Louis Wain; Society cats, Lodestars, Symptoms of schizophrenia and a Sulky Siberian cat...

Our sulky Siberian...

The months of May, June and now almost July have come and gone, in an array of packed-up possessions as we finally moved out of our lovely house to settle into a flat which is decidedly smaller in size.
Oggie the Siberian cat was not impressed by the fact that he longer had access to his favourite items of furniture in the house to sprawl out on, perch on or occupy in one feline way or another. Even his choice table from which he devotedly spied on the blackbirds' activity finally went off to the new address and then we were just down to the basics before the longest house-move in history came to an end! He did seem amused yet bemused in the first stages of the mass sort-out as cupboards and wardrobes were emptied of their contents. All of us were pleased to rediscover long-lost items that re-surfaced from behind and below and beyond various parts of the house. The cat was particularly happy to find numerous Christmas decorations that he had ravaged off the Christmas tree.
He seemed to sulk a little in the initial  packing-and-panic process but then appeared to take a more philosophical stance on the whole issue, as indeed we all did.

Detail from A boy and a girl with a cat and an eel. Judith Leyster 1635

During the boxing-up of belongings I came across a postcard that represents a rather cheesed-off cat, and thought the resemblance was quite striking between the cat shown and our sulky Oggie. I just love the general exasperated expression of the poor cat! I initially thought my picture was just an animal portrait, but in fact the cat is just one of the three characters in the original painting - the other two protagonists being mischievious children busy irritating the cat in question!

A boy and a girl, with cat. Judith Leyster 1635

As is apparent from the style of  the piece, it is work from the Dutch Golden Age in art - during 17th century. In such genre paintings and still lives reflecting contemporary life and questioning Life in general, it was common to depict children in order to show the foolishness and foibles of human (adult) behaviour. The message here would perhaps be, 'He who plays with fire gets burnt', or in this case, scratched. The unhapppy cat prepares his sharpened claws to silence the children and put an end to their relentless teasing as the young innocents play with their furry friend using an eel. While the style of the painting is indeed reminiscent of the work of Frans Hals, what is interesting to note here is that the artist was, in fact, a women. This in itself was quite a mean feat, for relatively few artists were female, but the fact that this painter, Judith Leyster (1609-1660), met with considerable success during her creative period is more remarkable still. Leyster was one of the renowned genre painters of the era, with her lively scenes of daily life, yet her fame was to diminish after her death to the point that many of her works were even attributed to her contemporary male artists. Her work reflected the style of the Utrecht school wherein  dramatic play of light - chiaroscuro - reminiscent of Caravaggio - brought out elements of each scene to great effect. However, unlike her male counterparts Leyster would emphasise the more jovial aspects of the social scene depicted, or otherwise give a more 'feminine' interpretation to a situation...

The Proposition. Judith Leyster 1631

In The Proposition, the expression of the woman makes it clear that she finds the presumably lecherous proposition in question as unappealing and irritating as the children's game is for the cat in A boy and a girl with a cat. Just how much Leyster's artistic style 'owed' the great Hals (1582-1666) is questionable. For a time the two artists appeared to share the same type of subject matter, with scenes of taverns, musicians, card-players and general merry-makers abounding, as the artists' creative periods overlapped.

Self portrait 1630

So, indeed, women artists such as Judith Leyster were a very rare breed and not surprisingly she was the only female member of the the painters' guild in Haarlem. Her Self Portrait 1635 was a presentation piece for the guild.

With a touch of pride perhaps, she signed her work JL and used the symbol of a lodestar to link the two letters, referring back to the name leyster, and also pointing to her role as a leading star. As an indication of her success Leyster had several students working under her in her workshop and in fact Hals is said to have poached one of Leyster's students for his own benefit. Despite a shining, prolific period of productivity from 1629-1635 her life of considerable creativity, talent and independance was to change dramatically. Following her marriage to a fellow artist, Jan Molenaer, and the subsequent arrival of several children Leyster's artistic production faded, as the lodestar lost its creative lustre. In devoting herself largely to her role of wife and mother Leyster had insufficient time and energy for her art which fell into the shadows and her name into relative oblivion.

