Swedish Landscape in Fine Art and Tapestry

Illustration: Helmer Jonas Osslund. Varafton Bakom Kiruna.

Swedish tapestry design of the early twentieth century was known at the time as probably some of the best woven artwork being produced in Europe. Much of the narrative and compositional work was based on the landscape and tended to follow what was termed as typical of the Swedish natural environment. Many of the tapestry pieces produced by a range of fine and decorative artists contained the colours, tones and textures that were so much a part of the Swedish identity across so many disciplines, but particularly in textiles. 

Fine art and tapestry during this period enjoyed a particularly close relationship. Swedish artists showed a creative interpretation, but also an innate understanding of colour, tone and texture. The relationship between artist and colour seemed so apparent to many outsiders that it was often seen as an integral part of the Swedish fine art and tapestry scene, so much so that it was often stated that Swedish artists placed '...great weight...on colours and their values.'

It seems fitting therefore to place two illustrations, one fine art and one tapestry, beside each other in the same article. They were not produced by the same artist; the painting is by Helmer Jonas Osslund and the tapestry by Henrik Krogh. However, it perhaps needs to be seen how close fine and tapestry art were considered to be during this period. Tapestry in particular was entering a rich new creative phase of its life in Sweden. Woven textiles had a long and traditional history in Sweden, but it was not until the latter part of the nineteenth century that weaving within the remit of tapestry, really began to be opened up as a contemporary art form. 

Illustration: Henrik Krogh. The Spruce Coppice, c1913.

Both fine art and tapestry became linked with the search for idyllic ruralism and even a search for the untouched wilderness as portrayed by scenes of Sweden's northern provinces. In some respects, both fine and tapestry art were influenced by the Swedish Arts and Crafts movement, which in its turn was initially influenced by the English Arts and Crafts movement. With the late but rapid industrialization of Sweden and the urbanisation of at least part of its population, the search for an idyllic rural life in the 1890s was just as important and illusive as the same search had been in England. However, although rural idylls and utopias always seemed to struggle with the realities and practicalities of industrial Europe, the ideal did fuel the creative arts. So much so that in many respects the Arts and Crafts movement which took place in many European states and regions, and for a variety of differing reasons, produced some of the best in hand produced decorative arts work.

To see fine art and tapestry in tandem with each other, sharing the same inspirational origins and with similar results, allows us to see how closely the two mediums could work together when inspired to do so. Osslund's painting Varafton Bakom Kiruna could well have been commissioned as a tapestry work, and Krogh's The Spruce Coppice could equally have been commissioned as an original fine art piece. Both are beautifully proportioned and use colour and tone to its most dramatic effect. Texture is inbuilt and implied, taking on a creative naturalism that is easily identified with the landscape. Although one composition appears enclosed and insular and the other open and expansive, the colour themes which range from the rich and deep earth tones to the series of greens and yellows that denote foliage, are in some ways so similar that they could be said to be part of the same sense of creative and observational characteristics and they certainly share a part of the Swedish environmental identity.

By showing these two pieces of work it is hoped that it gives some indication of the artistic creativity that came to fruition during the early part of the twentieth century in Sweden. That Sweden had a strong native tradition of creativity, one that is often considered to be perhaps one of the oldest unbroken craft systems in Europe, did not stop native Swedes from allowing a sense of contemporary and expansive creative freedom being added to the traditions of the past. It is this continuation of tradition through the contemporary that has made Swedish art, design and decoration so successful and such an essential part of the decorative and creative arts of our own time. It is perhaps an understanding that tradition does not necessarily entail intransigence and retreat, which should in its turn be seen as perhaps a lifesaving attitude to take when considering those same traditions in other parts of Europe that have and are struggling to survive as part of the contemporary world.

Further reading links:

The Symbolism of Personal Memory. The Artwork of Andrea Vail

Illustration: Andrea Vail. Gained (LOST) Opportunity, 2010.

The work of artist Andrea Vail is dedicated to, and uses a number of formats, disciplines and traditional crafts. Common themes run through her varied work which are as significant and fundamental as the history of our species. Memory, the layers of time and the significance of objects imbued with personality and a fundamental symbolism are an integral part of her work and guide us through a variety of everyday and abstract ideas, which in turn give us perhaps a sense of our belonging within the timeframe of the environment and that of our species.  

