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Frida Hansen’s Southward: More Provenance Puzzle Pieces are in Place

By Robbie LaFleur

Frida Hansen’s monumental 1903 tapestry, Sørover [Southward], was owned by a New York weaving teacher and socialite, Berthea Aske Bergh. It was publicly displayed many times until 1930, when references ceased. It remained missing until Peter Pap, a noted rug dealer, found it tucked in a plastic tub in 2020 – safe, dusty, but in perfect condition. You can read several articles about the rediscovery, beginning with “Frida Hansen’s Sørover.”

Frida Hansen. Sørover (Southward), 1903

While Southward was found and revealed to the world again, the mystery was not completely solved. Where had the tapestry been since 1930, and up until the time it was likely purchased by its last owner, antique dealer David McInnis, around 2010? A piece of that puzzle came to light through family history research by a relative of Berthea Aske Bergh’s son’s wife.

It appears that Berthea Aske Bergh, the owner of Frida Hansen’s tapestry, Southward, passed it on to her son, Norman Bergh, when she died in 1954. Norman Bergh died on November 25, 1958, in Keene, New Hampshire. He was married to Elizabeth White Griffin Bergh, who died only three years later, in 1961, in the same town.

Elizabeth White Griffin Bergh’s 1st cousin twice removed, William Griffin, was doing some family history sleuthing when he ran across a listing of the household contents at auction after Elizabeth’s death in 1961. Southward was listed!

Norman and Elizabeth Bergh had no children and their belongings were sold. William Griffin was researching this list because he was interested in where some of the Griffin family heirlooms may have gone. He believes the prices listed were the starting bids for the auction, held July 21-22, 1961. The handwritten sums are prices paid by his grandfather, who bid on several items.

Neither William Griffin nor his living relatives know much about Elizabeth Larson Griffin Bergh or her husband Norman, Berthea Aske Bergh’s son. Elizabeth learned to weave from her mother-in-law, and the auction also listed a “Norwegian tapestry loom.” The relatives think that Berthea Aske Bergh lived with her son and his wife at the time of her death. It’s nice to think that she kept Southward until her death, and had not sold it, which was my guess. Frida Hansen’s tapestry stayed with its first owner for just over 50 years.

William Griffin did not have much information on Berthea Aske Bergh, other than an interesting brochure I had not seen, promoting her services as a lecturer. See more text from the brochure or the full brochure.

William Griffin also found a brochure from the National Arts Club in NYC that uncovers yet another venue where Berthea Aske Bergh exhibited Southward and other tapestries. I will add it to the list in this article: “Southward on Display.”

Questions remain. Who bought the tapestry at auction in New Hampshire in 1961? Was it just one person who owned it until around 2010, when it was purchased by David McInnis? Perhaps I’ll be surprised sometime by another email like William Griffin’s, which started with, “You might find this interesting…”

November 2022
Robbie LaFleur is a weaver and writer from Minneapolis, Minnesota. She has been following a thread of Scandinavian textiles since she studied weaving at Valdres Husflidskole in Fagernes, Norway, in 1977. She is a Vesterheim Norwegian-American Museum Gold Medalist in weaving, coordinates the Weavers Guild of Minnesota Scandinavian Weavers Study Group, and publishes the Norwegian Textile Letter. Contact: lafleur1801@me.com. Blog: robbielafleur.com. Instagram: robbie_lafleur

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Between Two Covers: A Book and an Exhibition Celebrate the Artistry of Renowned Weaver, Brita Been

By Stephanie Serrano Sundby. Thank you to author and the publishers of Kunsthåndverk, the magazine for Norwegian Association for Arts and Crafts, for permission to reprint this article.

Be steadfast, work hard, follow your heart and tell your own story, advises Brita Been. Stephanie Serrano Sundby has taken a trip to Skien to meet Been, who this year celebrates her 75th birthday with a book publishing and exhibition at the Telemark Kunstsenter [Telemark Arts Center].

Brita been portrait

Brita Been in front of Tre strømper & et bringebroderi, 2020. (detail) (Three Stockings and a Costume Embroidery) 410 x 200 cm. (13’5″ x 6’7″) From the exhibit MØNSTER OVERALT (PATTERN UNLIMITED), 2022. Telemark Kunstsenter. Photo: Istvan Virag

“[Brita Been] creates her tapestries with a basis in the technique’s underlying structure, the grid.  From this she constructs and composes patterns that spread in rhythmic layers over the surface.  The patterns have an eternal quality, without beginning and without end. But the colors and contour lines work to hold the patterns fast; in a literal sense the pattern is woven firmly to the warp. This creates an inner tension in Breen’s textiles: on the one hand the pattern’s endless, indistinct and eternal character; on the other, the tangible passage of threads over and under the warp.”

This excerpt was written by art historian Jorunn Haakestad and can be found in Been’s exhibition catalog from 2007. The text describes Been’s artistic expression, which lies between tradition and repetition, modernistic elements, form and color. At the same time, the quote testifies to Been’s important role within the fields of art and handcraft. This year Been is celebrating her 75th birthday with a book publication and an exhibition at the Telemark Kunstsenter, both having the title Mønster Overalt [Pattern Unlimited] (2022).  The book is a monograph on Been’s artistry over 50 years, and the exhibition includes everything from large works of tapestry to sketches, prints and shawls.

Brita Been exhibit

Gallery view of the exhibition PATTERN UNLIMITED, 2022, Telemark Kunstsenter.
Photo: Istvan Virag

I took the train to Skien to talk with Been about weaving, about her journey and about folk art. She offered to meet me at the station. I saw her immediately, as she came walking in a bright orange Marimekko coat that lighted up the grey station tunnel. We drove to the Arts Center and Been showed me around in the exhibition. She told me about different weaving techniques, showed me guinea hen feathers, we touched the colorful shawls and she showed me an old embroidered stocking, her favorite, loaned from the Telemark Museum. Finally, we sat down in the art lab for a chat over coffee and croissants.

Brita Been, Shawls in plain weave and dreielteknikk [patterned twill or damask]. Photo from the exhibit PATTERN UNLIMITED, 2022, Telemark Kunstsenter. Photo: Istvan Virag

Can you begin by saying a little about how you discovered weaving and your path towards being an artist?

I had a grandmother who wove, and I remember that I got to sit on the loom bench, insert the rags into a rag rug, and that I was curious about how the heddles worked. At home there was knitting, sewing, crocheting, filet crochet and embroidery. Lots of yardage and skeins of yarn. I often say that certainly one can experience all this without ending up as a textile artist. The most important thing was likely that I got a feeling for textile materials, and that I wanted to produce something, make something myself. In addition, I was raised in the period after the war, and for many this type of work was a natural part of daily life: self made was well made.

After high school I applied for a yearlong course in weaving at the husflidsskole [handcraft school], and one of the requirements was that I first had to take a yearlong course in sewing, which I did not want to do. It didn’t suit me, as you can probably tell when you look at the rather rough quality of my work. So I became a hotel and tourism secretary, but that was just for a short while. I soon realized that I wanted to learn to weave, so by 1979 I was a fully qualified teacher in weaving and tapestry. I worked in a high school until 1999, but the entire time I had a desire to create things myself. 

Before I began my teacher’s training, I lived in the Bergen area. At that time, I had completed a yearlong course in weaving and was an auditor at the Bergen Kunsthåndverkskole [Bergen School of Arts and Crafts]. After that I wove rag rugs in large format, ponchos and cloth for shirts made from straight [not-shaped] pieces.  In addition to my job as a weaving teacher, I began the textile production we see today. I participated in exhibitions as well as becoming a member of Norske Kunshåndverkere [Norwegian Craft Artists] and later also Norske Tekstilkunstnere [Norwegian Textile Artists]. After a while I thought it would be nice to divide my time between teaching and my own artistic production. I still had the responsibilities of house and children, so there was no point in seeking a guaranteed income (GI), because of course I had to earn this money.  I continued my artwork on the side, and participated in annual and regional exhibitions.  I received GI in 1996, and then I could begin to reduce my teaching. At that time, weaving had begun to be phased out in the high schools, so I taught pattern, design, and color. All the while I was active with exhibitions and decorative commissions, and in that way it was a natural transition to the artist’s life. In the beginning I didn’t really have any intention of working as a fulltime artist, it was something that developed over time, but I have always felt the need for my weavings to have their own expression, with a value beyond just being a textile.  Whether placed on the floor or on the wall: art for the floor, art for the wall.

Could you describe your work process, has it changed through the years?

My earlier work is much more geometric, because I’m not really a sketch artist, but I love to create patterns and surface designs. After a trip to Africa in 1989 my work became more organic. How one develops is often dependent on the circumstances that come your way. If I hadn’t had that trip, perhaps I would have continued with geometric forms a while longer, but then surely something else would have come along and taken my work in a new direction.

Brita Been’s sketches on display at the exhibit PATTERN UNLIMITED, 2020. Telemark Kunstsenter. Photo: Istvan Virag

My latest series, Arvestykker [Pieces of Inheritance] has also contributed to changing the way I work. It was new for me to weave without having decided everything in advance. It seemed that the patterns in these sketches required something else from me, something other than the strictly separate pattern areas I had worked with previously. For the first time I copied the sketches in color and in full format as a pattern placed under the weaving, not just as contour lines like before. That is to say, although the main strokes of the drawing were there, I could change the details as I was working on the weaving. This gave me more room for improvisation, and I could adjust color and form as I wove. It also brought about a transition from fewer colors to many colors, with the possibility for several nuances within one color. The later years have also seen a transition from geometric compositions to more organic forms. Earlier there was much repetition in my textiles, but in later works that’s not the case, now the pattern is the entire textile. Of course, a work process will always be developing.

