The Berlin Rug - interpretation

The Berlin Rug fragment

Silk on linen (28 ct) foundation,  1568  movements per square inch. Dimensions of the embroidery 4,75 x 8,5 ins (11,875 x 21,25 cms); embroidered by Kathryn Blackmore Borel, L’Art de l’Aiguille, Canada, 2012

This piece took me through all seasons, beginning in late Spring with the last of the snow on the garden and finishing in early winter as the first snow arrives.  At no time did I tire of this densely-stitched piece.  The colours were clean, the lines defined precisely.  There were rest periods where I could just stitch without referring to a chart, and other times where each movement had to be measured and counted.

It took an estimated 120 hours through close to 6 months of 2012 and  more than 60,000 movements of the needle through the fabric.  The eye concentrates on the precision of each stitch but the mind, at times, wanders and settles elsewhere.  The therapeutic aspect to this creative exercise allows ideas to find order where chaos reigned previously.  It is as if the thread gives linearity to jumbled thoughts and fixes them into a relative perspective.  It is regenerative as if I have eaten a nourishing meal where I might have been hungry;  food for the mind.  

The time I spent on this piece made me mull many of the fundamental questions I have.  What is original? What is a copy?  What defines ‘art’? Where does embroidery as a creative expression find itself in the ‘art’ world?  Is it part of the higher arts?  Is it a decorative art?  Is it not art at all but ‘craft’?   What is the vocabulary appropriate for this discipline?    What are the influences, the evolution, the social significance, the iconography.  What is the role of textile and specifically embroidery in our world?   

I often think that there is little artistry in a counted-thread work.  The art is in the preparation of the chart.  So full credit goes to Frank Cooper and a chart I discovered in his book ‘Miniature Carpets’.  To interpret the design, I chose different materials, working on a scale almost half as small as his design, using a lightly twisted silk thread rather than wool on a linen ground fabric as opposed to a cotton canvas.  As I worked, I felt less and less as if I was copying since what was jumping off the fabric was a work that had its own character, its own particular beauty, its own  specificity. 

I kept a photograph of the 15th century carpet fragment in my vista while I worked.  It was a reminder that there is very little original under the sun and most creative works are the result of an influence, conscious or subliminal, of something already seen and experienced.   Between this original piece and my work, there are only two degrees of separation;  Mr. Cooper's preparation of a chart and my interpretation of it.  But I did not copy the chart to the letter.  Aside from the adjustment in materials, I chose to not finish the right side, leaving the piece intentionally incomplete  The goal was to acknowledge that what remains of the original carpet is just a portion of it, and in so doing to broaden the conversation around my interpretation.

My fragment sits on my work table waiting for framing.  I love it.  I actually marvel at its simplicity and its beauty.  It envelops so many of the elements I hold dear:  pure fibre, clean lines, meaningful iconography, lustrous colour, small proportions.  It was an adventure into a far past which enriched much of my studio time in 2012, both intellectually and creatively, and, more importantly, while it lives alongside me, it will impart that essence of beauty which I crave daily.