Cat by Louis Wain.

Just as I was thinking how much women's lives and destinies in general have often been moulded by their marital status and the demands of motherhood I came across another 'unknown' yet famous cat portraitist.... More accurately speaking, my daughter found an old birthday card and felt that the cat looked not unlike our cat....
Traditionally at least,  the woman takes a central position in the family constellation to the extent that while she gains through the complexity and wealth of the lives that gravitate around her, her own individual identity as a sole being is largely compromised. This situation is even more marked for female artists, perhaps, however, it is not one reserved solely for women.... artistic or not. Louis Wain (1860-1939) was an individual whose existence was largely shaped by the demands made of him by his widowed mother and her large brood of spinster daughters (five in all). Obliged to provide for this matriarchal household on the death of his father, Louis Wain became a freelance artist specializing in animal and landscape studies and was to go on to marry his sisters' governess. The marriage was, alas, short-lived as the new Mrs Wain soon became ill with cancer and was to die three years after their wedding. However, just as Wain's female charges affected his life, his duties as devoted husband were to lead him to his true field of creativity - one that would define his career, his own persona and, tragically, maybe even his mental state.... Cats!

Louis Wain

Using the family cat, Peter, to entertain his sick wife, Wain dressed the animal in costumes and persuaded it to perform tricks - often imitating human activities such as reading - all of which he would capture in numerous feline sketches. At a time when a cat was solely a beast to kill vermin, rather than the endearing household companions we take them for today, this was quite unusual, and surely Wain had a part to play in this change of perception.



He was to become the chairman of the National Cat Club at the turn of the century and its logo today is still based on work provided by the artist.

Cat Club logo

 Wain acknowledged Peter's contributions "To him properly belongs the foundation of my career, the development of my initial efforts". The anthropomorphised cats that figure in Wain's drawings from the late 1880's are largely an extension of these early works and were met with great appreciation from the Victorian public - adults and children alike. Indeed, as Victorian sentimentality grew these images were devoured in greeting card form or as book illustrations. Wain's cats would ironically reflect the human behaviour of contemporary society - so that the frequently fickle fashions, fads and fancies were satirically portrayed to great success - a little like a feline Dutch genre work.

 Financial and material success were to elude Louis Wain, however. Not only was he at the head of a demanding female household, but he also appears to have lacked the business nous to meet and fully understand his financial engagements and investments. An unfortunate sequence of events was to lead to his fall from a relatively comfortable existence to one of great hardship. An unsuccessful trip to New York, bad business deals, the death of Wain's mother coincided with a dwindling interest in the animal antics and the advent of the First World War. Wain's financial situation was dire, but of more concern still was his mental health which had started to decline dramatically. Whilst it is thought that Wain was born with Asperger's Syndrome, in 1920's symptoms of schizophrenia started to be manifest to the extent that Wain was finally committed to a mental hospital in 1924. At this point his drawings of the faithful felines that had accompanied him throughout his adult life became increasingly abstract as unusual patterns, with wallpaper-like repetitive psychedelic backgrounds and strange flower formations intertwine the cat subjects. Certain works remind me a little of a Rorschach inkblot test and indeed many have even been used to give a visual tracking of the progression of schizophrenia.

Louis Wain - Images used to show the progression of his mental illness.

When Wain's sad condition became public knowledge several famous figures intervened - H.G Wells and the Prime Minister being just two examples - and sought to have Wain transferred from the impoverished pauper's psychiatric ward  to a more suitable institution. So it was that Wain was to spend the last fifteen years of his life surrounded by hospital gardens with their resident collection of cats, enabling him to continue his art in  relative peace, even as his mental health diminished further.

Alice and the Chesire cat by David Tenniel.

