short stitches.]
(e) The effects of stitches in relation to the materials into which
they are worked can be considered under two broadly-marked divisions.
The one is in regard to embroidery which is to produce an effect on one
side only of a material; the other to embroidery which shall produce
similar effects equally on both the back and front of the material. A
darning and a satin stitch may be worked so that the embroidery has
almost the same effect on both sides of the material. Chain stitch and
crewel stitch can only be used with regard to effect on one side of a
material.
(f) But these suggestions for a simple classification of embroidery do
not by any means apply to many methods of so-called embroidery, the
effects of which depend upon something more than stitches. In these
other methods cutting materials into shapes, stitching materials
together, or on to one another, and drawing certain threads out of a
woven material and then working over the undrawn threads, are involved.
Applied or applique work is generally used in connection with ornament
of bold forms. The larger and principal forms are cut out of one
material and then stitched down to another--the junctures of the edges
of the cut-out forms being usually concealed and the shapes of the forms
emphasised by cord stitched along them. Patchwork depends for successful
effect upon skill in cutting out the several pieces which are to be
stitched together. Patchwork is a sort of mosaic work in textile
materials; and, far beyond the homely patchwork quilt of country
cottages, patchwork lends itself to the production of ingenious
counterchanges of form and colour in complex patterns. These methods of
applique and patchwork are peculiarly adapted to ornamental needlework
which is to lie, or hang, stretched out flatly, and are not suited
therefore to work in which is involved a calculated beauty of effect
from folds.
(g) There are two or three classes of embroidery in relief which are
not well adapted to embroideries on lissome materials in which folds are
to be considered. Quilting is one of these classes. It may be
artistically employed for rendering low-relief ornament, by means of a
stout cord or padding placed between two bits of stuff, which are then
ornamentally stitched together so that the cord or padding may fill out
and give slight relief to the ornamental portions defined by and
enclosed between the lines of stitching. There is also padded
embroidery or work consisting of a number of details separately wrought
in relief over padding of hanks of thread, wadding, and such like.
Effects of high relief are obtainable by this method. Another class, but
of lower relief embroidery, is couching (Fig. 5), in which cords and
gimps are laid side by side, in groups, upon the face of a material,
and then stitched down to it. Various effects can be obtained in this
method. The colour of the thread used to stitch the cords or gimp down
may be different from that of the cords or gimp, and the stitches may of
course be so taken as to produce small powdered or diaper patterns over
the face of the groups of cords or gimp. Gold cords are often used in
this class of work, which is peculiarly identified with ecclesiastical
embroideries of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, as also with
Japanese work of later date.
[Illustration: Fig. 5.--A form of Embroidery in relief, called
"Couching."]
(h) The embroidery and work hitherto alluded to has been such as
requires a foundation of a closely woven nature, like linen, cloth,
silk, and velvet. But there are varieties of embroidery done upon netted
or meshed grounds. And on to these open grounds, embroidery in darning
and chain stitches can be wrought. For the most part the embroideries
upon open or meshed grounds have a lace-like appearance. In lace, the
contrast between close work and open, or partially open, spaces about it
plays an important part. The methods of making lace by the needle, or by
bobbins on a cushion, are totally distinct from the methods of making
lace-like embroideries upon net.
(i) Akin to lace and embroideries upon net is embroidery in which much
of its special effect is obtained by the withdrawal of threads from the
material, and then either whipping or overcasting in button-hole
stitches the undrawn threads. The Persians and embroiderers in the
Grecian Archipelago have excelled in such work, producing wondrously
delicate textile grills of ingenious geometric patterns. In this drawn
thread work, as it is called, we often meet with the employment of
button-hole stitching, which is an important stitch in making
needlepoint lace (Fig. 6).
[Illustration: Fig. 6.--Button-hole Stitching, as used in needlepoint
lace.]
