Stories of women's aspirations, support for one another and hidden power.
The weaving of textiles by the farming communities and townspeople of the historical province of Skåne (or Scania), at the southernmost part of Sweden, has been practised since at least the 16th century. In 1925, Emelie Wilhelmina von Walterstorff (1871-1948) wrote in the opening chapter of her book on the textiles kept at the Nordiska museet, Stockholm: ‘[Textile art] seems to have become instinctive to the Swedish woman and inseparable from the appointments of the Swedish home. During the course of centuries, in which the art has been carried on, certain methods and many characteristic and beautiful designs became traditional’
Weaving as a form of female bonding and passing of knowledge has existed since ancient times, forming a conduit for the lessons, traditions and complex emotions which were allowed to exist in those weaving spaces but not elsewhere. In Fragment 102 of Sappho for instance, the poet writes ‘sweet mother I cannot work the loom/I am broken with longing for a boy by slender Aphrodite’. The passage itself is Sappho’s take on a work song sung by weavers while working over the loom. Along with threads, the stories of these women, their desires, their loves, their power, and their sadness would entwine. Singing and telling of stories would often be involved, and from dawn women would find a space safe for them to feel part of a community, part of the world.
From the middle of the 18th century for almost a hundred years, textiles of exceptional quality were made by the wives, daughters, and maidens of Scania, usually for wedding ceremonies and to be used as covers for cushions, benches, and beds on the special day. Very often these would be woven by the bride-to-be for her dowry chest, and traditional methods of dyeing, weaving, and decorating would be passed on from mother to daughter. And very often, the hopes and dreams of the weavers would be expressed through chosen motifs and patterns.
At the Khalili Collection of Swedish Textiles we have collated close to 100 examples of these unique and personal pieces, each conserved and studied with much care and affection, and over 90 of these have been catalogued in 1996 by the expert art historian Viveka Hansen and published in our catalogue Swedish Textile Art: Traditional Marriage Weaving from Scania. Currently, the Collection holds the largest number of this type of textiles outside of Sweden, and we often plan and work with researchers to find new opportunities to display and study them.
The textile shown below, woven around 1800, is a perfect example of how the occasion and environment would influence the weaving. It is a woven carriage cushion cover, to be used within the carriage as the bride heads to the church, and features a reindeer as well as figures of young women, birds, and no less than seventy-two hearts. The hope for love, the wish for luck and the support of the community are all woven into the cover, making this a piece radiant with promise and aspiration. Unfortunately, as was often the case with these textiles, the pieces are unsigned, and the specific story lost to time.
Textiles like these were usually produced at home on a spinning-wheel and made for the weaver’s own household, although sometimes tapestries would be woven on commission or given as presents. Artificial pigments were not available before 1856, so the remarkable women weaving these were not only experts at techniques of weaving, but also possessed a wealth of knowledge of natural dyes derived from hand-picked plans and their application.
Yellow would often come from apple bark, birch leaves or mignonette — a dye plant which was used by Romans. Red and indigo would be produced from plants such as madder and woad, both of which have been used since ancient times to make those colours. It’s remarkable how abundant and vivid these colours remain today: the dyes in many of these textiles have already survived for centuries. In one of our 18th century carriage cushions, a wonderfully chaotic flood of flowers, birds and people are portrayed in no fewer than seventeen colours.
Undoubtedly, folklore, superstition and stories made their way into these works as well, being a strong influence on the life of the working communities of the time. Sometimes, they even influenced the way the textiles were made: an account by a parish called Fru Alstad, taken down by the Folklore Record Office of the Ethnological Institute in Lund, reads: ‘You could not warp on a Monday, as the weave would not turn out well. When you took down the weave you had to sweep, and no pregnant woman should walk over it, as the baby would then catch a serious disease… No husband should be in the room when the weave was taken down, if so he would not win anything.’
Other times, folk stories and beliefs would make their way into the subjects of the textiles themselves. As well as using the reindeer motif, the weavers would sometimes use mythical creatures such as unicorns and brook horses – figures of Swedish folklore said to lure innocents onto their back and then drown them. Perhaps, as well as visions of love and hope, some of the weavers chose to use these creatures as talismans, or as memento mori (a reminder of mortality), to keep themselves grounded. One of the most powerful objects in the Collection bears precisely this type of depiction. It shows three supernatural horses in an interlocked tapestry dating from 1791, coloured in fiery reds. Unlike most of these textiles, this one bears the initials ‘MPD’ and ‘IHS’, however the identities of these individuals remains unknown.
Finally, let’s look at a textile which could be seen as encompassing all the traditions and motifs mentioned, and which is resplendent in its colour and detail. It is another signed piece, bearing the initials STDR and was made during the first half of the 19th century. In the centre are six octagons. In the four outer octagons, figures are gathered around a large horse with an elegant rider on their back. The rider’s clothes are done in such minute detail, that even the French knots on their coat buttons are visible. And right in the centre, in the two largest octagons, six splendidly dressed women stand around a large and ornate tree, three on each side, while birds fly above. The power and presence of the women, celebrating the intended recipient of this textile, tells the story of their aspirations, support for one another, and hidden power.