Ironically, it is now believed that the beloved cats that had so marked his life, art and person were a cause of his mental decline. Toxoplasmosis, a parasitic infection borne by contaminated cats acting as vectors, leads to many medical conditions - the onset of blindness, the alteration of personality and modification of behaviour being just some. In its more extent forms, Toxoplasmosis may be the catalyst to severe mental health issues and was perhaps the source of Wain's symptoms of schizophrenia. Whatever the cause of his mental decline, Wain is an example of dramatic artistic creativity highlighting aspects of an illness (rather like the Victorian artist Richard Dadd). Today, finally  Wain's work appears to be getting the recognition it deserves as artists of all kinds cite his artistic endeavours. Musician Nick Cave curated an exhibition of his work in Australia in 2009 and another cat-lover, Tracey Emin, has declared herself a Wain enthusiast.


So, this leads me onto a final illustrated cat - whose grin certainly seems a little more enigmatic and maybe a little dangerous to me now.... The Chesire cat from Alice in Wonderland, by Victorian artist David Tenniel.

And here's Oggie, who positioned himself on my laptop of his own free will, making the most of the hot air coming from the ventilation grid on the computer - rapidly overheating - as if to prove that he too can manage a keyboard, albeit it in his own fashion, just as we humans can.  As H.G Wells said," English cats that do not look and live like Louis Wain cats are ashamed of themselves".  Judging by his expression, our Anglo-Siberian-French feline is most proud of himself!

Oggie warming himself...

May Day... marches and 'merchandise'.

May Day again, associated with International Workers' Day and here in France of course synonymous with campaigning and demonstrations on the part of political and social groups and above all trade unions. In Paris in the 1890's participants in May Day processions would wear a red triangular lapel decoration - a boutonnière - symbolizing the demand for a division of the day into 3 equal parts; work, leisure and sleep. The demand for an 8-hour working day was finally met in April 1919, and the first of May - Fête du Travail - became one of the many French public holidays. As the French like to extend these breaks to envelope the weekend too this gives rise to several long weekends - 'des ponts' - that manage to eat up the working routine during the month of May and can sometimes considerably hamper activity.

May Day marches.

May poles, May Queens and Morris dancing are some of the better-known customs in the UK, mostly dating back to Pagan times and finally incorporated into Christian celebrations of May Day. In France the celebratory gesture involves the offering of sprigs of Lily-of-the-valley - Muguet -to those whom we are fond of. This custom finds its origins in the 16th century when Charles IX was given a bouquet of Lily-of-the-valley as a lucky portent - un porte-bonheur - and then in turn gave sprigs of the flower to all the ladies of the court. The French monarchy was of course to be abolished under the Revolution at the end of the 18th century however the traditional May Day Lily-of-the-valley sprig has survived to this day. The shops may be shut, yet the cities, towns and villages are awash with individuals seated at trestle tables, with baby baths full of little muguet bouquets to sell to any passers-by. This enthusiasm is not simply from the pleasure of selling such dainty, fragrant merchandise, but also due to the fact that the government allows these vendors to operate free from tax. However, for all its simple, unassuming elegance, the Lily-of-the-valley can be capricious in its blooming and each year there is a certain fear that the flower buds will remain tightly shut for the big day. As a spring flower, blooming depends on the weather, of course. Not surprisingly this year the Lily-of-the-valley's green spear-like leaves appeared early and many of the plants were already fully in bloom well before the first of May. More resourceful individuals have been trying to ply their wares for a moment now, desperate to see their floral treasures bloom, wilt and fade prematurely and their money-making schemes likewise.
Folklore would have it that this perennial plant is able to ward off evil spirits and was a flower of fairies - its tiny bells being used as cups. The white blooms (although pink-tinged varieties also exist) look as if they are weeping and indeed the bells are said to represent Eve's tears on her banishment from Eden. The Convallaria majalis 'belonging to May' is in fact known by several names - Our Lady's Tears, May Bells, and finally Ladder-to-Heaven. The flower often is said to symbolize a return to happiness, a sign of Christ's second coming while for the Victorians Lily-in-the-valley represented chastity and humility, and sent by an admirer would convey the message 'You make my life complete'. Perhaps with that in mind Kate Middleton's wedding bouquet bore Lily-of-the-valley amongst other white flowers... However, as is the case for many beautiful flowers, the seemingly innocent and pure muguet has a darker side - it is toxic! Ingestion of any part of the plant proves dangerous as it dramatically weakens the heart beat (it was used to the First World War to help reduce blood pressure of gas victims).
Here's a link to the famous French song Le Temps du Muguet, here sung by Danièlle Darrieux.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oXpatni7dB4&feature=related

The most striking aspect of this magical flower is, of course, its incredible scent - so strong for such a small, delicate flower. Naturally, Lily-of-the-valley is used as a base for many perfumes - Christian Dior's Diorissimo is but one of these. However, for me the best place to smell this flower is in the woods or in the undergrowth of our unruly garden!

