Modernist Textile Pattern Work by Emil Pirchan

Illustration: Emil Pirchan. Woven textile design, c1909.

Emil Pirchan is perhaps better known for his work in the German theatre, particularly in set design, much of which was produced during the early part of the twentieth century. However, as with many artists and designers of his period, Pirchan was also involved as an educationist and as a designer in a number of disciplines, including textiles.

The illustrations produced in this article show a variety of both printed and woven textiles produced by Pirchan in about 1909. They are an interesting example of some of the results that he achieved in direct geometrical pattern work, similar to the results of many of his contemporaries who were producing sometimes quite radical textile design work across Central Europe, and particularly in Germany, during the first decade and a half of the twentieth century, before the start of the First World War.

Illustration: Emil Pirchan. Woven textile design, c1909.

Although Pirchan was born in what is now Brno in the modern Czech Republic, he spent much of his career first in Vienna and then in Munich and although he was involved primarily within the theatre, his work in textile design is a good example of some of the leading developments in contemporary textile design and pattern work during the early twentieth century. Pirchan's examples, although by no means singular, do show the capacity of the creative designer to embrace the aspirations and ideals of the new century while also reflecting the real and tangible results of the contemporary as seen in mass production methods, modular architecture and fine art abstract development.

The particular interest that Germany seemed to have in the acknowledgement of the contemporary within the decorative arts can be seen in some of the work produced by Pirchan during this period. There was a an interest, even fascination, with the ideal of the machine and its capacity for the unswerving and unchanging reproduction through the industrial process. Rather than taking the stand, as many in England did, of seeing the idea of mass production as the enemy of creativity, many German designers tried to understand and acknowledge the place that the industrial process held in a contemporary society. By recognising, even conceding, that the machine could not be removed or discarded as regards the production of contemporary textiles for example, this then allowed the designer to embrace the practical and technical aspects of production. In turn this then helped to fuel a different kind of design and pattern that would both compliment the process of mass production, while also allowing contemporary innovation to be seen in the end product.

 Illustration: Emil Pirchan. Printed textile designs, c1909.

By embracing the practical technology of mass production, textile design work in Germany during the early years of the twentieth century was often, although not always, aligned with the strictness of the geometric. Woven fabrics were particularly sensitive to geometry as they were largely constructed from fibres arranged on the horizontal and vertical. This allowed the woven fabric to naturally follow a simple geometrical pattern of right-angles as can be seen in some of the examples produced by Pirchan. That these were also then taken across to printed textiles which did not have the same technical constraints as the woven process, shows perhaps the expansion of interest in both the structure of the highly limited but often hypnotically captivating appearance of the seemingly unlimited repetitive quality of the pattern work, along with the imposed geometrical and its increasing alliance with the idea and ideal of the contemporary as seen by those living in the first couple of decades of the twentieth century. This was a century after all, that was seen by many within the design field as one with a huge potential for fundamental change in all avenues and not just that along the lines of a redefinition of pattern and decoration.

 Illustration: Emil Pirchan. Printed textile designs, c1909.

That there were sometimes obvious compromises made within this highly structured geometric format perhaps goes without saying. Although some pattern work during this period closely followed the remit of a simple and sometimes brutal appearing repetition, other designers took elements of both, the implication of mass production as well as that of artistic individualism, mixing the two sometimes effectively, sometimes not. However, the often uncompromising look of geometrically inspired pattern work was a stand taken by the contemporary world, often against quite substantial opposition from critics and designers, many of whom had spent much of their careers in the previous nineteenth century. Although it is too simplistic to paint a them and us scenario between the older and younger generations of designers, this form of near abstract pattern work formed an interesting and quite important development within the history of the role of pattern in European textile design that was to have an effect on the future of the direction that the decorative arts were to take, at least in Central Europe.

Illustration: Emil Pirchan. Woven textile design, c1909.

Many of the features that were to eventually become recognisable as the Bauhaus style, particularly amongst their textile production, can be seen in Germany within these early years and in some respects the textile design work produced by such individuals as Pirchan could be seen as a form of pre-Bauhaus because of their close alliance, at least in appearance, but also in their sympathy with the contemporary world and its reliance on the available technology along with its production methods, which was to an extent, to guide mass production textile pattern work for some time to come.

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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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