Brita Been, Strømpe (Stocking), 2021. 200 x 200 cm. (6’7″ x 6’7″) From the exhibit PATTERN UNLIMITED, 2022. Telemark Kunstsenter. Photo: Istvan Virag

You write that Arvestykker is a tribute to women’s work?

In working on a decorative commission for Bø nursing home, I became immersed in the beauty of rose embroidery as the basis for my sketch work.

Brita Been was inspired by traditional rose embroidery on stockings and shirts. Photo: Istvan Virag

I became especially interested in the embroidered stockings for beltestakken [the Telemark bunad]. This rich textile folk art reveals an affluence as well as the desire to create. It was in this work that women gave expression to their creative powers. Much time, effort and patience must have been devoted to this. Textile work was of course a part of daily household chores but there is also a large abundance of these pieces, and it is here where their power is seen. At the same time, it is also as Nina Mauno Schjønsby and Halvor Haugen have written in their contribution to the book, I mønsteret ligger leken [The Pleasure is in the Pattern], that for nearly all textiles, the work is credited as “woman, unknown,” for it is not known who has made them.  I thought that surely some of this work should become visible, so I adapted certain selected pattern details into large works for the wall. In this way one can get at least an idea of what these women have done!

What types of various elements and materials capture your interest?

As a rule, it is the patterns that draw my attention. I see the structure, repetitions and rhythm. I find this in everything, from architecture to nature, fabric, paintings and in folk art. Actually it can be anything and anywhere. I often document my impressions with photos. When I work further with the material, it is exciting to try out different size relationships and selections. With this I am exploring how a pattern can be endlessly varied, by enlarging, reducing, repeating and designing. I think it is exciting to see how use of different colors can change the effect. My work on the horizontal loom, as opposed to the upright loom, is all about repetition, system and order, pattern and structure. That’s just the way I think. When I worked in the high school, I spent 13 years supervising studies; among other things I made lesson plans and established thematic and hourly schedules. Things had to fit, which is probably something I have a preference for. Weavers are systematic, you know.

Brita Been, Mosaic Bright, 2005. 220 x 230 cm. (7’3″ x 7’7″) In the exhibit PATTERN UNLIMITED, 2022. Photo: Istvan Virag

Could you say more about your inspiration and connection to the textile folk arts?

I could point to the series Repitisjoner [Repetitions], which is based on squares and which has a direct link back to the old geometric tapestry coverlets. I hadn’t actually planned that that series would build on old weaving traditions, but I often see these connections after the fact. This is because when you see something, even if you don’t think consciously about it, it makes an impression that you carry with you. By the way, I like to say that I could work with squares for the rest of my life, it is so exciting to make these different combinations.

The Skybragd [Cloud pattern] series also has a connection with an old tradition. Within weaving theory one finds many different bragder [methods], such as tavlebragd, rosebragd, krokbragd, sjonbragd, og skillbragd, [various types of overshot, boundweave and inlay] but these are threading patterns, or techniques. Skybragd, on the other hand, is not a technique but a pattern. It migrated over time from the Orient. The pattern probably started as the profile of a lotus blossom, changed to a pomegranate or palmette motif, and on its travels to Scandinavia became what was known as a cloud pattern. This journey is described in a publication from 1969: “Fra granateple til skybragd” [From pomegranate to cloud pattern] by Ernst Fischer. One can, for example, find the cloud pattern in Norwegian coverlets and pillow covers from the 1600 and 1700s. I was in China as a participant in the exhibition Fra Lausanne til Beijing [From Lausanne to Beijing]. On the first visit I was incredibly fascinated by the beautiful carvings in marble, and I took many photos. When I came home, these photos lay unused for many years before I got them out again. After I had completed the series Repitisjoner, I wanted to do something new. When one starts on a new project, one often goes through old material, things one has had in the back of their mind for a long time. It was when I took out these photos from China that the cloud began to crystalize as a shape element. While working with the drawings I thought about titles, I am not so good with titles, but I came to think about an old pillow cover I had seen at the Kunstindustrimuseet [Museum of Decorative Arts and Design] in Oslo, with the skybragd motif. The title was given: “Skybragd.”  Somewhat like the cloud pattern traveled from the Orient to Scandinavia, this became my journey from China to Porsgrunn [in Norway].

Brita Been’s “Skybragd,” as displayed in the exhibition catalog.

I believe that some of what I have observed in so-called “folk art” has remained with me. There is something in its simplicity and power that I think is fascinating. This directness strikes me much more than, say, old classical figurative paintings. It is, of course, wonderful to see the work of the great artists, but I think the transition into modernism is much more exciting, and the abstract, this play in the surface. It is probably the power of “folk art,” the apparently simple style, which interests me. I believe it is because I see things very much in two dimensions, I am not as good at three dimensional thinking. 

You have traveled a lot and have been inspired by, for example, both zebras and guinea hens. How have your travels influenced your artistry?

I don’t quite know, but for example, I found something on my trip to Africa that I wanted to use in my work. The rough, raw African style really appealed to me. This was a watershed trip. I received a travel stipend and was there for five weeks. I had a brother and a colleague who worked in Malawi and Zambia, respectively, who wanted me to visit. I didn’t go there with the intention of coming back with impressions and materials for new textiles, but when you experience and see things that make an impression on you, then you take that with you. I found, for example, many beautiful fabrics, braided rugs and fantastic baskets. The colors in the landscape also made a huge impression. We were on a walking safari where I picked up guinea fowl feathers. Zebras were another favorite, with their patterns from top to toe. These I later adapted into the series Luangwa [in Zambia]. 


Brita Been, Guinea Hen & Zebra, 2017. 109 x 200 cm. (3’7″ x 6’7″) In the exhibit PATTERN UNLIMITED, 2022. Photo: Istvan Virag

In the exhibition one sees selected works, but also sketches over your lengthy professional life. In the book one gets a comprehensive overview of all your textiles. How has it been to work with the exhibition and the book? Do you see any new ‘red threads’ [commonalities]?

Photo: Istvan Virag

I have a good perspective over my work, textiles are after all a time-consuming enterprise. Nonetheless, through the book I see that I’ve produced a relatively large volume of work. Everything becomes clear. The development in artistry comes forth, and the continuity in the work is clarified. Actually, the book represents a weaver’s life set between two covers.

But my ‘red threads’ are in fact black! If you look at the index at the back of the book, you can see my entire production of textiles in chronological order. The very first textile has no black in it, but in all the others I’ve used black as one of the colors. Black brings forth the other colors and makes them clearer, while at the same time black can help to emphasize shapes. So it has been natural for me to use black, it is sort of like my ‘thing.’ Likely because I see that I most often have used strong, relatively clear colors. The patterns are distinct and clear, and the somewhat rough quality is also characteristic.

Working with the book has been quite exciting and very demanding. A year and a half ago, in fact, I was asked why I hadn’t created a book, but my answer was that it was too big a job, someone else would have to do it. Three months later I received the assurance of this exhibition at Telemark Kunstsenter.The Kunstnerisk Råd [Artistic Council] put the entire facility at my disposal on the occasion of my 75th birthday, and they took the initiative for publishing a book. Naturally I was greatly appreciative that they wished to present my long artistic career in this manner.It is very nice to have such a large exhibition, where you have the opportunity to show several sides of all that you’ve sat and worked on in the studio. The documentation of what one has done shows both the development and the range within your own work. It hit me, “Wow, am I the one who did all this?!”

It has been a good collaboration with the Telemark Kunstsenter, especially regarding the manager, Hilde Tørdal. All who have taken part in the exhibition and the book have been both capable and positive. Another exciting thing about the book has been to see what others write about your work and give that a second look. In other words, others see connections that may not be as clear to you. One can learn from this.

What do you think about developments in the textile profession, do you have any advice for new textile artists?

Interest in textiles is on the rise again in the art world. For my part, I notice that there is great respect for being knowledgeable in a handcraft, even among the younger artists. Unfortunately, such capability is not being advanced in education today, but there are many clever young people who do this in their own way. Every generation creates for themselves, making new things that build on those that we, their elders, have created. Things change over time, and it is good to observe that the textile arts appear to have a future, but of course in a completely different way than it was for my generation. If I should give any advice, which is a little difficult, it would be that they must have passion, have belief in what they are doing. Be steadfast, work hard, follow your heart and tell your own story.

Translated by Katherine Larson, Department of Scandinavian Studies, University of Washington

Editor’s note: The original title for the article was “Mine Røde Tråder er jo Sorte,” “My Red Threads are Black.” Been explains that she discovered her “red threads,” or the common elements in her weaving over the years, by working on the book covering her whole career. Then she jokes that her use of black became evident, so her “red thread” turns out to be black. Once you know the Norwegian “red thread” idiom, it’s a very clever title. 

August 2022
Help support wonderful articles on Scandinavian textiles with a donation to the Norwegian Textile Letter. Thank you! Tusen takk! 