Tattered tulips...

The ornamental park has finally opened again after the long winter/early spring period so I decided to go and admire, amongst other things, the tulips.

However I soon realized that I was a little late, since most of these were fully blown, tattered and twisted but I thought that their weird forms and tainted colours gave them a second beauty after the first exuberance that I had missed. So perhaps beauty isn't that transcient after all!

The tulip, national emblem of Holland, was used in the 17th century Dutch still life paintings (stilleven) as one of the symbols of ephemeral beauty and pleasure, and the transcience of man's time on Earth.











As artists could no longer use religious images in their work following their ban by the Dutch Reformist Protestant church they turned to indirect religious and allegorical symbolism.

There was already an established tendancy towards realism and the use of symbols, so this could also be seen as a further development of this tradition. Reflection on morality and mortality was central in much art, especially in a country benefitting from a great influx of wealth brought by the trade routes, yet still ravaged by devastating outbreaks of the Bubonic plague.

Indeed, the Netherlands witnessed a great increase in the number of wealthy merchants and a growing bourgeois element in the population, all aspiring to develop and, more importantly, demonstrate this wealth and new social status. It could even be said that the Dutch were the first members of the consumer society. Such middle-class patrons soon replaced the church and state in commissioning works of art that would serve to leave their trace on the world around them "Ars long, vita brevis" (Art lasts long, life is brief).

The Vanitas were an essential part of this aesthetic trend. Vanitas - meaning emptiness in latin - referred to the futility and transcience of life and the vanity of man's attempt to escape this. Memento mori - reminders of mortality and death abound in such paintings, hence the recurrent skulls, hourglasses and watches to measure time, burnt-down candles, bubbles ready to burst, full-blown, fading flowers and rotting fruit. These symbols underlined the brevity of existence and man's need for morality in order to face the Last Judgement.

 Representations of nature were common and reflected an ever-growing interest for the discoveries made in the New World and Asia, wherein the collection and classification of botanical specimens played a significant role. It was the tulip itself that played an even more vital role in the history of the Netherlands and directly symbolized all the themes of the vanitas, and above all the weakness of man.

Although not actually native to the Low Countries, the tulip was introduced there from Turkey where it was cultivated in the sultans' palaces, having initially been a wildflower in Persia. Legend has it that a young Persian man, Ferhad, died from his unrequited love for the beautiful Shirin, and as his tears fell and hit the ground they transformed into the flower.










The Ottoman tulip, known as a lily to the Turks, was later called the tulipan, owing this name to tulbend, meaning 'turban' as it was considered to be shaped like the head dress.

Oriental turban!

 These first tulips had rather pointed petals, whereas the European varieties would bear rounded forms, the perfect outline said to be upright, with the flower head shaped like a wine goblet.

It was the great variation in shape, colour uniformity, patterns and petal formation and the unbridled desire to seek ever-greater originality that was to drive individuals to the height of folly and the country, as a whole, to financial ruin.

 The Dutch botanist Carolus Clusius brought back the first specimens to the Netherlands and went on to classify and cultivate new types of tulip. As a rarety, it was a much-coveted status symbol in the 1570's but cheaper varieties enabled the middle classes to start collecting and  thus tulip mania was born.

Due to a disease transmitted by aphids, a tulip bulb would develop streaks and alterations in colour, leading to highly unusual flowers. Buyers and sellers entered into a flambuoyant game of speculation, gambling fortunes in  the hope of obtaining a single bulb that would 'break' (develop a break, or change in its colouration) in a unique manner.

