plays with
ideas of an insidious
kind of communication.
In the label that accompanies
the piece, the
artist spins an improbable
tale of the suit's
provenance claiming it
was Wordsworth's
"lucky" suit, worn as he
strolled in the English
countryside and while
composing his famous
poem, "Daffodils"(1804). Past and presence conflate in the gold digitally-embroidered
mosquitoes (which, presumably, might have plagued the
poet during his perambulations in nature) that also reference
the scourge of communicable diseases passed so easily in this
time of jet travel from animals, birds and insects to humans.
For some artists, threads symbolize connections as well as
rifts with family and the past. Through their work, they seek to
establish their own identity. Marguerite Day sees her threads
alternatively as lifelines that hold fast memories of her brother,
who recently died of leukemia, while tethered to I.V.'s that
prolonged both his life and his agony; and as shackles that tie
her to family, depriving her of her independence. Amanda
Guest, proclaims a postmodern approach to needlework
in the quiet minimalism of samplers lacking the words or
decorations of those by previous generations of women.
Though her stitches are those she learned from her mother
and grandmother, the presentation is an assertion of who she
is as artist rather than artisan.
Overt references to feminism can be seen in the work
of Ghada Amer and Ambreen Butt, for whom conventional
views toward women have long been rich subjects. Women
warriors wielding swords are powerful dragon-slayers in
Ambreen Butt's I Need a Hero series, 2005. Stitched in bright
red thread, they joust with effortless grace against their foes.
Ghada Amer's protagonists—two women locked in a passionate
embrace—were lifted from the pages of a pornographic
magazine. As the viewer struggles
to "untangle" the threads
to make out the image, so
must these women struggle
to assert their sexuality.
Ke-Sook Lee takes a gentler
approach to women's roles.
Memories of her childhood
in Korea, waking to the
rhythmic sound of hand
sewing by several generations
of older women in her home,
remained with her long after
she established a life in the
United States and had children
of her own. Using diaphanous
fabrics, tea-stained rice paper
and thread—all elements
that represent her Korean
roots—she embroiders
organic designs onto objects
that speak of domesticity and
familial obligations: aprons, potholders and tea towels.
The memory of places and experiences—real and imagined
represent potent subjects for a number of artists in this
exhibition. Doug Bosch recalls early spring walks by a New
Hampshire lake covered with cadmium-colored pollen from
pitch-pine trees in Pollen Rods, 2002. Katherine Porter
memorializes trips to Rome, Montreal and Cape Negro in
her recent embroidery work. Abstract and laden with bright
color, they recall the jazz-age energy of Stuart Davis. Michael
Raedecker's Still Life, 2001, on the other hand, is tinged with
a ghostly gloom that suggests the tenebrous otherworldliness
of dreams.
The poignancy of loss resonates in the work of Elena
del Rivero, Donna Sharrett, Sarah Lovitt and Fred Fleisher.
Del Rivero's [Swi:t] Home: A Chant, 2001-2005 is an homage
to the victims of 9/11 whose personal papers, memos,
to-do lists, and documents landed in her loft, covering the
floor with the remnants of lives lost. Her assemblage, loosely
held together with repetitive stitches, represents her devotional,
ritualistic effort to catalogue, reconstruct and memorialize
this tragedy.6 Deeply moved by the recent deaths of her
mother and brother, Donna Sharrett created a series of
needlework memento mori with dried rose petals, artificial
hair, lace and beads on grounds of dirt. Elegant and elegiac,
these circular geometric patterns recall ancient mandalas and
reference the cyclical nature of life. Fred Fleisher offers new
life to a cast-off doll, mending it with crude black sutures,
offering it up as a symbol of loss and redemption. Working
in flesh-toned wax, Sarah Lovitt similarly "mends" the torn
surface as if striving to rescue a wounded soul.
Like many contemporary
artists, Nene Humphrey is
interested in the human body.
Its remarkable resiliency and
vulnerability are the subjects
of her most recent investigations
in a new series about the
human brain—the repository
of memory. Drawn to imagery
produced by electron
microscopy designed to
visually record brain tissue,
she downloads specimens
from the Internet and prints
them on fabric. Struck by the
beauty of these abstract forms,
she painstakingly embellishes
them with hand-embroidered
stitches, symbolically embedding
the memory of her own
intervention, and mind, in
each of these objects.
While much of the needlework being used in art today had
its origins in 19th century samplers where strict rules of
handling and technique applied, thread is now being deployed
in countless more innovative and expressive ways. The push
and pull of its rhythmic cadence and repetitive stroke make it
an eloquent mark-making device. Its mood ranges from sensual
and serene to edgy and violent. It can recount a story, spell out
a message, plunge into the political or social arena, and plumb
the depths of the human psyche. Whether sewn by hand or
machine, a stitch inherently speaks of tradition, of a venerable
past and a moment of looking back toward a better time. For
those who use it today as an artistic medium, it is adaptable,
resilient, tactile and richly rewarding.
— Margaret Mathews-Berenson
N O T E S
1.Paul Celan's work became widely known during the 1950s. Fadensonnen (Threadsuns in English) was first
published in German in 1968 by Suhrkamp. A recent anthology of Celan's poems appeared in 2004, translated
by Pierre Joris, published by Green Integer.
2.Stephen Sollins. Interview with Margaret Mathews-Berenson, New York, N.Y. October 25, 2005.
3.In the mid-1990s, Bourgeois began using cut up scraps from garments that she had stored in a closet. Some of
these garments date from "as long ago as the 1920's." Amy Newman in "Louise Bourgeois Builds a Book from
the Fabric of Life," The New York Times, Sunday, October 17, 2004, Arts & Leisure Section, p. 30.
4.This book represents a collaboration between the artist, her publisher, Peter Blum, and master printer, Judith
Solodkin of Solo Impression. Each piece of fabric was carefully replicated, complete with every worn spot and
stain. Aided by a computerized sewing machine, especially adapted for the project, Ms. Solodkin oversaw the
production of Ode à L'Oubli. Using a complex process of lithographic printing, digital scanning and laborious
hand work, Solo Impression pioneered new methods of working with fabric as seen in the work of other artists
in this exhibition such as Ghada Amer, Kent Henricksen and Liliana Porter.
5.The title, Gift/Gift is a reference to the Swedish word for poison—pronounced gift, with a soft "g." In an
illustrated Swedish nature book dating from the 1950s, the artist discovered a chapter describing a spider's
habit of using its thread as "gift-wrap" to bind its dead prey and present it to another spider. The title of her
video is derived from the description in this book. Nina Katchadourian, Mended Spiderwebs and Other Natural
Misunderstandings, ex. cat., (New York: Debs & Co., January 7th—February 13th, 1999).
6.This project by Elena del Rivero is a continuation of an earlier installation also titled, [Swi:t] Home, originally
commissioned jointly by Dieu Donné Papermill and the Drawing Center, New York, and was exhibited in both
places in July, 2001. The piece that appears in this exhibition constitutes a single panel from a much larger,
multi-panel installation that will ultimately span approximately 500 yards. It will be seen in its entirety in the
artist's solo show, "At Hand," curated by Elizabeth Finch, at IVAM (Institute of Contemporary Art), Valencia,
Spain, September 14, 2005, and will travel to Patio Herreriano, Valladolid, Spain, in December, 2005.
Threads of Memory. pdf
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