(j) We also meet with the use of a weaving stitch resembling in
effect, on a small scale, willow weaving for hurdles. This weaving
stitch, and the method of compacting together the threads made with it,
are closely allied to that special method of weaving known as tapestry
weaving. Some of the earliest specimens of tapestry weaving consist of
ornamental borders, bands, and panels, which were inwoven into tunics
and cloaks worn by Greeks and Romans from the fourth century before
Christ, up to the eighth or ninth after Christ. The scale of the work in
these is so small, as compared with that of large tapestry wall-hangings
of the fifteenth century, that the method may be regarded as being
related more to drawn thread embroidery than to weaving into an
extensive field of warp threads.
A sketch of the different employments of the foregoing methods of
embroidery is not to be included in this paper. The universality of
embroidery from the earliest of historic times is attested by evidences
of its practice amongst primitive tribes throughout the world. Fragments
of stitched materials or undoubted indications of them have been found
in the remains of early American Indians, and in the cave dwellings of
men who lived thousands of years before the period of historic
Egyptians and Assyrians. Of Greek short and long stitch, and chain
stitch and applique embroidery, there are specimens of the third or
fourth century B.C. preserved in the Hermitage at St. Petersburg.
Babylonians, Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans were skilful in the use of
tapestry weaving stitches. Dainty embroidery, with delicate silken
threads, was practised by the Chinese long before similar work was done
in the countries west of Persia, or in countries which came within the
Byzantine Empire. In the early days of that Empire, the Emperor
Theodosius I. framed rules respecting the importation of silk, and made
regulations for the labour employed in the _gynaecea_, the public weaving
and embroidering rooms of that period, the development and organisation
of which are traceable to the apartments allotted in private houses to
the sempstresses and embroideresses who formed part of the well-to-do
households of early classic times.
ALAN S. COLE.
DESIGN
"_Drink waters out of thine own cistern, and running waters out of
thine own well._"--SOLOMON.
"_Produce; produce; be it but the infinitesimallest product,
produce._"--CARLYLE.
For the last sixty years, ever since the Gothic Revival set in, we have
done our best to resuscitate the art of embroidery. First the Church and
then the world took up the task, and much admirable work has been done
by the "Schools," the shops, and at home. And yet the verdict still must
be "the old is better."
Considering all things, this lack of absolute success is perplexing and
needs to be explained. For we have realised our ideals. Never was a
time when the art and science of needlework were so thoroughly
understood as in England at the present moment. Our designers can design
in any style. Every old method is at our fingers' ends. Every ingenious
stitch of old humanity has been mastered, and a descriptive name given
to it of our own devising. Every traditional pattern--wave, lotus,
daisy, convolvulus, honeysuckle, "Sacred Horn" or tree of life; every
animal form, or bird, fish or reptile, has been traced to its source,
and its symbolism laid bare. Every phase of the world's primal schools
of design--Egyptian, Babylonian, Indian, Chinese, Greek, Byzantine,
European--has been illustrated and made easy of imitation. We are
archaeologists: we are critics: we are artists. We are lovers of old
work: we are learned in historical and aesthetic questions, in technical
rules and principles of design. We are colourists, and can play with
colour as musicians play with notes. What is more, we are in terrible
earnestness about the whole business. The honour of the British nation,
the credit of Royalty, are, in a manner, staked upon the success of our
"Schools of Needlework." And yet, in spite of all these favouring
circumstances, we get no nearer to the old work that first mocked us to
emulation in regard to power of initiative and human interest.
Truth and gallantry prompt me to add, it is not in stitchery but in
design that we lag behind the old. Fair English hands can copy every
trick of ancient artistry: finger-skill was never defter, will was never
more ardent to do fine things, than now. Yet our work hangs fire. It
fails in design. Why?
Now, Emerson has well said that all the arts have their origin in some
enthusiasm. Mark this, however: that whereas the design of old
needlework is based upon enthusiasm for birds, flowers, and animal
life,[1] the design of modern needlework has its origin in enthusiasm
for antique art. Nature is, of course, the groundwork of all art, even
of ours; but it is not to Nature at first-hand that we go. The flowers
we embroider were not plucked from field and garden, but from the
camphor-scented preserves at Kensington. Our needlework conveys no
pretty message of
"The life that breathes, the life that lives,"
it savours only of the now stiff and stark device of dead hands. Our art
holds no mirror up to Nature as we see her, it only reflects the
reflection of dead periods. Nay, not content with merely rifling the
_motifs_ of moth-fretted rags, we must needs turn for novelty to an old
Persian tile which, well magnified, makes a capital design for a quilt
that one might perchance sleep under in spite of what is outside! Or we
are not ashamed to ask our best embroideresses to copy the barbaric
wriggles and childlike crudities of a seventh-century "Book of Kells," a
task which cramps her style and robs Celtic art of all its wonder.