  Markets developed as bulbs were fought over at auction so that paper fortunes would be made or lost in a dangerous game that seemed to draw everybody in. No one was immune to tulip fever...

 The Semper Augustus tulip was the most expensive - one single bulb was worth as much as a large house with garden. Naturally, as demand was higher than offer, there were fewer bulbs than could be traded so future contracts were sold for bulbs still being cultivated. Prices rose frenetically, as increasing numbers of Dutch people invested, but the bubble finally burst when a sudden glut in bulb supplies caused values to plummet. In the space of two days, the prices fell to only 10°/° of their former worth. Thousands of people went bankrupt overnight in 1637, with Haarlem being particularly affected since it was at the centre of the flower trade. Finally the government intervened and imposed laws to control the cultivation and sale of the tulip...

Dusty, feathery flowers;

 There are hundreds of hybridized tulips today, but my favourite variety has got to be the Parrot tulip, with its tortured, gnarled petals and beautiful colours. Although I was too late for photos this year, I ought to buy a few bulbs for next year.

Trimmed with a frilly border.

Buds, bugs and beasts...

Fern from the garden.

Spring has come and gone, it seems, at an astonishing speed. We have flown from the stage of the early budding forms of plants, bushes and trees and hesistant sunny spells to full-blown summer in a very short, accelerated space of time, or so it appeared today (and 27° forecast for tomorrow!). As they unfurl, burst open their chrysalis-like forms and spread out to reveal the real nature of their contents, many buds assume such strange shapes. It is hardly surprising that they have inspired so many artists...

Ferns by the garden pond.

Ferns seem to unravel, like weird bobbins covered in a furry or wet-feathered down, yet do not give any real indication to the future shape of their fronds.













Their forms stand up so straight, yet with a distinctive curve as the coiled head bows into itself, looking like some prehistoric creature stooping forward, ready to strike some unsuspecting prey.

Like curled seahorse tails...

The Victorians were great enthusiasts of the pteriphytum family and were led by the craze of 'fern fever', pteridomania, from the late 1830's onwards. Fern images were widely reproduced, appearing on all manner of decorative household items, and were used to embellish many of the keepsakes from gatherings such as Christenings. This enthusiasm led to the introduction of the Wardian case, a version of the terrarium, in which ferns could be kept, preserved  from the harsh polluted city air yet enabling all to admire the exotic forms that the fern could offer. Indeed, fern fever was not just the preserve of botanists but of any self-respecting cultured individual and it is perhaps not surprising that this craze led onto the burgeoning interest in orchids.

Wisteria outside the kitchen door.

The Wisteria buds sprang out, the flowers always more abundant than the leaves in the first stage, yet the tiny fronds are waiting to burst out, like feathery fans around the papery cocoon of the future blooms. The flowers are now fully open, draping themselves over the trellis and hanging down with their weight, and perfuming everything with the honey scent.

Here the vines are starting to bud, although the ones in the photo below are not representive of any viticulture since they are never cut back as they would be in a true vineyard. These vines, just outside the school, are simply for ornamental purposes, showing their development over the weeks as the rosy-pink buds break out from the dried, furling tendrils that look like snaking barbed wire!

Vines near work...

Not far from the wild-running vines are decorative beeches that are, on the contrary, kept closely clipped behind mesh fencing but the little pleated leaves with their silvery down still catch your attention because of the bright green.

Beeches behind the fencing.

The sticky buds of the Horse Chestnut tree are perhaps the weirdest of all with their determined drive...

Horse chestnut.

And of course with the buds come the bugs - and in the park we came across these strange creatures les gendarmes that congregate in impressive numbers the minute the spring comes... in order to frolic. Such frolicking usually presents itself in tandem formation - end to end - and can last up to 30 hours! I don't ever remember seeing these busy creatures in the UK where they are better known as 'Firebugs'.

Firebugs - Les Gendarmes.

The bumblebees have returned and this one made its way into the house to the great surprise of the cat, who had not yet seen such a beast. Deposited outside again, safe from a curious kitten, it seemed to enjoy crawling around the plants, within the vision of a very frustrated cat, watching from behind the window!

