Tag Archives: historical embroidery

LOOKING EAST AGAIN

Back when we were doing the expat stint in Pune, India, I wrote about Kasuthi (aka Kasuti, Kashida), a blackwork cousin that deserves to be better known by Western double running stich aficionados. I recently stumbled across another sample of related stitching, this time from a bit further north.

The Hazara people, mostly in Afghanistan, but also present in Pakistan practice an interesting and related form of linear geometric stitchery. It’s hard to date beyond “traditional,” and given current geopolitics, deeper investigations are unlikely. But here is the limited info I’ve found, plus some examples, and some sources of additional information.

The Hazara are known for several forms of stitching, mostly but not exclusively counted styles using satin stitch, straight stitch, double running stitch and cross stitch, and is better known for phulkaris (large shawls often worked in geometric, counted straight stitches). These double running stitch pieces in particular are probably made by women of the Wardak Hazaras, who live mostly southwest of Kabul. This style is usually worked in cotton or silk on linen or cotton grounds. These double running stitch pieces are often finished out as small mats, bags, shawls, prayer cloths, and other covers.

First is the artifact that piqued my interest.

This is piece in the collection of the George Washington University Museum, Accession T-1240. They note it’s provenance as being Hazara from Afghanistan, probably sometime between 1880-1920. That mushy date range is the earliest and although it’s only semi-hard, is the only date I’ve seen for this style. Note the fields of diapered patterns stitched on the count on a not-so-evenweave ground. The designs skew east-west compared to north-south due to there being more ground fabric threads per unit measurement in one direction than the other. But skew or not I love the repetition and color usage. So I went looking for more.

This artifact is probably the best represented on line for the style, and shows up in most on-line photo collections of Afghan embroidery, although not always with attribution. It is nicknamed “The Snowflake Shawl” and was collected by Jania Mishra, the author of the art blog/sales gallery Woven Souls. She places it as Hazara, but does not opine a date. Still it’s clearly antique/vintage. Her write-up includes lots of close-up photos, and notes the relationship of this style of stitching to mathematical theory. Pop by her blog to truly admire the diverse detail of this piece.

More examples. On the left is a bandanna size prayer cloth that was sold by a textile/rug auction dealer, and on the right is what’s described as a Hazara napkin in the Galerie Ariana ethnic textiles sales site. (No affiliation with/endorsement of these sellers – I find dealers’ on-line photos and attributions an occasionally useful research supplement, although not all dealers’ listing data are of the same quality.)

What can we conclude about dissemination and influences?

Very little.

Double running is one of the simplest, oldest and most ubiquitous of stitches. The scholars of Kasuthi posit a vague “Persian origin” before adoption, mention of in literature, and refinement of the style in the Deccan area Chalukya dynasty courts of the mid 500s to mid 700s, and that dynasty’s later resurgences through the end of the 1100s, culminating in the disciplined style and vocabulary of traditional motifs that are known today through surviving examples dating to the 19th century. Overland trade routes have connected Northern India and Afghanistan and beyond going back to antiquity. The the flow of both peaceful and aggressive contact is also well known, as is historical trade that connected the northeastern African coast with India. Egypt’s Fustat region is another area where visually similar double running stitch artifacts from the Mamluk era (1200s-1500s) are found.

Is this another survival of some sort of time-lost tradition that also gave rise to Kasuthi, the Mamluk works, and by extension over time and geography (and by direct quotation noted by others as well as myself), the stepwise and geometric designs found in early European modelbooks at the dawn of the popular print era (early 1500s), and on to early European blackwork and strapwork? It’s tempting to speculate so, but we have absolutely no proof.

These Afghani pieces could also have been a product of later cultural influences, as waves of association washed back and forth along time’s shores. But the clear correspondences, whether they can be affixed to defined family tree, or are just casual correlations due to the limits of geometry and the simple stitching style itself, are to me are a source of endless fascination.

Here are a couple of sites with additional information on Hazara embroidery in general:

Source material for the Mamluk styles mentioned

And there are more traditional regional counted styles to explore in this area of cultural confluence. I promise to keep digging.

A CASE OF LONG-LOST TWINS, ALSO LOST IN TIME

This post is a largely a capture of material I put up on Facebook. Given the difficulty of finding past material on that platform, and that some of my stitching friends avoid Facebook entirely, I add it here. Note that the attributions on these pieces were current as of today – 7 November 2019. If I see that they change, I’ll update this note.

…..Ah, the consistency of museum dating on embroidered artifacts. Here we see two separate accessions, held by the same institution, that present a minor conundrum.

The one on top is Cooper Hewitt Accession 1971-50-86, and is labeled Band (Italy), 17th century. It was a gift by the noted textile curator and collector, Marian Hague (a personal hero of mine). Probably a legacy upon her passing, or part of her personal collection, donated by a later family member.