Although Vail's work covers a number of themes and ideas, it is perhaps as well to pick out one of those themes, to follow a strand of thought in some ways. A good example would be that of the simple key. A key in its own right is merely a tool made of metal in order to lock and unlock a mechanism. However, this simple but iconic tool has gradually become imbued with our shared psyche. It is part of our history as a species, but perhaps more importantly it is also part of our significantly individual history as well. A key is a form of memory, shared experience and in time that of layered reminders of that experience.

Illustration: Andrea Vail. Gained (LOST) Opportunity, 2010.

In some respects, it matters little as to the individual experiences that are attached to a key. All first-hand memories eventually fade, become confused or just become subsumed in the mass of human experience. However, the very real experience of creating a collection of random or lost keys is also an exercise in the symbolic. We all understand that a key can often be of a symbol of a deeply personal nature. We all have, and carry through our lives a number of different keys for a number of different reasons. Giving a key to someone can be a validation of trust in someone, a rite of passage as in that given to an adolescent, or the potential cementing of a relationship. On the other hand a key can also be a reluctant relinquishment of power or even a complete surrender of independence, as in old age. 

We are all aware of the significance and heightened symbolism attached to these small pieces of metal. By Vail highlighting these symbols she makes us fully aware that on the one hand they are inanimate objects devoid of emotion, whilst on the other they are personal artefacts as well as significant symbols of our shared human culture. The idea of placing a selection of keys together on a wall, whilst also separating them by the use of small individual sheets as well as the significance of drawn and sewn lines, the sewn lines being used to enclose the individual keys in acetate, thus cutting each individual statement from another, gives the impression that whilst we all share both the symbolism and the experience, we are also, as individuals, alone. 

Illustration: Andrea Vail. Gained (LOST) Opportunity, 2010.

On another level Vail also sees the key as a form of opportunity, whether potential or lost. In fact, the name of this particular piece of artwork highlighted in this article: Gained (LOST) Opportunity gives us a good indication of where this theme can go. It is fascinating to consider the heightened symbolism, belief and potential that can be imbued into a simple mechanical format. However, it is perhaps not the key itself that takes on this burden of the potential for opportunity, whether real or not, as well as that of memory, experience and emotion, but that of the individual. We are a transient and short-lived species with little to seriously project beyond our lifespans, of the experiences we have had and the dreams we left unfulfilled. So in some respects, this particular piece of work by Vail could be seen as poignant, a look at the endless layers and the endless journey of successive lives and memories, pinpointed in an everyday object.

Although in many cases symbolism, and specifically that of a personal kind, is the only real tangible idea that we can leave behind us, that personal symbolism also fades in time.  However, perhaps that is not as important in the long run as we would believe it to be. In some respects, Vail's work shows us through the use of random and therefore unnamed and unidentified keys, the strength and enduring path of recollection and it is a tribute to the memory of remembrance to that of the individual but also to that of the many. We are a product of layers of humanity, a symbol, in our own right, of the hopes and opportunities, whether realised or lost, of the many individuals that came before us, just as we are to be the same for future generations. We are all keys of opportunity, of memory and of experience, we open the door for future versions of our species and therefore Vail's Gained (LOST) Opportunity is both literal and metaphoric, a description of the human condition and the cycle of life, opportunity and death that we all experience as both individuals and as a species.

Andrea Vail is a well-known and admired visual artist with a wealth of experience within the fine art world. She has exhibited widely and has her own fully comprehensive website which can be found here. The website contains many more examples of her intriguing and thought-provoking work.

All images were used with the permission of the artist and are therefore copyrighted.

Artists, Designers and Unknown Makers

Illustration: Gustaf Fjaestad (artist), Miss Fjaestad (weaver). Below the Falls tapestry design, c1913.

Very often in the recent history of textile design and craft, the name of the artist or designer is both known and lauded, and indeed that is the way that it should be. However, often the maker of the piece has not always been the artist. One of the textile disciplines in which this is acutely apparent is in tapestry design.