The cat also discovered this horned beetle in the garden...

A beetle crawling down a blade...

However, the strangest beast that we have encountered this spring was most certainly the gigantic spider that awoke from its dormant position, having been hunched on the flank of Reims cathedral waiting for its moment to come.




















Last Saturday, its moment truly came, and with hordes of people gathered to watch the event, the spider made its way down from its lair and started to wander around the streets, flexing its huge legs from a body of over 15 metres in width, 13 metres in height. The visual effect was very eery since it was so lifelike, spidery and stealthy, and the accompanying noise of music and the hiss of fire and water made our skin creep.

A dormant spider preparing for action...

Kumo, this Meccano arachnid of enormous proportions, is one of the mécaniques savantes - the performing mechanical devices created by a French company in Nantes which has the aim of creating 'sculpture in motion'.

The spider in front of the library - reflecting the cathedral.

The spider is here in Reims until the beginning of May in order to commemorate the 800 years of the cathedral, and on Saturday it marked the official opening of the tramway system in the city. Although new to Reims, similar beasts have already set the tone for official events in Liverpool, as European capital of Culture in 2008, and in Yokohama in Japan.

Kumo - Parvis de la cathédrale.

Operated by several people sitting on top of the body, and then many more below, the creature nevertheless looked so 'natural' that many children were simply terrified, and the adults' turn to feel a certain apprehension came in the evening! By nightfall, the spider had made its way to the Place de la République where it took a central position, surrounded by hundreds of unsuspecting people, about to get caught in the hypnotic web of the firework show. Despite the mounting music, which was like a pulsating, threatening throb, the beast slept, and only started to stir when the huge flames and roaring drum beat became overpowering. The atmosphere was like something from the War of the Worlds, with a tension that grew and grew. The fireworks then exploded into action and Kumo came to life, thrashing enormous legs, black silhouettes against the backcloth of night sky, explosions and fire. The fireworks were like an air raid blitz that lit up the whole place, the noise was deafening, all of which reached a culmination point that ended in abrupt silence and blackout. Talk about dramatic! Most people were left rather shell-shocked from the experience...
Here's a link to see the event... If you can't watch the whole clip, just follow the opening sequence and then the final minute - it makes my skin prickle just watching it again.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bO7Atn74OGo

I thought Kumo had met a symbolic end, but she was to rise from the flames like a phoenix for the next day....


On the subject of creatures arising, the twisted, burgeoning forms of the Paris metro entrances, designed by Hector Guimard, at the end of the 19th century always remind me of the triffids from John Wyndham's 1951 novel (The Day of the Triffids)...You get the feeling that these will suddenly come to life as you descend into the depths of the Paris underground system!

L'Orient des Femmes - flowering in a Parisian exhibition signed Christian Lacroix.

Ramallah, Gaza, Hama, Mossoul, Naplouse, Hebrun, Bethlehem, Neguev; all these beautiful-sounding names from the Middle-East pour off the tongue, but often stick in our minds here as being zones of turmoil and upheaval,  often cited heatedly and hastily as part of a news flash. With this contrast in mind, I recently visited the  Musée du Quai Branly, Paris, where all the above were linked by a common thread of delicate beauty and a sense of timelessness; that of the traditional women's embroidered outfits.

The Orient des Femmes exhibition is designed as "a hymn to women, a hommage to those who throughout the centuries have tried to create vestimentary means by which to embellish themselves and to prove their existence in societies that had long marginalized them.....through the gestures, tastes and talents they have given to each garment, thus giving a part of themselves in composing each work as a work of art" as said the commissioner Hana Chidiac.











Dresses, head-dresses, veils, coats, caftans, cushions, jackets, jewellery and serouals are revealed to us in their intimity; all the items, in short, that composed the traditional, timeless marriage trousseau in a continuity of custom and skill that was passed on from mother to daughter throughout the ages.