Raanu: A Minimalist Work of (Ongoing) Art (Part Two)

By Robbie LaFleur 

The article describing Elina Juopperi’s work, “Raanu: A Minimalist Work of Art,” By Pälvi Myllylä, was published in 2016. It discusses Juopperi’s work in progress, Heritage, based on the  “Die” sculpture of sculptor Tony Smith from 1962. Heritage is created by stacking layers of raanus into an evocative stack of memory, culture, and color. When finished, the work will be cube-shaped.
 
The cube continues to grow. It reached 92 centimeters (36.2″), the halfway point of Juopperi’s goal, while installed at the Kajaani Art Museum in 2018. By 2022, when it was installed at the Lappeenranta Art Museum, it rose to around 97 centimeters (38.2″). Juopperi buys more raanus when she has the money (not so often, she added). People occasionally donate raanus also, which she feels is an honor. 
 

“Heritage” on view at the Kajaani Art Museum, 2018. Photo provided by Elena Jupperi. 

Heritage has a simple shape, but is time-consuming to set up, as Juopperi describes.
 
This is from Lappeenranta museum. The work is at its halfway point, at the moment it takes me from 2 to 3 weeks full-time work to put all the raanus in cube form. Therefore – it’s quite hard work for me and demands also a lot from the museum- for Lappeenranta I opted to show all the raanus in slightly different installation form. I started the cube form and the raanus which I didn’t have time to pile up (5 full working days here!), we showed in the room but still in their rolls. The work is really about collection/archive also, so it was important for me that everything is shown, even though I don’t have time to pile them up. 

“Heritage” at the Lappeenranta Museum, 2022.

I was not sure of the correct translation for the title of Juopperi’s work Perintö. Inheritance? Legacy? Heritage? She responded thoughtfully:

I use Heritage in English. Heritage is the translation I opted [for] and I stand behind. The reason I use Heritage – even though I’m showing objects – is: I am more talking about the immaterial heritage, all the know-how (from growing lambs, to making yarn, to dyeing, up to weaving). In Finland the immaterial heritage has been hugely ignored and abandoned, especially if it was female know-how. The word Perintö can be either immaterial heritage or an object you inherit from someone. In Finland people, with the word Perintö, tend to think about the objects you get after your parents die, instead of the most important: the immaterial know-how – which is our culture. In France the situation is not the same.

Photo: Elina Juopperi.

Juopperi is always trying to find ways to make her work more visible, even for those whom do not visit museums. Before the exhibition at Kajaani Art Museum she needed to clean some raanus purchased at a flea market. Rather than hiding this part of the work, she opted to do it in public. In this photo the newly bought raanus are getting freezer treatment on the fence of the museum visible to passers-by.

Will Heritage reach its full height and become a cube in coming years? Follow along on the “Raanu Raanu” Facebook page, which Juopperi updates when she works on her project. 

August 2022
Help support wonderful articles on Scandinavian textiles with a donation to the Norwegian Textile Letter. Thank you! Tusen takk! 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 

In Honor of Alma: A Reconstructed Rag Rug

By Robbie LaFleur

At the turn of the 20th century, seven-year-old Alma Norha traveled with her mother and paternal grandmother to the Iron Range in northern Minnesota, where her father had already traveled.  The farm she came from was Norhala, in Jalasjärvi (in what is now Etelä Pohjanmaa/South Ostrobothnia, in western Finland). They moved to Embarrass, Minnesota, a community that remained almost completely Finnish until the expansion of the taconite mines on the Iron Range in the 1950s. 

Did the Norhas know they were moving to such a frigid spot in their new country? Each winter residents of Embarrass frequently report the lowest temperature in the nation to the National Weather Service. The Embarrass website includes the nickname “The Cold Spot.” 

Later, Alma married her second cousin; their grandmothers were sisters.  Eino had the same last name, Norha, as he grew up on the same farm in Finland before moving to Minnesota at age 19.

Eino and Alma Norha, 1958. Photo provided by Barb Yarusso.

As a young wife and mother, Alma sewed and did various forms of needlework. When her arthritis flared in the early 1950s, she obtained a loom from her sister and took up a typical Finnish-American craft, weaving rag rugs. This was very common in the Finnish-American community, frugal women weaving durable rugs from discarded household textiles and old clothing, sitting at looms like those of their Finnish ancestors. Alma wove many rugs before her death in 1961.

Alma’s descendants own several of her rugs. Photo: Barb Yarusso

Alma’s loom was likely a sturdy, two-shaft loom, as all of her rugs were woven in plain weave, and she only wove rag rugs. Her husband Eino warped the loom for her, and he likely learned the skill as a boy from his mother Josefiina, or “Fiina,” who was a skilled weaver. 

A Finnish legacy–a twill towel woven by Josefiina “Fiina” Norhala, from linen she grew and spun herself. Photo: Barb Yarusso.

Another Generation, Another Finnish-American Weaver 

Alma’s granddaughter, Barb Yarusso, lives in Shoreview, Minnesota, and is following in her grandmother’s footsteps, or rather, in pushing down the treadles of her loom to weave rag rugs. 

Barb could afford to buy the most beautiful new fabric to weave her rag rugs, or just buy new rugs, but recently she chose a different challenge to honor her grandmother and the Finnish-American tradition. She chose to re-weave, shot by shot, rag by rag, a threadbare rug made by her grandmother Alma. The old rug had seen many years of use in the front entry of the Norha farmhouse in Embarrass. 

Barb Yarusso’s husband David Yarusso outside the Norha farmhouse, 1979. Photo provided by Barb Yarusso. Side note: the interesting asphalt siding was added in 1932, and is still on the farmhouse today.

Loose rags erupted from the surface of the old rug in many worn patches. But those rags! Could they have come from Alma’s dress, or Eino’s shirt? Think of how many relatives’ feet had crossed the rug. Barb decided to put a strong, new warp on her loom and insert the old rags, to make a new heirloom of old materials. 

The old and worn rug, ready for replacement. Photo: Barb Yarusso

Barb is a member of the Rag Rug Interest Group at the Weavers Guild of Minnesota, and the members made helpful suggestions. One key piece of advice was to make the new rug a different width than the old, so worn selvedge areas of the weft wouldn’t line up in the same spots.

When the new rug was woven at a different width, these broken rags didn’t end up at each edge, but were tucked into the body of the rug. Photo: Barb Yarusso

Barb found the project satisfying, and discovered that even though she was re-weaving rag-by-rag, the original rug may have looked quite different…

It was a very satisfying project. I could really connect with the decisions made by Grandma as she wove the rug, from the planning of the color changes to working around the color that seems to have been in short supply (the red). I could also tell that the weft was originally even more colorful, because the insides of the strips showed more intense purple and yellow, and there had been a red and white print, as well as a red, white and blue print. At first I thought I could reroll the strips to show this, but they were too fragile.

Another recommendation from the Rag Rug Study Group was to use darker warp, rather than the original blue and white, since new white warp would starkly contrast with the old weft. Barb used navy blue and “linen” (a warm tan) in 8/4 cotton rug warp.

Old to new – you can see the old rags coming out on the left, and being inserted into the new warp on the right. Photos: Barb Yarusso

The reconstructed rag rug is now ready for many more years of use. Memories of Grandmother Alma still burn bright.

Almost complete (only the hemming remains)! The very same stripes are revived.  5’8″ long x . Photo: Barb Yarusso.

August 2022
Help support wonderful articles on Scandinavian textiles with a donation to the Norwegian Textile Letter. Thank you! Tusen takk! 

 

Rose Tapestries in Marnardal

By Karin Bøe
(
Translation by Lisa Torvik)
May 2022

A trunk sits in the bedroom of our family farm in Laudal.  It is decorated with rosemaling and it is locked.  It has been locked for as long as I can remember.  On the outside of the trunk is painted “Siri Torgrimsdatter Skoven 1861,” and she is my great-great grandmother. 

The time came for the farm to pass to the next generation, and of course everything had to be brought out for viewing in the course of the probate process. My brother had a plastic bag full of keys and I had to try one after the other…and indeed one key turned the lock! I could open the trunk lid!  It was enormously exciting – what was in the trunk?  I could see there were some lovely treasures.  One was a beautifully embroidered bunad shawl. Another was a beautifully woven rose tapestry!  What a joy that was – a fantastic experience! There are two other rose tapestries on the farm, but it was so fun to find one more.

Karin Bøe and her brother unfurl a bunad shawl from the trunk. Photo: Elin Bøe.

Now let’s look a little closer at these rather unusual tapestries woven in rutevev, or square weave, with flowers on them.  We will examine articles by Anne Kjellberg and John Lauvdal, some oral information from Kathrine H. Bringsdal, and of course, some weavings.  I have collected information on about 30 weavings with this flower motif.  Of these, two are from Norsk Folkemuseum [Norwegian Folk Museum, Bygdøy, Oslo]; eight were in an exhibition in Kristiansand in 1983; one at Sveinall Bygdemuseum (VAF); and five were at a weaving exhibition at Høgtun in Øyslebø in 1998. Seven are from the collection from Anna Heddeland in the book by Solås (2012); and eight large and small weavings are from our family farm Roligheta in Laudal.  Pictures of the tapestries at the Folkemuseum [in Oslo] and from the exhibition in Kristiansand can also be found at digitaltmuseum.no, though almost all the tapestries are privately owned.

