signature cloth

Before I start this entry.. the piece isn't ironed - sorry for the crumpled look. If I ever frame it, it'll be as flat as the most beautiful pancake you ever did see. Until then I'm too afraid to iron it, so it remains tucked away in one of my cupboards of love, snuggly wrapped in tissue, very near fresh lavender to keep those moths away, dagnammit.
And - please click on the images to check out the detail - it really is worth it.
Well. Since the age of 11 I've collected fabrics. During my life some amazing pieces have slipped in and out of my twitchy little fingers. One bin-bag full of original Westwood & MacLaren, Biba and Ozzy Clarke was thrown away on dustbin day by my landlord. It was 15 years ago and I still haven't found closure.
Among a few other humble treasures, I'm lucky enough to own and dearly love this truly beautiful signature cloth. It seems to be a table cloth, so I really don't know if any of the general info I know about quilt history might apply.

It is embroidered with the signatures of apparently British prisoners of the second world war, possibly whilst they were recuperating in military hospital. Perhaps it staved off boredom. I find it hard to imagine a group of men spending their time together sewing like this, but if that's the case, what a beautiful exercise in comradeship. And what an utterly precious thing this is - a fragile document of an important and emotional time in those mens lives. I can only begin to imagine their conversations whilst they worked on it. Every different style of handwriting is a different life, different personality, different story...
Of course soldiers are no strangers to sewing. Before the introduction of khaki (mid 1800's here in the UK, I believe) soldiers would make quilts from their uniforms. Many tiny squares of black, red and gold were patchworked together in grid formations. Thick and itchy in their texture but warm, practical and a way to pass time. Other men came home from war and made quilts from their old uniform shirts. During WW1 soldiers would famously send embroidered silk greeting cards from France, upon which a whole industry thrived.

For sailors in particular, sewing was a necessary skill. Some would use sailcloth to depict the ships they sailed on and send them home to loved ones, frequently using straw for embroidery. Of course they needed basic sewing skills to maintain their uniforms, which is probably why wool-work was popular (think of much sock darning). Not forgetting that operations may have to have been performed on board, requiring stitches and, erm, the occasional corpse, too.
I've contacted the Red Cross and am eagerly hoping to get some further information. Many of you may be aware that there was a time when the Red Cross encouraged people to make quilts to raise money by including the signatures of dignitaries and patrons. So I wonder if it may have been made to raise money for their military hospitals....? Or was it just a memento of the soldier's time together? Or in fact made later, to commemorate the end of the war..?

I often wonder where the people on it are now. As with so many pieces of textile work, it's such a great record of history and a beautiful piece of community. When I find time, I intend to make a list of the names and dates on it and publish them here or somewhere else on the web.
The back of it is immaculate too. The cottons used are single-thread, so the signatures, whilst appearing fluid and accurate, seem delicate and almost whispy on the back. It is boyish yet delicate and feminine. There is masculinity in the biro-like colours, the subject-matter, the random, careless nature of the layout in places - yet the beauty of some of the handwriting and the delicacy of the stitching and of course the fact that it's a tablecloth, bring an underlying femininity. And of course, there is a huge amount of love and community there.

Ironically a tablecloth is that which traditionally represents family, ownership and a coming together to share food and to mark special occasions. Was the somewhat humble size of a tablecloth chosen because of rationing and lack of availability of larger pieces of fabric?
I'll post more on the subject when I know more about it. But boy-oh-boy - how much history there is on it and how many hours I've sat and wondered about the people involved in it's making. Surely, if this piece of fabric could, it would tell of war, violence, friendship, love, hardship, survival and peace. Just this one little cloth - how incredible. Probably, it's one of my most utterly treasured pieces.

remembrance of quilts past

This is a piece I made about 3-4 years ago. And for some reason... I miss it!

The work I make is normally commissioned privately, but this one went into a boutique... so I'll never know what happened to her. My clients are generally fashion designers, fashion stylists, art collectors and textile collectors. The pieces are commissioned to become heirlooms, for beautiful boudoirs, to be shown off 'gallery' floors of big houses or for numerous chaises in huge ballroom type spaces.
But this one... I really can't imagine where she ended up. I look at the photos and they're my little pieces of the madeleine cake. Memories of stitching her every little piece, pulling the threads through each different texture, collecting subtly hued beads, my tough old throbbing fingers blistered at the end. I actually used plyers to get through the very tough end layers.
I rather cornily think of her as a beautiful old lady (maybe French?) with pearls round her neck, enjoying the afternoon sun in the rocking chair. White hair pulled up into toppling layers of meringue-like bun, blue eyes watery with excitement, love, memories... gazing through a window onto a beautiful garden where she sees her family history playing in front of her like an old film.
I think this lady wears her doilies well and whilst they're fading from fashion now, they're appropriate for her, like lacy high-necked blouses, matching china and a smattering of carnations and lilies on her side tables. Maybe to counteract all this corny loveliness, she has wild, bohemian memories of illicit affairs... and incredible adventures that make her blue eyes twinkle and shine still. After all, she was so beautiful when she was young.
The great big woolly pom-poms that I lovingly soaked and baked, are bigger than my hands. She has a lacy, cobwebby feel, cut glass crystals like frosty grass, thousands of tiny beads that I sat and hand stitched thousands of times.