We have, I said, realised our ideals. We can do splendidly what we set
ourselves to do--namely, to mimic old masterpieces. The question is,
What next? Shall we continue to hunt old trails, and die, not leaving
the world richer than we found it? Or shall we for art and honour's sake
boldly adventure something--drop this wearisome translation of old
styles and translate Nature instead?
Think of the gain to the "Schools," and to the designers themselves, if
we elect to take another starting-point! No more museum-inspired work!
No more scruples about styles! No more dry-as-dust stock patterns! No
more loathly Persian-tile quilts! No more awful "Zoomorphic"
table-cloths! No more cast-iron-looking altar cloths, or Syon Cope
angels, or stumpy Norfolk-screen saints! No more Tudor roses and
pumped-out Christian imagery suggesting that Christianity is dead and
buried! But, instead, we shall have design _by_ living men _for_ living
men--something that expresses fresh realisations of sacred facts,
personal broodings, skill, joy in Nature--in grace of form and gladness
of colour; design that shall recall Shakespeare's maid who
"... with her neeld composes
Nature's own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry,
That even Art sisters the natural roses."
For, after all, modern design should be as the old--living thought,
artfully expressed: fancy that has taken fair shapes. And needlework is
still a pictorial art that requires a real artist to direct the design,
a real artist to ply the needle. Given these, and our needlework can be
as full of story as the Bayeux tapestry, as full of imagery as the Syon
Cope, and better drawn. The charm of old embroidery lies in this, that
it clothes current thought in current shapes. It meant something to the
workers, and to the man in the street for whom it was done. And for our
work to gain the same sensibility, the same range of appeal, the same
human interest, we must employ the same means. We must clothe modern
ideas in modern dress; adorn our design with living fancy, and rise to
the height of our knowledge and capacities.
Doubtless there is danger to the untrained designer in direct resort to
Nature. For the tendency in his or her case is to copy outright, to give
us pure crude fact and not to _design_ at all. Still there is hope in
honest error: none in the icy perfections of the mere stylist. For the
unskilled designer there is no training like drawing from an old herbal;
for in all old drawing of Nature there is a large element of design.
Besides which, the very limitations of the materials used in realising a
design in needlework, be it ever so naturally coloured, hinders a too
definite presentation of the real.
For the professional stylist, the confirmed conventionalist, an hour in
his garden, a stroll in the embroidered meadows, a dip into an old
herbal, a few carefully-drawn cribs from Curtis's _Botanical Magazine_,
or even--for lack of something better--Sutton's last Illustrated
Catalogue, is wholesome exercise, and will do more to revive the
original instincts of a true designer than a month of sixpenny days at a
stuffy museum. The old masters are dead, but "the flowers," as Victor
Hugo says, "the flowers last always."
JOHN D. SEDDING.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] A strip of sixteenth-century needlework in my possession (6 ft. by 2
ft. 6 in.) figures thirty different specimens of plants, six animals,
and four birds, besides ornamental sprays of foliage.
ON DESIGNING FOR THE ART OF EMBROIDERY
In every form of art the thing which is of primary importance is the
question of Design.
By Design I understand the inventive arrangement of lines and masses,
for their own sake, in such a relation to one another, that they form a
fine, harmonious whole: a whole, that is, towards which each part
contributes, and is in such a combination with every other part that the
result is a unity of effect, so completely satisfying us that we have no
sense of demanding in it more or less.
After this statement and definition let me proceed to touch briefly upon
four points in relation to the matter, as it concerns itself with the
art of Embroidery; and the first of these four points shall be this.
