Indigo: a book review

I've long admired indigo textiles, but it wasn't until I did a course on indigo dyeing that I truly fell in love with them. The whole process–from preparing the vats, wrapping and twisting fabrics, submerging them in dye, waiting, waiting some more, removing the fabric bundles from the vats, then watching any remaining patches of green turn to deepest blue–felt more like alchemy than textiles.

Keen to find out more about indigo and its history, I bought a copy of  Indigo: Egyptian Mummies to Blue Jeans. It is a truly fascinating read, although not a light one, neither is it a 'how to' manual, or a lavish coffee table book. Instead it is a thoroughly researched examination of indigo's cultural, symbolic and economic importance, as well as its environmental implications. If this sounds a little overwhelming, don't be put off, the book is far from dry and heavy-going due to Jenny Balfour-Paul's enthusiasm for her subject. Indigo also contains some wonderful photographs, my favourite being one of Yemen women wearing 'black indigo' dresses, and the most extraordinary hats!

The book explains how, due to wars and colonial expansion, indigo became a hugely important commodity that eventually replaced woad in Europe as the blue dye of choice. I found this particularly thought provoking: having lamely associated indigo textiles mainly with Africa, Asia and the Far East, I looked with fresh eyes at my faded blue jeans and the British Bobby's uniform. In fact, the more you consider indigo–be it in textiles, painting, or even medicine–you realise just how ubiquitous it is, which is perhaps why it's so easy to overlook and take for granted.

The down and dirty nature of indigo dyeing is also covered, including how urine and dog's feces were often (and are occasionally still) used to enhance the dye solution–thankfully this was not considered necessary on my course! Techniques such as batik, shibori and ikat dyeing are well explained, and plenty of beautiful examples shown. However, for me it is the symbolic aspect of indigo, and many of the examples given, that I found totally compelling. Whether it's worn as a sign of fertility (such as Dogon women who wear resist patterned wraps after marriage, then cease to wear them in old age when they are no longer fertile), or as a sign of subservience and equality (Mao suits), or to suggest supernatural power, indigo dyed cloth is more than something to merely cover the body.

Whether woad, indigo, or even purple shellfish, the importance of the blues extracted from them reach far beyond their usefulness as dyes. Sumptuary laws might denote the social status of a wearer of blue or indigo (be it a royal blue silk kimono, or a peasant's scraps of indigo dyed hemp clothing). Blue is associated with divinity, think of Krishna, or the blue robes of the Virgin Mary. In language the word blue is equally potent and may suggest depression, coarse and vulgar humour, and even voices of the oppressed, as in the blues. Subliminally, blue may also bring to mind images of death in myths and fairy tales, such as Bluebeard's castle.

The author ties all of this (and so much more) together in a remarkable book, that ends by championing indigo as an agricultural crop with a potentially positive effect on the environment–although I suspect, she may be a little biased on that point. I can see why though–it's easy to develop a weakness for blue (as an ardent Chelsea supporter, my husband would definitely second that).

If you too are a fan of blue, I can't recommend this book highly enough–you'll never look at a pair of jeans the same way again!

Elizabeth,
x.

White quilt–pollen

Here's another block I'm working on for my white quilt. It reminds me of pollen and seedlings floating on the breeze–not sure if that's a good image, or if it just makes my nose itch! I've used scraps of old lace, bits of muslin and a very thin and worn piece of linen for the background. The yo-yos are stuffed to give the block more relief and texture.

The rest of the background will be made up of kantha, french knots and bullion stitches. That's a lot of stitching, so if it starts to look a bit stitch heavy, I'll add more snippets of lace.

Elizabeth,
x.

White Quilt–some progress

It's two steps forward, one step back on my white quilt. I've completed one block, nearly finished a second, and I'm happy with both. However, as much as I liked the block below when first made, I've since realised that it can't be used as it's just too heavy! It weighs as much as the EPP strip of hexagons and the other blocks combined. I imagine, that if this block did make its way into the quilt, it would create a black hole effect–it's great weight dragging everything towards its centre! So, this block will just have to go in the samples book, or be used in another project, at another time.

Here are the ones that will make it into the quilt though…

This one is a vintage handkerchief which had a very pretty lace border. I folded the border in, added a few off-cuts of lace from vintage collars, then a little bit of embroidery.

This is a work in progress and I'm having great fun with it. The larger paisley motif, is made from a child's nightdress. The central circle is stuffed from behind (trapunto) to create a mound, which I've covered in chain stitch. Then, apart from a ribbed wheel for the smaller paisley, the rest of the stitching is good old Kantha. I do love running stitch!

Elizabeth,
x.

Lucky me!