The one below is Cooper Hewitt Accession 1944-71-5. It’s labled Band (Italy), 16th century. It was given to the museum by Annie-May Hegeman, in 1944. Ms. Hegeman appears to have been a very wealthy individual, from a wealthy family. She collected and displayed many artifacts in her own famous home, and donated many to various museums over a period of decades.

Not only are these two the same design (which I’m graphing up), they are undeniably fragments of the same artifact – yet another example of the “Separated at Birth/Long-Lost Twins” circumstance. You can piece the one below to the right of the one on top, and achieve continuity.

Why the 100 year difference between the two? Different catalogers? Based on updated scholarship? Unknown. Which is correct? Good question. Perhaps detailed analysis of dye chemistry might give a clue, but for these fragment collections – laid down and rarely revisited – it’s not going to happen any time soon.

THE AZEMMOUR CLUSTER

Thanks to Elaine, whose comment on the Spider Flower post sent me off on a new research quest, a group that had long intrigued me has now been solidly planted.

I had seen many examples of what appeared to be a related set of stitched fragments, from many museums, collected over many decades – mostly by amateurs in the late 1800s/early 1900s.  These were identifiable as being a group because of shared motifs, designs, treatments, materials and overall look.  But the museum IDs and book citations were all over the place, citing individual examples as being from anywhere from the Greek Islands, to Sicily, Northern Africa (unspecified), Spain, and the Italian mainland.  For example, all of the patterns on this page can be found in Lipperheide’s Muster altitalienischer Leinenstickrei, Volume 1, published in 1881, credited as Italian works.  Dates also ranged widely with some examples being attributed as early as the 1500s, and others tagged as late 1800s to early 1900s.  I do note however that comparing current tags to my old notes, over the last few years several museums have updated their provenance notations to locate this group in Azemmour, Morocco.

We’ve already seen the Spider Flower, this example from the Boston Museum of Fine Arts,  Accession 93.208. Again, their sample is undated, and is tagged as Spanish or North African, with a note that it is “Italian embroidery.”

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Here are some others of the same group.  This one I tag as the Pomegranate Meander, because the ornament on the diagonals has swollen into an enormous fruit, and the center flower has shrunk down to a skeletal remainder.  This sample is quoted from the Cleveland Museum of Art’s photo, and is tagged in their collection as being from Azemmur (an alternate spelling), 19th century, Accession 1929.843.

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Mr. Ross has provided us with a Pomegranate sample, too. This one is also at the MFA, Accession 11.2880, called out as Spanish or Eastern, with no date.

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Here’s a different member of this group. In my notes I tag it as Wide Snake Meander.  This one is from the musée du quai Branly, in Paris, Accession M61.2.16, and is attributed to 17th-18th century, from Azemmour.

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This design crops up not infrequently.  Here’s a sample from the MFA, Accession 93.1495, no date, with Spain as provenance.  Another piece collected my Mr. Ross – this is the MFA’s photo.

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And another, from TextilesAsArt.com, entry 2227, they call it out as being Moroccan from Azemmour, and date it to 1650.

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Here’s a sample of Wide Snakes that has a different border.  This photo is quoted from the dealer RugRabbit’s website.  They ID it as 17th century, Moroccan.

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From the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Accession 09.50.1291, now tagged as Moroccan from Azemmour, from the 18th century.

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Azemmour has a second style in addition to these pieces.  Birds.  Paired birds with and without vases or urns, or trees in between them are extremely well represented in museum and private collections.  Although paired birds are common in early modelbooks and in stitching examples throughout Europe, the Azemmour birds have a particular look, often done in two colors, with outlines in black and the voided ground in red.

Here is a particularly choice example from the Textile Museum of Canada, Accession T85.0301, dated to the 18th century (image quoted from their photo).

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Here’s a whole flock, including MFA 16.298 (Italian or Spanish, no date), Yale University Art Gallery 1941.278 (Azimoor (another alternate spelling), 1700s), Cooper-Hewitt 1970-0-1 (No provenance, late 19th century), Philadelphia Museum of Art’s 1919-686 (Azemmour, 17th century)  I’ve easily got two dozen more samples in my logs.  They still turn up fairly frequently for sale in textile specialty antiques houses and even on eBay.

And these same birds make appearances on darned net, this image is from a Gros & Delettrez, a dealer in antiquities, who call it out as being from Azemmour, made in the 1800s.

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Now.  Where did all of these come from?

I’ve read a few accounts that claim Jewish refugees fleeing the Reconquista and Inquisition in Spain settled in and around Azemmour.  It is speculated that their influence blended with the local Islamic stitching heritage, to create this local style family; one that is distinct from other Moroccan stitching styles.  The Jewish link is cited by The Textile Museum of Canada. The Jewish Virtual Library notes the migration and community.  The Jewish link is also mentioned here. The Textile Research Centre writes that production of Azemmour pieces died out in the mid 1900s, although recent revivals have been undertaken.