A rose tapestry from Roligheta, Karin Bøe’s family farm. Photo: Karin Bøe

Anne Kjellberg wrote the article “Rutevev Textiles from Vest-Agder” (in the Norsk Folkemuseum Årbok, its annual publication, 1985-86).  It is based on the textiles at Norsk Folkemuseum and the exhibition of old textiles from Vest-Agder county in Kristiansand in 1983 (KU).  Here is the discussion of rose tapestries in her article:

Ten textiles (KU) are so-called “rose tapestries.”  Anna Grostøl mentions this type of tapestry twice in her notes.  From Eiken: “Some had begun with ‘Flower-butterfly weaving’. There were flowers and leaves.”  [Editor’s note: A “butterfly” is made by winding yarn between your little finger and thumb into a small skein; the butterflies are used for each color woven into the rutevev tapestry.] From Konsmo:  “’Wreath-weaving’ was the common name for butterfly woven tapestries with a wreath of flowers on a dark ground.  There is such a tapestry in the house. She believed it was especially in one area of Laudal that they wove so much like that.  Much of that tapestry has probably been woven by a servant girl to ‘Aunt Siri of Åkset.’  One of the girls she employed was such a talented weaver.”  

We have obtained a good impression of the tapestries through these descriptions.  They usually have a dark background with more or less realistic flower patterns in the form of wreaths and/or scattered flowers. In one case, heads of dogs are placed between the flowers.  The border created by flowery vines on eight of the tapestries is not as clearly separated from the center as on the majority of tapestries in the main group A.  The colors are sharp and bright, in striking contrast to the dark background.

Two of the tapestries are dated 1874 and 1888.   Five of them have oral reports about age; probably ca. 1825-1845; ca. 1870; ca. 1890, 1903 and 1922.  The oldest dating is, I believe, rather early in light of the other characteristics of the tapestry.  However, it cannot be entirely ruled out.  Three of the textiles have information about their use, and have been, respectively, a bed coverlet, a tablecloth and a floor rug.  “Rose tapestries” are in other words not only distinct from the traditional pattern shapes of the ruteåkle, but also in part from their original use as bed coverlets.

Most people think of geometric patterns like this when they think of rutevev. The more organic rose tapestries are unusual. This eight-petaled rose rutevev, woven more than 100 years ago, was on display in 2022 in Åseral, north of Laudal. Photo: Karin Bøe

There is a clear stylistic connection between a majority of the rose tapestries and the embroidered tablecloths and floor coverings we find in large areas of Europe and America, primarily from the middle of the 1800s and later. Apparently, “rose tapestries” are a local version of this international fashion.  The embroideries were often done in a type of German pattern which was termed Berlin wool work. They were printed on graph paper and then hand-colored so they could easily be used as a pattern for weavers.  It is reasonable to imagine that this must have happened in Vest-Agder. The result became a tapestry genre that was not always as esthetically successful.  On the other hand, the tapestries demonstrate an impressive ability and desire to employ an old and familiar technique in the service of a new design form.

Detail of a rose tapestry from Karin Bøe’s family farm, Roligheta. It is easy to see how the weaving is based on a graphed-out pattern. Photo: Karin Bøe.

That a group of women in Vest-Agder did not turn to embroidering textiles like these, but rather translated the patterns into weaving, indicates that the county must have had a continuous and living tradition in rutevev into the last half of the previous [19th] century.

I have not seen other “rose tapestries” than the ten at the exhibition in Kristiansand.  This naturally does not mean that the type has only existed in Vest-Agder.  For the time being, however, I choose to consider it as characteristic and perhaps unique to the county.

The patterns  used in these rose tapestries came from Berlin wool work, a style of embroidery which was especially popular in Europe and America from 1804 to 1875. Cross stitch or tent stitch were typically used in colorful wool yarn on linen canvas. For the most part they were published as single sheets and that made it more affordable to buy them.  In Great Britain, Berlin work was given a boost by the great exhibition of 1851 and through ladies magazines.  At the same time, many women were gaining more free time, including time for handwork.  The motifs used in the patterns were geometric flower and picture series, which eventually became influenced by Victorian romanticism.

rose embroidery patterns

A rose embroidery pattern and a pamphlet with embroidery patterns. Photo: Karin Bøe

I also found similar rose patterns in old patterns for damask. They can look very much the same in their geometric design but the few I have seen have only been in black and white.  The Swedish weaving family Ekenmark published several books and taught damask weaving in the first half of the 1800s, and this spread also to Norway.  Perhaps these patterns can also have given inspiration to the weavers of rutevev in Laudal.

patterns

Pages from a Swedish book with damask weaving patterns. Photo: Karin Bøe

WHERE

Kathrine H. Bringsdal relates that the fashion with rose tapestries came up the valley from Mandal and northward.  It then spread around, west to Audnedal and north to Bjelland and Eiken, and east to Øvrebø. But there were especially many rose tapestry weavers in Laudal, especially in Sveinall [bygd] in Laudal.  Laudal is a small rural community 30 kilometers north of Mandal in the old Marnardal township. The township has now been merged into Lindesnes township in Agder, which is the southernmost county.  

A map of southern Norway showing the location of Laudal, northeast of Kristiansand.

Asborg Nåstad told me in 1997 that her grandmother wove “butterfly weavings”, that is to say rutevev. She went to a course in Mandal and they had a lot of contact there with Denmark and Germany. They learned a very special type of weaving, indeed the pattern was new, she said.  The usual tapestries in rutevev have regular patterns, but in Mandal they learned to weave irregularly. It was almost like picture weaving (billedvev/biletvev). Could this have been the rose pattern?

Another rose tapestry from Roligheta, Karin Bøe’s family farm. Photo: Karin Bøe.

There were many in Laudal who wove for Husfliden in Oslo, but unfortunately, I don’t know if there were any weavings with the rose pattern.  We will return to Husfliden later.

There are, however, other places in the world where they have woven rose tapestries.  There were many rose tapestries in Romania, and according to Bringsdal it was said there were many Germans who lived in a certain area there.  [Translator: German settlers were invited to Transylvania, then a separate principality, by its sovereign in the middle ages.  They had distinct villages and had trade and cultural connections with other German-speaking areas of Europe up through World War II.]

When war broke out in the Ukraine I attempted to search the Internet for tapestries from Ukraine.  Believe it or not, up popped rose tapestries!  It was exciting and I searched a little more.  It appears that rose tapestries were also woven in Bessarabia, which is now Moldova and  a part of Ukraine on the Romanian border. 

Internet screen shot by Karin Bøe

According to Wikipedia, Bessarabian tapestries were woven in rutevev (tapestry technique), and tapestries that were knotted were considered to be Ukrainian.  The tapestries are from the end of the 1800s and beginning of the 1900s when [these regions] were part of the Ottoman Empire.  Many of the tapestries have flower motifs with brown or black background.  According to [the website] mobile.woven.is, the design of Bessarabian tapestries is often of flowers in earth tones and the style shows French and Oriental influence, right on the border between European and Oriental tapestry weaving. 

Internet screen shot by Karin Bøe

They are almost always in tapestry weave, seldom with pile.  The online search also reveals that there are many such tapestries for sale if one searches, for example, Bessarabian-, Moldovian-, Romanian-, rose-, floral kilim, rugs or carpets.  It is amazing that one can find similar tapestries in a little area around Laudal and in a region by the Black Sea!  Could there be other places if one searched more?

AGE

It is not always easy to determine how old the Norwegian rose tapestries are.  But four of them have initials and years on them so we can probably figure they are quite accurate.  They are NTSU (+) BKDU 1874; KOÅDS 1887; IDDG 1888; and NNDS 1922.  So these range from 1874 to 1922.  Kathrine H. Bringsdal reports that the oldest dated rose tapestry she has seen is from 1868 in Laudal.

A rose tapestry with initials (detail), NTSU (+) BKDU 1874. See: https://digitaltmuseum.no/011013436932/akle

One tapestry is reported to have probably been woven by Randi Skuland ca. 1825-1845, but it is Kjellberg’s opinion that this date may be too early.  This tapestry shows 16 rosebuds placed systematically in rows, framed with a wreath of leaves around them.  It is therefore somewhat distinct from the others in composition.

rose tapestry

Rose tapestry woven by Randi Skuland.

Two of the tapestries are more recent.  One was woven by Norveig Ugland (born 1916).  It resembles the oldest tapestry attributed to Randi Skuland with rosebuds in rows, but it has a light background and a red border around it.  The other was woven by Kari Ugland (born 1910).  She was commissioned to recreate an old tapestry; I believe it was some time in the 1970s.

PATTERN

The most common composition in the tapestries I have seen is of flowers gathered in a type of bouquet, or several lightly scattered around the middle of the tapestry, or there can be a flower wreath. 

Rose tapestry from the collection of the Norsk Folkemuseum. https://digitaltmuseum.no/011023215265/teppe

Then there is often a border around the edge of flowers: oak leaves, for example, or grapes, or a more stylized organic border. 

rose tapestry

This rose tapestry with the initials NTSU (+) BKDU 1874 has a border of oak leaves. See: https://digitaltmuseum.no/011013436932/akle

On four of the tapestries, the flowers are more stylized.  On seven of them there is a figurative motif.  There is the head of a dog, horse, person, or birds, and one has two small lions together with the flowers.  The small weavings have a solid color border around in dark red or green.

Patterns were copied from one to another and the colors could easily be changed.  Those with a flower wreaths were usually much alike in their patterns, but with different colors, Bringsdal said.