Apart from crawling from one shady spot to the next, the last week has been spent, slowly working on my white quilt. All the hexagons are sewn together, and I've almost finished the 'barnacle' block which I'm outlining with strips of folded fabric to form ruffles around the main cluster of barnacles.

The ruffles make this barnacle
look almost rose like.

The EPP is complete.

I've made a start on another block: this one features kantha embroidery, and the tiniest bit of mola reverse applique – just a central velvet circle, surrounded by a larger silk circle, which sits on a raw edge linen circle (it's quite gauzy, so conveys the translucence I'm after). The subject is a couple of dandelion seed heads. So far, I've partially completed the first seed head, and I'm really trying to resist the urge to include some pale green for the stem – this is after all, meant to be a white quilt! I couldn't resist adding a halo of tiny gold beads however, so perhaps that's enough deviation from the main colour theme?

A nearly dandelion, and, patches
ready for sewing together.

Cutting the squares and rectangles that will form the main patchwork is taking much longer than I thought it would – there are so many of them – next time, I'll make bigger patches! But a totally unexpected, and very generous gift, from Kate, has got me itching to put my rotary cutter to work. Kate gave me a super pile of unwanted antique linens, including this gorgeous baby dress. Part of me thinks it's a crime to cut them up, but if the alternative, is for them to never see the light of day, then surely it's better they are used, rather than hidden in a stash box?

So pretty!

Look at the detail,
all done by hand too!

As if all this beautiful linen wasn't enough, Kate also gave me this fabulous indigo dyed fabric! I'm not yet absolutely sure what to do with it, but there's certainly enough to make a very striking pair of ceiling to floor curtains.

Now my friend may have a fabric stash to rival that of Liberty's, but this really is quite generous, don't you think? In fact, if it wasn't for the weather, I could almost believe it's Christmas.

Elizabeth,
x.

I think it's time I made a quilt…

I've got the quilting itch. Okay, maybe not for a conventional quilt, but still a quilt of sorts. I want it to feature: English paper pieced hexagons (my nod to tradition), kantha, drawn thread work, raw edges, hand tied elements, muslin and linen – lots of linen! I want as much of my quilt as possible to be made from existing textiles: pillow cases, napkins, nighties, monogrammed handkerchiefs, and anything else I can lay my mitts on. And I want it to be white, with only the teeniest flashes of colour (like the red telephone box against the snow in the above mood board). The moodboard is a collection of fragments from here and there: exhibits from last year's festival of quilts at the NEC, BooDilly's muslin patchwork–which I just love, some drawn thread work, a quire of deckle edged paper, snow, cracked ice, and a few bits of my own.

There, I've made my declaration, so I'd better make a start and put my words into action. As for the size, I haven't a clue, that's a detail for later, first I need to gather my materials.

Elizabeth,
x.

Boro–scraps and rags.

Textiles often link us to the past. How often have you looked at a quilt, seen a piece of fabric that used to serve a different purpose, and been reminded of your childhood, or nearest and dearest? If this piece of fabric belonged to someone who is no longer around, it can also help keep their memory alive. Nowhere is this more evident than in boro textiles.

Photo courtesy of
The Decorator's Notebook.

Basically old scraps and rags of indigo dyed hemp, held together with dense stitching, boro textiles were worn by the poor. Boro was essential for prolonging the life of clothes, but families might also sleep together in a 'yogi' (a blanket-like kimono) and women often gave birth on a 'bodoko' or life-cloth, so the baby's first earthly contact was with something that once belonged to its ancestors.

Although I don't own any quilts or textiles that have been handed down to me, all my indigo dyed fabrics use pre-loved linens and silks. Some of the linens date back over a hundred years and were given to me by a German lady, whose mother brought them to England when she left Germany to make her home in England. Some are old clothes of mine, others are thrift shop finds. So my fabrics may not have belonged to my ancestors, but I'd still like to honour a tradition of reusing and giving new life to worn-out fabrics that gives more than a passing nod to boro textiles.

Photo courtesy of The Decorator's Notebook.

If soapbox blogs aren't for you, look away now!
I adore utility stitching, hand tied quilts, penny mats and boro textiles but occasionally attitudes to folk arts make me wince, and whenever I read the word 'charming' in this context, my hackles rise. To me, it suggests a Disneyfied view, of 'simpler times' and communities of happy peasants delighting in an ability to make do and mend, as if this were a lifestyle choice and not a chore brought about because of economic necessity.* That's not to say that many women didn't take great pride in their work, and perhaps too, saw it as a form of artistic expression. However, it shouldn't be overlooked that boro textiles were indeed mere rags, and for a long time were regarded as shameful by the Japanese because they were a reminder of a peasant class that suffered abject poverty and desperation.