Finally, to muddy the waters further, here is an artifact that might be seen as a bridge between European/Italian voided work, and the voided work done in Azemmour.  This is a strip in the collection of the Cooper-Hewitt Museum Accession 1962-58-17, attributed to 16th century Italy, and the image below is quoted from their photo.  Yes, the foreground of the motifs are left quite bare compared to the ornamented Moroccan samples.  But look at that design.  Does it remind you of both Spider Flower and Pomegranate Meander?   It should…

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LONG LOST SIBLINGS?

As I wander through on-line collections, occasionally I spot things that look very familiar.  There are pattern style families, even specific motifs and strip designs that persist over time, popping up in multiple locations, over periods of decades.  Those are fun to trace, and to try to figure out branching traditions, and to try to pinpoint ultimate origins, although that’s rarely possible.

Today’s pieces though are something different.  I believe them to be either part of the same original artifact or set of artifacts.

To begin with, here they are.  At left is a piece from the Art Institute of Chicago (accession #1907.740); at right is a piece in the Hermitage Museum’s on line collection (accession #T-2734).

 

The AIC’s piece has a more complete annotation, noting the dimensions of the various component parts, describing the materials and stitches used (“long armed cross stitch, cut and drawn thread work… insertion of silk needle lace”), and giving a provenance and date of Italy, 1601-1650. They call the piece “unfinished.” It was acquired by the museum in 1907.

The Hermitage’s piece provides less detail, silk on linen, and overall dimensions.  They call the stitch used “double Italian cross” (or that’s what the Russian translates as).  They cite origins as Italy, 16th-17th century, and say the piece came to them from the private collection of Baron Stieglitz.  I am unsure which member of that family they are citing, but the the Stieglitzs were prominent bankers and aristocrats during the 1800s, and up to the time of the Russian revolution.  They were known for amassing opulent art and antiques collections, among other extravagances.

When my Stealth Apprentice brought the Russian-collected example to my notice last year, she opined that it was unusual to see the very coarse voided strip, needle lace, and more delicately done center piece all in one composed work.  I agree with her.  It is curious – all the more so because of the second example from Chicago.

Let’s look more closely at the two.  Chicago’s larger piece seems to start at the right edge at the same design point of the urn/flower cycle as the Hermitage’s.  The count and spacing on the motifs are identical on both pieces, although the Russian sample is very slightly taller – about four or five rows of the flower/urn area pattern.  Both seem to be “full length” slices north/south.  But that left edge on the Russian example is very clearly cut and truncated, with the narrow border removed from a work’s right edge and seamed to the larger field.  AND look at the top area.  Not only was the piece sliced off and then replaced on the urn/flower area, that same cut and sewn seam ascends all the way to the top, cutting through BOTH the needle lace band, and the coarsely executed voided strip.  It’s also clear that the strip that was cut was taken from the left edge of the original source piece, because the fragment of the narrow border flower at the top left has “turned the corner.”

Further, because both artifacts include an intact right hand edge with no seaming, these were probably descended from a set of two matching items.

Both pieces seem to have been cut off at the right edge, snipped through the narrow needle lace strip, and both show signs of stitching remains on their bottom edge – possibly fragments of more needle lace.  On the Russian bit, there’s even evidence of red remnants along the outer edge of the applied border strip. Both works show clear signs of there being a finished hem around the central flower/urn plus companion border section; but no hem is in evidence on the voided strips.  Even the linen ground’s weave on the voided strip parts looks coarser than that in the center area’s ground.

So.  What do we have?

Here’s one possible flight-of-fancy.  I have no evidence to claim this as being true, so it’s just postulation and theory:  two rounds of re-use.

Our piece starts off as the urn/flower part – two strips, about 42.3 cm (16 5/8 in) tall, but of an indeterminate length.  They might have been bed hanging, long towels, or something akin in shape or proportion to a modern table runner (historical use unknown).

At some point in time, these items gets turned into something else.  Possibly a deeper set of bed valences, or possibly one or more rectangular bolster or cushion covers, through the addition of the side strips of voided work, attached by the decorative needle lace sections.  These additional bits were  done by a different hand than the older flower/urn section.  (I do note that there are other examples of artifacts that employ side strips to turn rectangular flat pieces into square-edged 3D cushion covers.)

Fast forward to the second moment of re-use…  The second-use bed hanging or bolster cover is cut down again.  The unknown recycler may have intended to make multiple covers for smaller cushions, or other smaller covers/bags/whatever.  And it’s possible she or he never finished that project – that’s why we have the partial cut-down-and-reassembled Hermitage fragment, and the unfinished fragment in Chicago.

And for the piece’s final disposition among multiple museums – I do know that in the late 1800s, lace and embroidery collecting was a fad among the wealthy and fashionable.  Many American museum textile collections crystallized around donations from prominent families – items they picked up on Grand Tours of Europe.  I have come across quite a few artifacts that may be pieces sundered in that process – cut apart by antiquities dealers who then sold smaller bits to multiple buyers, rather than keeping artifacts intact and making only one sale.  I posit that our flower/urn twins are a pair of those pieces, and having fallen victim to profitable multiple sales, ended up fragmented between two continents.

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