By Robbie LaFleur 

Visitors to the Weavers Guild of Minnesota through June, 2018, have the opportunity to see a rich tableau of 28 Scandinavian weavings, a tantalizing fraction of the collection of Carol Johnson of Minneapolis. You can expect future exhibits and articles in this publication based on artifacts she owns.  Here’s a taste of the exhibit and an attempt to answer–how did this all come to be?

This skillbragd weaving led Carol Johnson to a lifelong passion for Scandinavian textiles. 

Carol grew up in chilly, damp Seattle, 100% Norwegian by heritage.  A linen and wool skillbragd coverlet kept her warm at night, especially during the fuel-rationed years of World War II. It was sent to her grandmother as a wedding gift in 1911 by Carol’s great-grandmother, Guri Olsdatter Aune.  

“I was a sickly kid,” Carol recalled,” so I had plenty of time to lie in bed and look at the front and the back.”  There always seemed to be a new way to examine the patterns, to see how they shifted from the front to the reverse.  The remaining fragment looks remarkably intact, considering Carol remembers her mother sending it through the wringer washing machine countless times. 

Years later, the coverlet was divided in four, one for each sibling. When Carol’s youngest uncle died, she took his section of the skillbragd back to Norway, where it now hangs in the home of a second cousin in the bedroom of her great-grandmother, a tangible piece of an immigrant family’s history. Carol’s Norwegian relatives were grateful to have the weaving, as most family textiles had been used up and discarded during the war years. 

While Carol has a passion and an eye for Scandinavian textiles, she doesn’t weave herself, claiming that she has bad hand-eye coordination.  “I got a D- in Home Economics, “ she quipped, “This isn’t my thing and I haven’t improved with age.”

With a special place in her heart for Norwegian skillbragd (Swedish opphampta or smalandsvev), it makes sense that Carol’s collection contains several in that technique, including these on display. 

She formerly bought textiles mostly at estate sales and from antique stores and dealers. Time passed, her collection grew, and then it got a real boost with modern technology and eBay, her biggest source in recent years.  When Carol’s husband Darold learned that the title of the Weavers Guild of Minnesota exhibit included, “A Passionate Pursuit,” he immediately added—more like an addiction. Happily, he is an interested supporter of his wife’s textile pursuits.

 

On a special afternoon in March Carol shared many of the items in her collection with the Scandinavian Weavers Study Group. As they sat in amazement at the obvious success of Carol’s eBay sleuthing, one person asked, “What search words did you use?” As a start, Carol suggests Swedish handwoven, Norwegian handwoven, Swedish woven, Norwegian woven. She often searches for Finnish pieces, too, but lately there haven’t been many offered.  

She has found many more Swedish than Norwegian weavings online. Why would that be? It may be that Norway was a smaller country; on the whole, there weren’t as many pieces woven. The economy was difficult in Norway, and it may be that weavings were used and worn out. In contrast, in the rich farming area of Skåne in Sweden, there was a strong tradition of weavings as a sign of wealth and prosperity. Many pieces were made for decorative and seasonal use, and carefully stored for generations. It was common for Swedish girls to have hope chests full of beautiful textiles. Some were used, some were forgotten, and over the years, many ended up at auctions. 

The sheer amount of work in all the pieces in Carol’s collection is difficult to fathom.  Weavers especially appreciate the complexity of many pieces and understand how time-consuming they are to execute. Carol commented that it is sad that she sometimes paid so little for weavings that are beautifully made. Wasn’t there anyone in the weaver’s family who appreciated something as lovely as this Swedish Art Weave piece? 

In general, she has paid less than $100 for her textiles, inexpensive indeed for such fine workmanship and materials. Shipping generally runs $20-50. Occasionally, she has paid more for postage than the weaving itself—for example, when purchasing a small tapestry. “I’ve made a lot of money for the Norwegian and Swedish and American post offices,” she noted. Perhaps that was the case for the smallest tapestry in her collection.  Are they seagulls?  They are sweet.  

Each package that arrives to Carol’s home in south Minneapolis is a marvelous mystery to open.  It’s difficult to gauge the condition of a textile from often inadequate online photos.  Will the colors be faded or vibrant? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.  And sometimes it doesn’t much matter.  This beautiful Swedish Art Weave piece has lovely soft colors, with a silvery-gray band contrasting with blue, red, and light gray dukagång stars. The palette looks intentional. 

 

Turn over the back, however, and you’ll see that the background was originally a deep blue-gray, and the red in the narrow bands has bled. 

Many of the pieces are quite large and were folded to display in the exhibit. We left one Swedish Art Weave piece folded over to show the reverse side on purpose.  You can see the vibrancy of the colors before the piece faded, and admire the exquisite workmanship. 

Some coverlets were so large that they were folded in half and then folded over a wooden rod for display, like this beautiful finely-set monks belt coverlet. 

Carol once bought a Swedish opphampta weaving because of its beautiful red and green star pattern.

When she received it, she found that it was sewn to a more simply woven fabric. 

Carol wondered, why would someone put these two together?  She started to undo the stitching, but stopped when she received the recently translated book, Heirlooms of Skåne: Weaving Techniques by Gunvor Johansson (translated by Birgitta Esselius Peterson, published by Vävstuga Press), because the mystery of the two sides was solved. She realized she shouldn’t take them apart.  The weaving is a carriage cushion, and the backs of cushions were often woven in a simpler three-shaft technique.  They also tended to be woven in the less expensive yarns: brown, yellow, green, and white. Carol’s example has other colors, too, and the patterning is fairly elaborate.  

It all made sense then.  She could see where tassels were sewn in each corner, traditionally added to protect the valuable textile during hard wear.  Johansson wrote in her book about the use of wheat flour and water rubbed into the fabric to prevent the stuffing from leaking through the fabric. Check! Carol noticed a good bit of dust on the interior of the cushion fabric. Oh, and she found a feather, too.

The majority of Carol’s weavings came with no provenance, including no dates.  This exquisitely  woven Swedish double-interlock square-weave tapestry (rölakan) is a favorite of Carol’s, as it includes the date of her birth, 1940. 

This exhibit and the sharing opportunity for the Scandinavian Weavers Study Group covered only a portion of Carol Johnson’s collection. As we look forward to close study and admiration of other pieces in the future, it seems we’ll have to work hard to keep up. Just this week Carol pointed to a deep-hued weaving on a chair by her front door.  “It just came two days ago,” she said.  Also, this is just the beginning of prime eBay season for this sort of weaving, as people in Scandinavia visit outdoor flea markets and find textiles to sell online.  Happy hunting, everyone!