Although the composition of a tapestry piece was usually completed by an artist, that same artist would not always complete the weaving of that tapestry, often they would not be involved in the process at all, though this was not always the case. Where today we would probably surmise that a tapestry artist that conceived the artwork would also be the same person that wove that composition, there was also a tradition of the tapestry studio which would house a dedicated team of weavers who would produce whatever work came into the studio. Sometimes an artist would have a relatively intimate relationship with the studio and sometimes there would be little contact, particularly if the tapestry was to be a woven version of an already existing fine art piece.

Illustration: Alfred Wallander (artist), Svensk Konstslojd (weaver). St George and the Dragon tapestry design, c1913.

This inevitably leads to the question, whose work can be truly identified with the finished tapestry and whose name should more fittingly be associated with that piece. The artist produced both the concept and the ultimate outward projection of the art project. However, the weaver was much more intimately involved in both the day to day construction, and also the details which would no doubt have become personalised with a particular weaver.

Illustration: Alfred Wallander (artist), Svensk Konstslojd (weaver). The Blessed Virgin tapestry design, c1913.

It is a hard and probably unrewarding task defining the appropriation of the title of true maker for a tapestry where two creative individuals are involved in one piece. Some may say that the true creative can only be the artist and that the weaver is merely following explicit instructions from the artist, but this is rarely the case. Tapestry weaving is creative in its own right and although choice of colours, yarns and even perhaps the approach taken by the weaver might well be dictated by the artist, the small, intimate processes that are all part of the tapestry weaving process produce judgements that have to be made by the weaver as they progress through the piece. Admittedly there are different types of weaving techniques as there are different types of approach when dealing with the practical construction of a tapestry. However, this does not negate the important personal contribution of the weaver.

All five of the tapestries shown in this article, two by Alfred Wallander and one each by Gustaf Fjaestad, Nils Lundstrom and Helmer Osslund were all woven by either a named individual other than the artist, or by a studio. This is not to say that because all four artists did not necessarily involve themselves fully in the weaving of their tapestries that they were somehow negligent or only partial artists, it is more to do with the interesting association that the actual weaver has with the art piece. 

Illustration: Helmer Osslund (artist), The Licium (weaver). Torne Trask tapestry design, c1913.

To be fair, through much of history many of the artists and weavers of tapestry works across the planet have been anonymous. However, with the emergence of tapestry as a fine art medium in the later nineteenth century, artists' names began to be associated with specific tapestries. These names ranged from Edward Burne-Jones to Otto Eckmann and they are recognised and appreciated as important individuals within tapestry design, although at the same time, there is often little mention of any of the individuals that actually physically produced the work. Admittedly, the involvement of these various individuals and teams of weavers would have been more of less intimate with the finished tapestry depending on their experience and natural ability. It is also perhaps asking too much to expect weavers to have their names twinned equally with that of the artist, but recognition in some form is perhaps called for, or if not, then perhaps a recognition that an artist or designer is only one link in a long process of produced conception of a tapestry and the actual finished piece.

This of course is not a problem associated only with tapestry. Many of the textile disciplines including rug weaving, embroidery, lace and others find the same peculiar position whereby an individual artist or designer is recognised for their achievement towards a specific discipline, but the actual producers of the work are largely unrecognised. Add to this factor that most of the lauded designers during the period covering the latter half of the nineteenth century and into the twentieth were men and most of the practical and anonymous workers were women, a definite series of problems concerning the recognition of the creative worker as well as the creative designer or artist can easily be found.

Illustration: Nils Erik Lundstrom (artist), Thyra Grafstrom (weaver). The Witch's Lake tapestry design, c1913.

Whether the question of the unacknowledgement of practical makers had more to do with rigid social or creative frameworks or that there was more involved in this process than we can see today, I am not sure. However, I have always been aware that producing articles on named artists and designers can only ever be part of the story, the wealth of practical knowledge and understanding of materials and mediums accrued by generations of practical makers, most of whom were nameless women, is perhaps the largest and most inspiring part of the creative process.

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