Before you commence your design, consider carefully the conditions under
which the finished work is to be seen. There is a tendency in embroidery
to be too uniformly delicate and minute. To be too delicate, or even
minute, in something which is always to be seen close under one's eyes
is, it may be, impossible; but in an altar-cloth, a banner, a
wall-hanging, this delicacy and minuteness are not merely thrown away,
but they tend to make the thing ineffective. For such objects as these I
have mentioned, the main lines and masses of the design should, it would
seem in the nature of the case, be well emphasised; if they are well
emphasised, and of course fine in their character and arrangement, there
is produced a sense of largeness and dignity which is of the highest
value, and for the absence of which no amount of curious workmanship
will atone. In making your design, let these main lines and masses be
the first things you attend to, and secure. Stand away at a distance,
and see if they tell out satisfactorily, before you go on to put in a
single touch of detail.
For the second point: remember that embroidery deals with its objects as
if they were all on the same plane. It has been sometimes described as
the art of painting with the needle; but it necessarily and essentially
differs from the art of painting in this, that it, properly, represents
all things as being equally near to you, as laid out before you on the
same plane. It would seem, therefore, to be a sound rule to fill the
spaces, left for you by the arrangement of your main lines and masses,
with such forms as shall occupy these spaces, one by one, completely;
with such patterns, I mean, as shall appear to have their natural and
full development within the limits of each space: avoid the appearance
of one thing being behind the other, with portions of it cut off and
obscured by what comes in front of it. But in this, as in so much else,
an immense deal must be left to the instinct of the artist.
Thirdly: aim at simplicity in the elements or motives of your design; do
not crowd it with a score of different elements, which produce a sense
of confusion and irritation, and, in reality, prove only a poverty of
invention. A real richness of invention, as well as a richness of
effect, lies in using one or two, perhaps at most three, elements, with
variety in the treatment of them. Make yourself thoroughly master of the
essential points, in whatever elements you choose as the basis of your
design, before you set pencil to paper; and you will find in almost any
natural form you fix upon more than enough to give you all the variety
and richness you require, if you have sufficient natural fancy to play
with it.
Lastly: return again and again, and for evermore, to Nature. The value
of studying specimens of old embroidery is immense; it makes you
familiar with the principles and methods, which experience has found to
be true and useful; it puts you into possession of the traditions of the
art. He that has no reverence for the traditions of his art seals his
own doom; he that is careless about them, or treats them with
superciliousness, or will not give the time and pains necessary to
understand them, but thinks to start off afresh along clean new lines of
his own, stamps himself as an upstart--makes himself perhaps, if he is
clever, a nine days' curiosity--but loses himself, by and by, in
extravagances, and brings no fruit to perfection. The study of old work,
then, is of the highest importance, is essential; the patient and humble
study of it. But for what end? To learn principles and methods, to
secure a sound foundation for oneself; not to slavishly imitate results,
and live on bound hand and foot in the swaddling clothes of precedent.
Learn your business in the schools, but go out to Nature for your
inspirations. See Nature through your own eyes, and be a persistent and
curious observer of her infinite wonders. Yet to see Nature in herself
is not everything, it is but half the matter; the other half is to know
how to use her for the purposes of fine art, to know how to translate
her into the language of art. And this knowledge we acquire by a sound
acquaintance with the essential conditions of whatever art we practise,
a frank acceptance of these conditions, and a reverential appreciation
of the teaching and examples of past workmen. Timidity and impudence are
both alike fatal to an artist: timidity, which makes it impossible for
him to see with his own eyes, and find his own methods; and impudence,
which makes him imagine that his own eyes, and his own methods, are the
best that ever were.
SELWYN IMAGE.
* * * * *
_Printed by R. & R. CLARK, Edinburgh_
* * * * *
A SELECTION
FROM THE
Recent Publications
OF
MESSRS. PERCIVAL
_KING STREET, COVENT GARDEN_
_LONDON_
* * * * *
34 KING STREET, COVENT GARDEN,
LONDON, W.C.
_April 1893._
* * * * *
_Crown 8vo. With Illustrations. 6s._
=Recollections of Dr. John Brown=
Author of 'Rab and His Friends.'
With Selections from Correspondence.
By ALEXANDER PEDDIE, M.D., F.R.C.P.E., F.R.S.E., ETC.