The tapestry with the head of a man also has an in-woven text:  [translated] “One can still fly if one is not a falcon.”  There is also a drawing of this tapestry with the title “Turkish Pattern,” and the man could well resemble a Turk with his red cap or hat.

DESIGN

Traditional coverlet tapestries in Vest-Agder were, as a rule, woven in two lengths and sewn together in the middle, no matter what weave structure was used.  Some weavers, however, had wide enough looms that they could weave in one width. An example of this is a coverlet [åkle] from 1842, which is not a rose tapestry, woven in one width. Some weavers had double beams for their looms – longer beams for weaving wider and another set of beams when they were weaving a narrow warp.  [Translator: Mortise and tenon construction of traditional floor looms permits a quick change of beams.] The loom took up a lot of space so it was smart to have two sets of beams, says Bringsdal.

Among the 30 weavings with roses are 17 tapestries which are wider than 95 cm [approx. 37.4 inches] and of which I know the dimensions.  Of these 17 only four are woven in two lengths and sewn together. In addition, there are a couple of tapestries where I can’t tell if they are of one or two widths.  It appears that there is something special about the rose tapestries – that most of them are woven in one piece, in contrast to the more traditional åkle in the county which are put together from two narrow weavings. 

All the tapestries I have seen are rectangular.  The width is between 120 and 145 cm, and the length between 165 and 190 cm  [47 to 57 in. wide, 65 to 75 in. long].  A floor rug is somewhat larger, it is 194 cm wide and 231 cm long [approx. 76 x 91 in.]  This is woven in two lengths and sewn together.  Otherwise there are some weavings which are around 90 cm wide and some that are between 50 and 60 cm wide [approx. 35 in. and 19.5 to 23.5 in., respectively.]

HOW

The technique that is used for the transition between colors in these weavings is a single turn around a warp thread in nine of them, single interlock between warp threads in four of them, and none have double interlock. The others’ techniques are unknown to me.  John Lauvdal writes that rutevev was done previously with double interlock technique. Double interlock created an edge between the areas of different colors on the backside of the tapestry, that is to say there was a “right” and “wrong” side. Around 1850 however, Ingeborg K. Skuland began to weave so that both sides were alike. Bringsdal reports that Skuland began with a turn around a single thread. Later, Bringsdal says, there was lady from Laudal who traveled to weaving school in Christiania [Oslo] in 1895.  There she learned to weave with single interlock technique and she took that home with her and taught it to others. This indicates that double interlock is the oldest technique, then simple turn around one warp, and so the single interlock is the newest technique.

According to Marit Wang (1983) single interlock is the most common [in Norway].  But in Setesdal, single turn around one warp is the most common, at least in the rutevev textiles I have seen there.

A large floor rug with four dog heads is unique as in it the dark background is divided up into several areas.  That is to say that they wove with several butterflies with black yarn and not just one weft thread across the large background areas.

https://digitaltmuseum.no/011013436973/gulvteppe

The patterns are built up of squares (ruter) and one rute covers 2 or 4 warp threads in the weavings I have been able to examine. Kari Ugland told me (1998) that she was given a commission for recreating an old tapestry. It was flowers in a circle and of homespun yarn.  One rute covered two warp threads and it was woven in two parts and sewn together. At first she declined, but then she made it anyway. She had to collect all the safety pins she had.  The ruter were so small and they did not always line up in the middle.  But it worked out anyway, she said.  Whatever she used the safety pins for I forgot to ask, unfortunately.  

As a rule, linen, hemp or cotton are used for the warp. The weft is soft wool yarn in strong colors on a dark background.

USE

There is little information along with the weavings regarding their use. Records mention a bed coverlet, a table cloth (which has fringes around all the edges), a large floor rug. Some are said to have hung on the wall. A couple of them may have been chair covers for armchairs or bench covers, or they may have been runners to put on the table. The two smallest could work for pillows (width 58 cm x length 41 cm = approx. 23 x 16 in.) The tapestry is as mentioned rectangular and could be laid on the bed, the table, the floor or be hung on the wall.  Perhaps they were used in several ways or their use can have changed over time.

Bringsdal reports that first they wove åkle for bed coverlets, but then they began to weave them for table coverings. 

Tablecloth with fringes. This was one of the rose tapestries displayed in Kristiansand in 1983. https://digitaltmuseum.no/011013436983/bordduk

She has not seen table cloths with fringes, but she has seen many pieces where fringes were frequently used.  And there were many who wove chair covers and bench covers also.

Bench cover from Roligheta, Karin Bøe’s family farm. Photo: Karin Bøe

Asborg Nåstad told me that they had a floor covering in the living room where she grew up in Marnardal.  Usually it lay turned upside down under the table in the living room.  When the last of her parents died the rug was turned right side up.  They forgot to turn it back afterwards and so now it is faded on both sides as well.  I can imagine that it must have been really lovely with a rose tapestry on the floor.  But at that time, I don’t think they used the living rooms [parlors] for every day as much as we do today.  At that time the living rooms were used mostly when for special company or when there were special occasions, like a funeral.

A smaller weaving which is in the museum in Sveindal is a stall blanket.  It was used as a festive decoration on the horse’s back when they were going to church. 

A small and abstract rose tapestry from Roligheta, Karin Bøe’s family farm. Photo: Karin Bøe.

The weavers in Laudal

In the article titled [translated] “The small community with the many weavers – Weaving as a home industry in Laudal” (Yearbook of the Marnardal History Society 2003), John Lauvdal wrote at length about the weavers in Laudal from approximately 1895 up to the time in which he wrote the article. Already in 1866, however, folk life researcher Eilert Sundt in his book Regarding Homecraft in Norway [Om Husfliden i Norge] boasted about women of the area, that their “diligence in keeping their rural community supplied with clothing means there is only little that must be purchased…”

The women wove for their own use, but also for the Husfliden [retail store] in Oslo, and after a time for the Husfliden in Mandal and in Stavanger.  They received a considerable income for this weaving.  They earned as much money as a lumberjack, and there were many who managed to avoid the forced sale of their farm because of the weaving, Bringsdal says.  It was Randi N. Skuland who in 1895 began to weave for the Norwegian Home Craft Association.  This became more and more popular and around 1950 there were approximately 100 women in Laudal alone who wove, spun and tatted lace for Husfliden.  The Home Craft Association sponsored many types of instruction and they published and distributed books and pamphlets with patterns, drawings and instructions for the women.

They wove both decorative pieces and utilitarian weavings.  Records list these decorative items: pillows, table runners, åkle, table cloths, wall hangings, floor rugs, divan covers, chair covers, chaise-longe covers, drapery, door curtains, bags, purses and smaller items.  In addition we find these practical items: curtain fabric, rag rugs, aprons, guest towels, bench covers, napkins, breakfast table cloths, upholstery fabric, embroidery fabric, blue and other cotton fabric, clothing fabric, handkerchiefs, garbage bags, scouring- and washrags.  John Lauvdal does not write about the patterns they wove, but in a weaving course in 1915 they set up, among others, “Tapestries in Russian weaving,” which is a type of weave unfortunately unknown to me. 

In the article it is very clear that the women were both very industrious and did beautiful work.  Lauvdal concludes by relating what the director for the weaving department at the Norsk Folkemuseum said to him:  It is high time that these proficient, unknown women were given the spotlight. But it is nearly too late. There are few still alive. The majority of them passed away without really knowing what monumental work they had been part of.

Conclusion

It is very impressive that the weaving these women did could achieve such importance for so many in a small community such as Laudal.  Weaving for Husfliden provided an important income that supported many families. But whether the rose tapestries were the result of the Norwegian Home Craft Association connection or if they were an independent tradition, well, that I don’t know. One needs to learn more about the patterns that Husfliden used. In the meantime, there is much to indicate that they decided on their own to weave from the Berlin embroidery patterns, and that bears witness to how competent and motivated these women were.

It must have been very beautiful to have a rose tapestry decorating the parlor or a bedroom or other room, with the colorful flowers on a dark background. I am certain of that. I don’t know who wove the tapestries we have on our family farm, but I know there were many in my family who wove.  It makes me proud to be a descendent of those in Laudal.

A detail of a rose tapestry from Roligheta. Photo: Karin Bøe.

Karin Bøe moved to Valle in Setesdal in 1995 as a craft instructor. She began to study weaving traditions in the Setesdal region by examining coverlets and interviewing older weavers. In 1996 she began her business, Valle Vev, creating traditional weavings. She has a certificate in handweaving and a masters in traditional folk art. In 2012 she published her book, Rugger og Brossar. Åkle i Setesdal (Rugger og Brossar: Coverlets in Setesdal).

 

References: 

Bringsdal, Katherine H. “Rutevevde tekstiler fra Vest-Agder.” [Square-weave textiles from Vest-Agder.] By og Bygd 31:1985-86. Norsk Folkemuseum.

Lauvdal, Jon. “Den vesle bygda med dei mange vevarane – Veving som heimeindustri i Laudal.” [The small community with the many weavers – Weaving as a home industry in Laudal] Årsskrift for Marnardal historielag, 2003.

Solås, Haldis Haugland. Åklevev i Vest-Agder. En fargerik samling fra før 1900. Oslo : Novus Forlag,  2012.
 
 

Wang, Marit. Ruteåklær : bidrag til en karakteristikk, ordning og plassering. Bergen : Universitetsforlaget, 1983.