The exhibition leads us from the northern part of the region to the Sinaï dessert in the south as Syrian, Jordinian, Palestinian and Bedouin costumes are displayed, like strange winged creatures in a dance-like procession, or an ethereal, floating catwork - Christian Lacroix being the conjuror behind this magical display. Just as the terrain covered is vast, so too is the time span as the exhibition opens with a little girl's dress from the 13th century, found in a valley in Northern Lebanon, and ends with the dresses from a relatively modern-day Palestine.

Nevertheless the same basic shape of dress is to be found tracing over the centuries, despite the diversity of material used, the colours selected and the embroidery applied to the whole. In this manner the child's dress leads us on the journey to the final stages in each girl's rite of passage, the preparation to become a woman, finally marked and flagged with the wedding dresses that close the display.

 Indeed, all these dresses, with their distinctive outline float beyond us like flags, leading us on, signaling the geographical background of the wearer with their unique designs and motives; tied and grounded by ancestral practices yet offering a symbolic esthetic freedom in this journey from past to present, present to past. A geographer of the early 20th century, Jacques Weulersse, remarked during a visit that travellers "had expected to see clothes of poor peasants and instead discovered the costume dresses of opera dancers" (Paysans de Syrie et du Proche-Orient; Paris Gallimard 1946).

Each outfit would bear the characteristic features of its particular region, village or tribe of origin, thus acting as geographical and social indicators that could be 'read', as Christian Lacroix mentions "Ce qui dissimulent ces femmes les racontent bien mieux que n'importe quelle mode occidentale". Indeed, these "robes écrites" covered and cloaked their wearers yet uncovered, revealed so much more through their conception and the intricate personalised ornamentation of their needlecraft.

As a cultural, economic and political crossroads between Asia, Europe and Africa, the Middle East developed a wealth of artistic civilisations and, as a consequence, a mastery of cloth production and  the creation of exquisitely ornate clothing. Embroidered cloth can be traced back to the Egypt of Tutankhamun and this art form later extended under the Fatimides (960-1171) when linen material would be run through with multicoloured silk thread and gold to provide embelishment. Under the Caliphate of Cordoba (929-1031) production of such cloth increased to meet the demand for ornate gowns to be worn by the sovereigns and dignitaries during ceremonies.



 
Caligraphic detail was gradually replaced by animal and plant forms, eternal elements such as the sun, the moon and the stars and geometric forms - largely featuring lozange shapes to ward off evil forces.

In a similar manner, each piece would bear a basic flaw in its decoration in order to respect the principle whereby only Allah is perfect, humans being incapable of aspiring to or attaining such perfection.





In terms of materials used these evolved over the centuries, in turn influencing and inspiring designs and styles. Silk production - sericulture - developed around the Mediterranean basin, in Turkey, Syria, and the Lebanon, and following the Arab conquests of the Iberian peninsula, in Spain and Portugal too.
 Linen and cotton were commonly used, of course, followed by gauze, the light material that was developed in Gaza, and also mousseline, created in Mossoul. Likewise colours were introduced, following and elaborating ancient dyeing techniques so that the resulting hues influenced surrounding regions, spreading out like ink. In the north and eastern regions clothes were sewn from dark-coloured material - midnight blue and black - whilst in other areas ochre tones would be favoured.

Women from Damascus.

Certain Bedouins, who dressed in sombre black or blue tunics were later inspired by their Palestinian neighbours and would brighten their clothing with vivid embroidery of contrasting colours. Indeed, during the golden age of needlecraft the towns of Bethlehem and Beit Dajan were stylistic centres comparable to Paris in terms of couture....

Much of the choice of colour would naturally be based on the availability of the essential dyes. Indigo, perhaps being the oldest dye dating back to ancient Egypt, was introduced by the Arabs to what became the Muslim Mediterranean and was said to have the attribute of offering protection from the Evil eye. Garance, a hardy plant from Persia was cultivated in the eastern regions of the Mediterranean and its root provided a blue colour, whilst walnut would be used to yield a dark brown dye, and safron would produce the characteristic yellow colour. The colour of predilection for many, however, remained red since it symbolized fertility and protection, and assured future wealth.