* * * * *
_Demy 16mo. 3s._
=My Book of Songs and Sonnets=
By MAUDE EGERTON KING.
* * * * *
_Crown 8vo. 6s._
=Outlines of British Colonisation=
By the REV. WILLIAM PARR GRESWELL, M.A.
Author of 'Our South African Empire,' 'A History of the Dominion of
Canada,' and 'Geography of Africa South of the Zambesi,' etc.
With an Introduction by LORD BRASSEY.
CONTENTS.--The West Indies--The Leeward Islands--Newfoundland--The
Dominion of Canada--The West African Settlements--The South African
Colonies--The Australian Colonies--Tasmania--South Australia--New
Zealand--The Islands of the Pacific and Fiji--Ceylon and the Maldive
Archipelago--Mauritius--Hong Kong--Appendices of Facts and Figures.
* * * * *
_Demy 8vo. With Maps and a Plan. 16s._
=Venice=
=An Historical Sketch of the Republic=
By HORATIO F. BROWN,
Author of 'Life on the Lagoons.'
The Author's endeavour in this Work is to view Venice as a personality;
to trace, as it were, in brief her biography; attempting to show what
made her; how she grew; what mistakes she committed, and how she paid
for them; and this attempt seemed the more reasonable in this case,
because throughout the history of Venice the personality of the States
is always more prominent than the personality of individual Venetians.
'Although, in general terms, this work may be described as a history
of Venice, it has been carried out on so original a plan as to
deserve a distinct and prominent place amongst the many volumes
which have been devoted to a record of the rise, development, and
decline of the Venetian Republic.'--=Glasgow Herald.=
'Mr. Brown has imprisoned the atmosphere of Venice into his pages,
has for the most part made her heroes live again, and has brought
out fully the poetry and pathos of her wonderful career. He is
already known as a sympathetic writer on Venetian subjects, but he
has done nothing so good as this account of 'the city that looks as
though she were putting out to sea.'--=Westminster Gazette.=
'Mr. Brown has performed his task with skill and taste; and a
picture is presented of the process by which Venice was built up and
fell from its high estate, which is at once brilliant and
accurate.'--=Scotsman.=
'Mr. Brown's learned and yet thoroughly readable book is published
in a fortunate hour, both for author and reader. When he writes
about Venice we feel that his sympathy with his subject has given
him the power both of comprehending things Venetian and of extending
that comprehension to his readers.'--=Manchester Guardian.=
'This is in truth a chronicle which follows out with industry and
accuracy the maze of Venetian history.... As an historical sketch it
is admirable.'--=Times.=
'A valuable and fascinating work, evidently the result of research
and study.... Every visitor to the beautiful shrine of St. Mark
should be possessed of this handsome volume.'--=Daily Telegraph.=
* * * * *
_Demy 8vo. 16s._
=A History of the Theories of Production and Distribution
in English Political Economy, from 1776 to 1848=
By EDWIN CANNAN, M.A., Balliol College, Oxford.
CONTENTS.--The Wealth of a Nation--The Idea of the Production of
Wealth--The First 'Requisite of Production,' Labour--The Second
'Requisite of Production,' Capital--The Third 'Requisite of Production,'
Land--The Idea of the Distribution of Wealth--Pseudo Distribution
(causes which affect (1) the absolute amount of Wages per head; (2) the
rate of Profits; and (3) the absolute amount of Rent)--Distribution
Proper (causes which affect the proportions in which a given produce is
divided between different classes and individuals)--Politics and
Economics.
* * * * *
_In two Volumes, sold separately. Crown 8vo, 6s. each._
=The Victorian Age of English Literature=
By MRS. OLIPHANT and F. R. OLIPHANT, B.A.
CONTENTS.
VOL. I.--The State of Literature at the Queen's Accession, and of those
whose work was already done--Men who had made their name, especially
John Gibson Lockhart, Walter Savage Landor, Leigh Hunt--Thomas Carlyle
and John Stuart Mill, and other Essayists and Critics--Macaulay and the
other Historians and Biographers in the early part of the reign--The
Greater Poets--Dickens, Thackeray, and the older Novelists--Index.