August 2022
Help support wonderful articles on Scandinavian textiles with a donation to the Norwegian Textile Letter. Thank you! Tusen takk! 

 

 

Flamskväv (Tapestry) in Skåne, Sweden: Then and Now

By Marianne Asp

Marianne Asp’s modern use of Flamskväv, in a jacket modeled by her daughter. Photo provided by Marianne Asp.

Weavers from Flanders came to Skåne (southwestern Belgium and northwestern France) as early as the beginning of the 16th century. At the royal castles, tapestries were hung as decoration and as protection against cold and drafts from cold stone walls.

The weavers were men who lived in a castle until a tapestry was finished and then moved to the next castle and the next weaving task. Famous battles and pictures from the Bible were depicted. The tapestries were large, usually around 13′ x 19′ (400cm x 600cm).

The weavers had a pattern collection (cartoons) from which the nobility ordered motifs. By the 17th century, tapestries became less popular and male weavers could not support themselves and their families. Weaving then became a task for women and the art of weaving tapestry transitioned from a profession to handicraft.

At the same time, folk artists, mainly in southwestern Skåne, began to weave tapestry. The land was very fertile in that region, and supported servants working in the fields. Women on the farms had time to weave and embroider. The largest production was in 1750 – 1850.

Swedish digital Library image: https://digitaltmuseum.se/011023369651/akedyna. Unbleached linen warp, wool weft. “The Lion Castle ” is surrounded by flowers and flying birds, framed by a blue zigzag border. It has wool fringe and a back of red calfskin. Woven in 1790 by Bengta Olsdotter. The motif is described in Ernst Fischer Flamskvävnader i Skåne, pp. 280-283. 

Large cushions called äkdynor became status symbols; a sign that you were rich. The cushions were used on Sundays, when traveling to church by horse and carriage. Most important was the bride’s journey to church before her wedding: she could sit on up to ten cushions!

The images were religious or taken from folklore. Flowers and birds were also depicted, strewn throughout the image. The cushion dimension were usually 20″ x 39″ (50cm x 100cm). The joy of color is evident, and there are many shades.

https://digitaltmuseum.se/011023711729/akdyna. No date given. Very large flowers and vases; very small people! Look closely to find charming birds. 

Museums and handcraft organizations in Sweden play an important role in maintaining interest in handcrafts. Handcraft consultants teach courses in Flamskväv and handicraft stores sell all needed materials. the classes have been completely full in the past year.

We who weave Flamskväv have a responsibility to carry on the knowledge, tradition and joy of weaving.

Flamskväv by Marianne Asp. Photo provided by Marianne Asp.

Marianne Asp teaches traditional Swedish tapestry, Flamskväv, with Hemslojd (the Handcraft Association) in Skåne, Sweden. She has also taught at Sätergläntan. She has woven in a variety of techniques for many years, but always returns to Flamskväv, inspired by the richness of color and pattern in the old tapestries. 

To delve more into the tapestries of Skåne, see Anne Whidden’s post in the Swedish Rug Blog, “Traditional Swedish Tapestry Weave.”

August 2022
Help support wonderful articles on Scandinavian textiles with a donation to the Norwegian Textile Letter. Thank you! Tusen takk! 

Anti-Monument: The 2022 Hannah Ryggen Triennial

By Christine Novotny

I flew into Trondheim on a characteristically foggy and cool day. The mountains surrounding Norway’s third largest city tend to welcome these precipitous systems that give the area a pensive mood. I traveled to Trondheim to see the tapestries of Hannah Ryggen, a weaver who combined folk tradition and more contemporary narrative techniques to create politically charged, humanist tapestries. The Nordenfjeldske Kunstindustrimuseum was hosting the third Hannah Ryggen Triennial, which boasts a variety of art shows all over the city. Each show contains some of Ryggen’s work with a grouping of contemporary artists who are making work in a similar vein, showing that the themes and concepts of Ryggen’s work are universal and still relevant today. 

The 2022 triennial’s theme is “Anti-Monument,” an idea in contemporary art that challenges all aspects of traditional memorials and seeks to deny the presence of a one-sided authoritarian force in public spaces. Hannah’s work is anti-monument in many ways. Ryggen tells the stories of the people, not the authoritarian power. She disempowers dangerous dictators by embarrassing them, or rewriting history all together. In 6. Oktober 1942 (6 October 1942), she weaves a cartoonish Adolf Hitler flying through the air, propelled by his own flatulence. In Ethiopia, she rewrites history by depicting Benito Mussolini with a spear through his head. She weaves the truth as she sees it, from a perspective of universal compassion and a strong anti-fascist disposition. 

I spent 5 days in Trondheim, and seeing each show was the only thing I had planned. I went to some shows multiple times, but I spent the most time with “Anti-Monument I” in the Trondheim Kunstmuseum’s Gråmølna. This show contains the largest number of Ryggen’s original tapestries, interspersed with powerful contemporary pieces. 

The show’s first room centered around Hannah Ryggen’s meaningful tapestry Vi lever på en stjerne (We Are Living on a Star), Ryggen’s love letter to this world, an expression of compassion and faith in humanity. This tapestry was hanging in the Norwegian government center during the 2011 terrorist attack and was permanently altered when the car bomb detonated next to the building. The tapestry took all kinds of abuse, including being hit with debris, and soaked in water during the clearing of the building. The most visible damage was the bottom right corner, where the tapestry was split. During restoration, the decision was made to leave the repair visible, and retain this part of the story in the piece. 

Ryggen, Hannah. “We are Living on a Star.” Photo: Christine Novotny

Everyone who talked to me about the tapestry’s damage referred to it as a “laceration” or a “wound.” Its visible repair was called a “scar.” The descriptions were so bodily, suggesting the piece was not just a tapestry, but an artwork that was very much alive, and now held a new, denser meaning within it. 

Ryggen, Hannah. “We are Living on a Star.” (Detail with visible repairs) Photo: Christine Novotny

In the same room was a stunning installation from Norwegian artist Marthe Minde, entitled Mellom loft og kjellar (Between Attic and Stairs). The sculpture has two oval shaped mirrors with a cascading staircase of branches woven into handspun wool from Minde’s region. The mirrored shapes on the top and bottom of the sculpture are the exact dimensions of the shape that is centered in We Are Living on a Star. Within the shape, there is a passage that the visitor is invited to enter. I saw myself reflected in the mirrors both below and above, surrounded by a thousand delicate handspun threads. The dialogue between Minde and Ryggen seems to suggest that we are still a part of the story being written; we are living within the same kinds of events that drove Hannah to weave these stories. It is a poetic reminder of our participation in this broken and repairing world. 

Minde, Marthe. “Between Attic and Stairs.” Photo: Christine Novotny

Other works included The Prodigal Son, a tapestry commissioned by a church to depict the biblical parable. In the story, a father has two sons, and the younger son asks for his portion of the inheritance, only to squander it away and eventually become destitute. He comes back to his father, expecting scorn. Instead, his father welcomes him back with love and a great party. It is a beautiful story of redemption. 

At some point after Hannah had woven the top half depicting the story, the church withdrew the commission. Ryggen added a panel onto the bottom of the narrative–wide bands of blue and yellow with meandering footstep shapes in knotted rya, presumably the prodigal son wandering in his journey away from home. 

Hannah Ryggen, “Prodigal Son.” Photo: Christine Novotny

The show’s curator, Solveig Lonmo, told me that this tapestry had been more or less forgotten in a lecture hall of the local university, and the museum decided to display it for the show. The day they unrolled the piece at the installation was the day that Putin invaded Ukraine. The blue and yellow portion seemed to speak to the present, and the wandering footsteps to a war-torn nation of people displaced from their homes. It’s another example of Ryggen’s prescient work, and how she continues speaking to us today. 

Also included in the show was a 45-minute video about “Memory Wound,” the proposed memorial for the 69 victims who were murdered in the 2011 terrorist attack on Utoya island. The story of the memorial was told by its creator, Swedish artist Jonas Dahlberg, whose winning design would have cut a channel into the rocky point that looks out onto Utoya. Visitors would be led down a winding path through the forest, and eventually would be led below the surface of the point. Across the channel, they would be met with the names of the victims etched on the stone opposite them. This would provide a quiet place to mourn and turn the gaze inward. 

Dahlberg, Jonas. “Memory Wound (from a video of the proposed memorial)” Photo: Christine Novotny

While the proposal won global acclaim, the memorial was never realized after 20-30 residents in the Utoya region protested its violent nature. In the memorial, Jonas asks which is more violent, the act or the work? How can a country heal when it cannot face the truth? Even though the memorial was never built, the many years of discussion within Norway and the art world, and the circulating design photo of the proposed piece makes it feel like “Memory Wound” exists even though it was never physically built. It seemed incredibly relevant to the United States, where we are reckoning with accepting the often sordid truth of our own country’s making and the present-day violence that is born from our inability to repair that harm. 

The Hannah Ryggen Triennial was full of artwork that challenges our perception of truth, that asks us to explore the humanity behind history, and the stories of those who have been lost. Hannah Ryggen’s work is so powerful because it still effortlessly participates in discourse with the global community, using events that were present to Ryggen, and history that we continue to reckon with. 