This was derived from the ground bodies of the Kermes scale insect, but would later be commonly replaced by the Cochineal beetle. To decorate garments to an even greater degree ancient dyeing techniques would be employed - varying from the tie-and-dye methods, inserting a date pit or lentil to form a corollary effect of colour blossoming out, to wax-and-knotting.

The stitching itself reflects the influences experienced and these organic changes can be seen in the clothes that have taken inspiration from the Ottoman army. Gold brocade seen on army uniforms has been transcribed onto a feminine garment, using striking point de Boulogne stitching to highlight the gold thread incorporated into its decoration.

Although the T-form of the dresses, formed from one piece of material, was maintained through the generations of women, this could be modified. The addition of extra panels of fabric in order to widen the sleeves, or extend their points led to wing-like proportions ending in tassels that further enhance the effect. Such sleeves would be tied behind the dress during daily domestic tasks and then let loose for dancing in festivals. Simply by length, a garment could assume another character as is demonstrated by a dress of seemingly elephantine proportions which at over 3 metres long required a complicated routine (maybe a little like that needed for preparing a sari) in order to position the excess material to form an ample veil and pouches to transport objects.

As garments fell victim to wear and tear all the richly decorative stitchwork would be removed and sewn onto new clothes, thus recycling the art work and perpetuating the tradition of ornate sewing as an integral part of vestimentary customs.

Such clothes would generally be completed and set off by a head-dress and veil which would enhance the esthetic effect. These would be decorated with coins, chains, shells and beadwork and offered a certain protection from the sun, sand and wind but above all seemed to emphasize the beauty of the wearer in her entirety.






Pierre Loti, one of the many 19th century French enthousiasts of all things Oriental mentioned this ornamentation of faces hidden under "streams of coral and silver".
Initially these veils and head-dresses provided a means to distinguish between different classes and appartenance to specific clans, and were less associated with a religious function of imposing modesty and concealment, and were thus far removed from our notion of the burqa today.

 Young girls generally did not wear such items, whereas married women wore these tribal burqas - head-dresses that displayed all their dowry to such devastating effect.








 The poet Alphonse de Lamartine remarked on this in his Voyage en Orient, 1832, when he spoke of women with coins plaited in their hair "ressonnant à chaque pas qu'elles faisaient comme les écailles d'un serpent".

For Bedouin women of Syria and Berbers khol around the eyes would further intensify the gaze, whilst facial tatoos or henna would extend the eyebrows and complete this impression of depth.

Berber woman.

 Sadly the tradition of these dresses that reflect a collective voice made up of thousands of individual stories has largely faded out.

Eugène Fromentin

Gustave Moreau.

The contact with the Western world, so sought after by countless European 19th century Orientalists, enriched the latter, inspiring numerous artists and writers.This contact was to have a largely negative effect on the vestimentary styles of the Middle East.

The influence of the myriad of Western fashions altered the ancestral ones of the Orient, and the end of the Ottoman Empire and the First World War further accelerated this process.

 The advent of sewing machines changed customs, industrially- manufactured thread and synthetic materials altered techniques whilst dramatic social upheavals wreaked havoc on the rites and rituals of fragmenting social groups. Before 1948 Palestine had a rural population on coastal plains, by 1967 many Palestinian women were obliged to sell their costumes and jewellery merely to survive the displacement after the war of Six Days. Towards the end of the exhibition we see several more recent dresses created thanks to an endeavour by humanitarian associations to give life back to the ancient traditions and provide a welcome source of revenue.

Poster from a Pierre Loti exhibition.

However, perhaps the disappearance of ancestral needlework practices is, in some ways at least, similar to that we see here in Western countries.....Cheap, ready-to-wear clothing, free of adornment, along with modern textiles unsuited to traditional designs and motives, coincide with a desire to turn to 'easier', modern styles and  newer means of self-expression.




Here in our western culture this trend has, in part, led to the ubiquitous jeans-and-teeshirt uniform that has stamped and swamped generations since their rise in the 50's, and there, a certain loss of a precious, intimate art form.

Bedouin 1937 Sinai.