I'm fortunate, for me recycling is a choice, and sewing is a pleasant way to pass the time. By recycling I'm making an ethical and political declaration about what I stand for and doing what I believe is right (rejecting cheap labour and mass production and trying not to create more than my fair share of landfill), not what economic circumstances are forcing me to.

So, the irony of wanting to produce something that looks like a boro textile isn't lost on me. I'm fully aware that I'll be trying to mimic a style of textiles that was a patchwork of necessity and impoverishment, and I'll be doing so with the help of my shiny electric sewing machine, in the comfort of my nicely decorated home–and I'll probably be listening to Radio 4 as I do so (can't get more middle class than that). In short, I'll be spending money to make something that looks like rags and tatters!

As much as that makes me a fraud, I still can't help but admire boro textiles and want to have a go at making my own (even if I will be using linen and silk instead of hemp). Partly, it's because I love indigo dyed fabric, which, as if by magic, just seems to get better with age. The texture of layers of stitching and scraps of fabrics really appeals to me too, some people are drawn to colour or pattern, but it's texture that always reels me in!

I've only recently discovered boro textiles, so do not claim to be any kind of expert about them. The pictures here are from The Decorator's Notebook but if you want to read more, I found Furugistar's blog post very informative. This book also looks like it might be worth adding to a boro wishlist.

Elizabeth,
x.

*Perhaps the worst example of this attitude is a book entitled The Quilts of Gee's Bend. While the book itself is beautiful and showcases some stunning work, the editorial choice to keep the voices of quilters 'real' is just cringeworthy.

Into the Blue

Everything is blue, my Dorset buttons, some once brightly coloured little pegs. Even my fingers, and it's not just because it's so cold outside. Rather, it's because I've been on an indigo dyeing course, and unbeknown to me, there was a small hole in one of my rubber gloves.

The course was run by my old patchwork & quilting tutor, and it did not disappoint, although at times, it felt as if I had been transported back to school chemistry lessons. (It came as quite a surprise to discover that I'd be dealing with chemicals such as Caustic soda and Sodium Hydrosulphite!).

Of course, it is possible to indigo dye at home, but you do need decent facilities – preferably a dedicated utility area, with a large sink to rinse out the the excess dye, drying areas, and somewhere to store and mix the chemicals, but who really has that much spare space? Certainly not me, so a fully equipped art studio was the ideal environment to start, even though the real skill is in how artfully you twist, fold and tie the fabric, which can be done pretty much anywhere and then taken along to class.

My attempts at Shibori (twisting, stitching, folding, compressing and tying fabric) were mixed, but then I am a beginner. The patterns in the above three pictures were achieved by twisting silks and linens then  either stitching them into place, or binding them with jewellery wire. In some cases, beads were inserted in between the twists to create another barrier (or resist) to the dye.

The above image proves that more effort doesn't necessarily produce better results. I spent hours wrapping cocktail sticks in pieces of knotted string, thinking It would give me a repeated twiglet like pattern. Instead, all I got is this drippy, mottled sludge!

My attempts at folding fabric and placing objects between the layers to produce interesting effects, needs work too. You can – just about – see the impression of some Dorset buttons, in the above pic, but I really should have left the fabric to dry completely, and settle into crisp, sharp lines but impatience got the better of me. (When I look at this fabric, I can't help but think of Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake in their matching stone wash denim heyday).

Now, I just have to do something with my indigo dyed fabrics, but part of me is reluctant to cut into them, as even the less successful ones, feel so precious to me. I have a large patchwork cushion in mind. I'd like it to feature raw edges (almost as if you're looking at the reverse of the patchwork in places) and then build up layers of fabric in other areas. I also want to include Kantha stitching (or some very simple Shashiko, if I'm feeling brave) but perhaps I'm letting my ambition and imagination run away with me! This one definitely needs more thinking about before I pick up my rotary cutter.

Elizabeth,
x.

PS: I'm linking up with Nat at Made in Home, why not join in?

My Big Fat Cushion

January's was on the baggy side, so I made February's a tad tighter. So what if it now looks as if the cushion is straining to bust the cover's seams at the middle–I think the use of recycled linens, and fabrics cut on the bias will help it stretch over time. At the moment, however, my Log Cabin cover is so taut, no imprint is left when I lean against my cushion. I wish I could say this is because of my airy, sylph-like physique, alas no, like my cushion, I too have a tendency to strain at the seams!

Both my January and February cushions were based on traditional blocks, but I'd like to do something  different for the next, which means it won't be finished by the end of March. I've been doing some Indigo dyeing recently, and think this combined with Kantha stitching could be interesting. I suspect it will turn into something of a longer term project, but then again, it's always good to have something to get your teeth into, even if that means failing in my New Year's resolution to produce a cushion a month!

How are you keeping up with your New Year's resolutions?

Elizabeth,
x.