Christine Ann Novotny is a Minnesota-based handweaver, educator, and designer who runs the textile studio CAN Goods. She seeks to bring a vibrant, colorful energy to handweaving that invites people to reconsider the textiles in their life, and to evolve the practice of handweaving through contemporary handwoven goods and craft education. 
Read more about Christine’s impression of the Triennial, with additional photos, in the North House Folk School blog post, “Hannah Ryggen Triennial in Trondheim.”
August 2022
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To Draw with Wire: The Art of Marta Nerhus

Text by Sten Nilsen. The article originally appeared in KUNST PLUSS, #1 2019, published by Norske Kunstforeninger.

Women’s Day on March 8th is very important to observe in order to bring into focus values that have been forgotten in our market-liberal and late capitalistic society, says Marta Nerhus, who presents her work at the Women’s Exhibition in Stord Kunstlag [Stord Art Association].

Marta Nerhus has always admired Amalie Skram. Here she is creating a huge portrait of the author in copper wire. Photo: Jan M Lillebø, Bergens Tidende

It’s a distinctive and easily recognizable technique that you use in your work.  How did you develop it?

Marta Nerhus (MN): I have worked with wire and metal thread for 30 years, for the first time in the third level, textiles, at the Art Academy in Bergen in 1984, in my weaving period. I brought old hay-drying wire from home in Ølve to weave with, and was super fascinated when I was finished: the work could stand and be formed in three dimensions. Afterwards, a memory surfaced: the way my father handled the haying wire, so simple, so strong, and the sight of the wire, either bare or covered with hay. 

After some time experimenting with painting, I returned to the three dimensional, it seemed so natural for me. I experimented some, drew and constructed using black horticultural wire, needing neither loom nor other tools. I saw possibilities in the black wire, both as lines and as a construction material. In 2002/2003 I wanted to make a dress in copper thread for a poem, for my exhibition Sentimentale Bilde [Sentimental Picture] in Stord Prison. For that, the knitting machine was a good implement to make the raw material.  Afterwards I could work on a flat surface, and manipulate up on the wall.  Suddenly I, who could never draw with perspective and the like, had made a material of copper thread with which I could draw with all my fingers and both hands. For me, the wire reel or spool, is a thread, a line, my alphabet that I can use to say something about life and my values and questions, and at the same time it is extremely delicate. Metal wire and cord are not as soft as silk and wool.

Through your textile work you present stories. Do you work with different themes from one exhibition to the next? And do you think of an exhibition as a holistic narrative, or are there several different stories in each exhibition?

MN: I don’t present just a single story.  What I show with art is a way for me to make a statement. I don’t dictate, I win in my own way; something that I feel, something that inspires me to get started. But sometimes it is emotions and interpersonal relationships that I try to express.  My exhibitions have been holistic and had a clear theme, but the room where the work will be shown is important for how I develop things. I usually work with a main theme for each exhibition. In the exhibition Sentimantalt bilde on Stord in 2003, I used the entire prison and made different pictures/installations in each cell based on different literary texts by Sunnhordland authors.

The exhibition Folk over fjorden dei på hi sida… [People across the fjord, those on the other side….], Rosendal 2012, was a commentary on the reduction in elder care in Kvinnherad. For that I showed 40 portraits of people who could be affected. I have also incorporated various themes in exhibitions, such as when I developed the exhibition Heim [Home] for the Bryggen Museum in Bergen, 2016. My main focus there was refugees, the migrations of people, showing today’s refugees together with Norwegian emigrants to America and the Norwegian refugees in Norway during the last world war. In that exhibit I also found a place for a work I had completed but had not shown before: Heltar frå Hardanger [Heroes from Hardanger], which showed three of the activists against Monstermastane i Hardanger [Monster Masts in Hardanger, a protest against a proposed power line]. I find it difficult to do good work when I don’t feel something in my heart.  But then there is something to be said for being free to experience and for me to think as the audience.  This I would state and believe, that there is something with the technique and my expression that is so fragile, that at its best can reach some inner chord, setting emotions and thoughts in motion.

Portrett av Kim Friele, 2013, Marta Nerhus. Photo: Pål Hoff

Images of powerful men have traditionally been placed on a pedestal, while in your work, strong, distinctive women are embroidered. Do you have any thoughts about this?

MN: Oh, so many men who stand about, hard and rigid, and so few women have received their just recognition. I have chosen to spend time making portraits of women who I think we should not forget, those about whom I would like to make the young curious. I have done that with my own material and with my own techniques. I hope that with my art I have come closer to the fragility of life. That which I have drawn with my wire is important in my understanding of myself in the world. It represents something that is so human, and that is so courageous. When I took the initiative to make an exhibition in Litteraturhuset [The House of Literature] in Bergen that opened on March 8, 2013, I decided to create portraits of women, authors and others who had used the word, before men took the entire house. These images are not embroidered, they are drawn in my knitted copper wire material, but I have occasionally used a sewing needle to fasten them to the leather.

Marta Nerhus wrote, “I have chosen to spend time making portraits of women who I think we should not forget, those about whom I would like to make the young curious.” Photo: Pål Hoff

You will participate in the “Women’s Exhibition” in Stord Kunstlag, an exhibition that actually opens on Women’s Day. Why is it important to observe Women’s Day?

MN: Women’s Day, March 8th, is extremely important to observe in order to bring attention to the values that were forgotten in our market-liberal and late capitalistic world. Our earth has been on its way to hell due to the masculine and economic values that have set the agenda for all too long. Life and humanity are considered one size that is “zeroed’ by those who have power. Our oceans and lands are mortgaged for economic growth, and along the way they deny refugees, mothers and war-wounded people the rights to a new future. We give life, take care of life, and many of us have other values than those who set the agenda and make decisions.  We need to join together to try to change these perversions here at home and out in the larger world.

As Far as the Boat can go (2016), Marta Nerhus. Photo: Pål Hoff.

What women’s issues do you think are worth fighting for inside and outside the art world?

MN: I can just mention last year’s Peace Prize winners, Denis Mukwege and Nadia Murad. That which they tell us about atrocities committed against women. Rape and violence in our own streets where the perpetrators go free. Twisted men who abuse children and indulge in internet sex with small children from, for example, Thailand.  This is contempt for life and human dignity, and it is mostly women who are the victims. This year it will also be important to protect the abortion law when the pietists, with Erna Solberg’s blessing, cast doubt on women’s judgement concerning abortion; [it’s important] that art museums, foremost galleries, art dealers and the press see what is happening. Most people with art education today in Norway are women; talk about what we do, and don’t just let the big boys get the opportunities.  There is much women’s artistry that has been overlooked; purchases by museums speak volumes. 

The Women’s Exhibition is a yearly event, which Stord Kunstlag has held since 2003.  Stord Kunstlag noted that there were many woman artists from Stord, or with connections to Stord. The first year they had about 20 artists. After several years this energized the Kvinnelag [Women’s Association], and they entered a cooperative arrangement with Tverrpolitisk [Cross-party] forum, starting a joint event for Women’s Day.  Over time it has become a large event, with about 300 people present for the exhibition opening, as well as additional events in the cultural house, parades, concerts, speeches and food and drink.

Detail of Marta Nerhus’s wire imagery. Photo: Robbie LaFleur

Tools in Marta Nerhus’s studio space at the United Sardine Factory in Bergen: wire, a knitting machine. Photo: Robbie LaFleur

See more of Marta Nerhus’s work at her website: martanerhus.no.

Translated by Katherine Larson, Department of Scandinavian Studies, University of Washington

August 2022
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The Baldishol Tapestry: Far from Shoddy—Wool from an ancient breed of sheep is the secret behind the beautiful art work

Originally published in Dagens Næringsliv, June 10, 2022, by Ingun Grimstad Klepp and Tone Skårdal Tobiasson. Translated and adapted by Robbie LaFleur, August 2022. See original

The nearly 1000-year-old Baldishol Tapestry has a prominent place in the [newly-opened] Nasjonalmuseeet (Norwegian National Museum). If you want to know more about the history behind this cultural treasure, you can view this film, The Baldishol Tapestry (1040–1190), from the museum, which describes how it was discovered and something about the motifs in the tapestry. But the film doesn’t touch on why the tapestry survived so long. 

More information from Norway’s National Museum: https://www.nasjonalmuseet.no/samlingen/objekt/OK-02862. The Baldishol Tapestry shines nearly 1000 years after the wool was spun into thread, thanks to the fantastic quality of the wool from the spelsau sheep, write the authors. 

It survives, of course, due to several lucky circumstances that came together. But the main reason the tapestry shines nearly 1000 years after the wool was spun into thread, is due to the fantastic quality of the wool, which came from the original northern European breed of sheep that we today call spelsau. The breed came to our area over 7000 years ago. This wool meant that the Vikings could sail across the world’s oceans with their strong woolen sails, and spelsau wool is the very basis for a tapestry tradition that has flourished until today. The strong, glossy guard hair of these sheep is the hub of our cultural tradition. 

The same wool is the raw material in the Lendbreen tunic, from around 400, which is older still than the Baldishol Tapestry. The tunic has been displayed around the country because it is Norway’s oldest clothing item. We used a commercially-woven reproduction of the wool fabric as inspiration for the VikingGull (Viking Gold) fabric project, which received broad recognition in the last season of Symesterskapet  [a Norwegian reality show in which ten contestants vie to become Norway’s best amateur sewist; the UK version is “Sewing Bee.”], as the world’s more sustainable material.

Symesterskapet, the Norwegian television show, is not available outside of Norway, but this short “extra” segment is, “Vikingstoff” (Viking Fabric). It shows the contestants viewing the reproduction Viking fabric they will use for contemporary clothing. (In Norwegian)

But the European Union’s newly-released textile strategy is not in agreement with us on this wool’s sustainable profile. They are strongly encouraging the use of recycled materials in new products. In the case of wool, this is called “shoddy,” ripped-up wool from production extras or castoff clothing. [For more information, see, “Questions and Answers on EU Strategy for Sustainable and Circular Textiles.]

During the Second World War it was decreed [in Norway] that yarn should contain shoddy to preserve the expensive raw material. Even today wool is sold with the words “pure new wool” as a guarantee that the wool is new, not recycled and therefor of lower quality. Rauma Yarn was given an exception to this wartime rule, as they delivered yarn for home craft sale. It was here that quality was not sacrificed. But that is what is being discussed in today’s suggested textile strategy; there is discussion of a requirement that would make the yarn weaker, less durable. For clothes that could be used for hundreds of years, that creates a problem.

Spinning mills in Norway continue to spin this glossy, strong spelsau yarn for weavers and some happy knitters who have discovered the sheen and diversity of colors both in knitting and weaving yarn. In Iceland they have made similar adjustments for the amazingly long guard hair in the wool there.

In Sweden the yarn is called ryagarn (rya yarn), and Wåhlstedt Ullspinneri in Dalarna specializes in it. Roger Bush, the director, has machines that his deceased father-in-law made for the long fibers. Bush mentioned textile artists who have been loyal Wåhlstedt’s customers, like the Märta Måås-Fjetterström studio, which has a square meter price up around 120,000 kroner, and Helena Hernmarck, whose art works cost around 20 million kroner and are found in New York and Berlin.

Helena Hernmarck. Blue Wash 1, 1984. Minneapolis Institute of Art. Read about Hernmarck’s use of Walstedt yarn in a post by MIA curator Nicole LaBouff, “Counting sheep: Helena Hernmarck and the revival of Sweden’s signature wool.

Recently Volvo officials visited Wåhlstedt’s to look at spools of 1950s-era rya yarn, spun for SAS Airlines, and they ordered yardage of the same type for their most expensive cars. Røros Tweed provided upholstery fabric for an airport in the north of Norway, and after many, many years, when the airport was remodeled, the chairs lived on because they were not worn at all – in contrast to most everything else. This would not have happened if Røros Tweed was required to use yarn with recycled content, or “shoddy.” Nor would the works of our iconic weavers, who used yarn of 100% spelsau, have survived.  If the EU requirement for the use of “shoddy” wool existed at the time the Medieval Baldishol Tapestry was woven, you could question whether it would exist today. 

A Røros Tweed throw, “Knut.” In an article in Lokalfolk, Røros Tweed Creative Designer Thomas Frodahl explained, “But the material is exceptional. Thanks to the Norwegian climate, the wool we use is much thicker, more twisted, and shinier than other wools from around the world. This local wool is embedded in our history and our products – and, luckily for us, we have the best wool that Norway can offer!”

We need to have durable, beautiful textiles that require little maintenance and demonstrate that clothes can last. Requirements to blend in recycled materials, which make the yarn weaker and duller, should not be mandatory for products that require high quality and a long life. This is yet another example of how little understanding there is about what the circular economy should be acting on: reducing environmental burdens.

Ingun Grimstad Klepp is Professor of Clothing and Sustainability with Consumption Research Norway (SIFO), Oslo Metropolitan University. Tone Skårdal Tobiasson is an author and journalist, and a board member of the Union of Concerned Researchers in Fashion. They are co-editors of the recently-published e-book, Local, Slow and Sustainable Fashion Wool as a Fabric for Change. Palgrave Macmillan, 2022. https://link.springer.com/book/10.1007/978-3-030-88300-3

(Editor’s note: Watch for more information from Tone Skårdal Tobiasson on the VikingGull (Viking Gold) spelsau fabric reproduction project in the next issue of the Norwegian Textile Letter) 

August 2022
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Raanu: A Minimalist Work of Art (Part One)

By Pälvi Myllylä

(Editor’s note: This essay appeared as a blog post on the site of the Finnish magazine Antiikki & Design, and is printed here with permission of the author. Translated by Pirjo Heikkilä.)

Sunset. The glow of lilacs. Red berries of rowan. Midsummer yellow sun. A field landscape. A mist over the lake. Nature has always been the inspiration for Finnish raanus. It can sometimes be hard to remember, as most of the raanus date back to the 1970s, when the use of colors was by no means passive. 

A great example of the use of 1970s colors in raanu – lime green, red-orange, and black.

A raanu is a type of simple woven textile, first used as blankets and later as wall textiles. Raanus rose to popularity in the 1970s, when a wildly colorful fashion prevailed in Finnish interiors. The raanu fit like a nose to the head. [Editor’s note: This is a Finnish idiom – something that is a perfect match fits like a nose to the head.]  The tobacco-brown and pine-green walls were joined by the most imaginative raanu color schemes. But over the generations, raanus moved from the walls to the darkest attics and corners of the linen closet. They are rarely found in modern interiors.

Green…

Yellow and black

Redder than red…

…and even blue!

Raanus have always been in the life and family of the artist Elina Juopperi. The artist became enthusiastic about exploring the natural subjects that inspired the raanu and started photographing “raanu-like” subjects – even wild colors could be found directly in nature, if you only knew how to look properly. Eventually every landscape begins to look like a raanu.

Elina Juopperi, Study 05, 2008-2011. Installation. Collection of the State Art Commission. The installation was presented at the 60th anniversary exhibition of the State Art Commission at the Visavuori museum (which ended February 5, 2017).

While implementing her series, Elina Juopperi noticed that people were happily giving up their raanus; flea markets and recycling centers were full of them. Juopperi started to collect raanus to implement a new, amazing contemporary art project. She used raanus to reproduce the iconic “Die” sculpture of sculptor Tony Smith from 1962. The sculpture is a cube with dimensions borrowed from Leonardo da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man drawing: each side is 180 cm (approximately 6 feet) wide.

Elina Juopperi’s Heritage was exhibited at various stages. The work-in-progress was exhibited at the Visavuori Museum and at the Sinkka Museum as part of the “Yarn Visions” exhibit in 2017.

Elina Juopperi assembling the work Heritage at the Visavuori museum.

In her speeches and works, Elina Juopperi equates the traditional raanu with modern minimalist art: the clear color fields and rhythmic design language are like textbook minimalism. For some reason, the color choices and clear color fields that seem natural in painting feel foreign to modern viewers when seen in textiles.

Individuals donated raanus to Juopperi’s work: In Valkeakoski, almost 30 were donated. The names of donors were noted alongside the art work. The raanus remained intact, meaning they were not chopped or processed in any way. So Juopperi’s work is the best way to preserve raanu heritage for future generations in the form of a work of art!

A detail of a raunu called Syreeni, what a beautiful purple and green!

The title of Elina Juopperi’s piece Perintö (Heritage) essentially tells what the piece is about – tradition and heritage. Textiles often carry stories and significant emotional value.  Juopperi received several donations at the Visavuori museum, for example, in which the couple gave up their wedding gift. In the Heritage piece, the raanu continues their life and story, and remains on display – unlike in many homes, where the raanus are rolled into the darkest corner of a storage closet.

The  craze came to an end in the 1980s, and in the 1990s no one was actually making them anymore. It’s a pity, because it would have been interesting to see what colors and designs would have been used in raanu as fashion changed. You can already see a clear change in the color schemes in raanus from the 1980s, with pastels and softer colors taking over.

A 1980s raanu

I confess: I myself have not cared much about raanus. Admittedly, there are many special memories associated with them. My mother wove them in the hall of Taivalkoski Citizens’ College in the 1970s, in the house next to the church and the town hall. They are nicely done, but have not made their way to the walls of any of her children.

As I got to know the ideology of Elina Juopperi’s work, I really started to look at both raanus and the world around me with completely different eyes: now I look out the window and realize that every landscape has changed to look like a raanu. Looking at raanus as minimalist art, on the other hand, has given us the tools to look at the brightly colored surfaces in a different way – they seem to fall into place and not argue with each other.

Elina Juopperi: Heritage, a work-in-progress piece shown at the Visavuori museum.

The work Heritage also gives us reason to think about the formation of history, because when the textiles are stacked, it is as if layers of earth are formed. Each layer is unique and tells its own story – the story of a person, family or even a village may be embedded in each layer of soil. And at the same time, each unique raanu becomes part of a unified whole, revealing only a small part of itself and serving the whole as the sum of one small part.

I am hugely glad that in Finnish heritage our historical strata are mainly light red, orange and yellow–not brown, black and gloomy.

Pälvi Myllylä, October 4, 2016

Pälvi Myllylä is the director of Visavuori museum in Valkeakoski, Finland. She has a Master of Science in Art history  from Jyväskylä University. She is a journalist and art critic for the publications Etelä-Suomen Sanomat and Antiikki & Design, and has written about Finnish artists including cartoonist Kari Suomalainen, sculptor Emil Wikström, Olga Gummerus-Ehrström and Eric O.W. Ehrström. She is interested in various textile and handicraft techniques in art, and enjoys exploring handcraft techniques herself.  
Help support wonderful articles on Scandinavian textiles with a donation to the Norwegian Textile Letter. Thank you! Tusen takk!