Sunday, June 29, 2008

N is for Nantucket

NnantucketI’ve never been to Nantucket, but envision it as a place firmly rooted in its own complicated history. Which means I do definitely want to go there. The subject of this letter “N” is not so much Nantucket the island as it is Nantucket—New England—Needlework. And perhaps the image has hinted at the subject that underlies the others: American samplers. Letterforms, pens, needles, fiber, tradition—all come beautifully together in samplers, embroidered cloths that demonstrate skill in needlework, especially in stitching alphabets. So my letter N is a small project knit in the style of needle-stitched samplers. Although knitting and embroidery (especially cross-stitch) have much in common, they seem to operate at different scales and with different fundamental concerns. While knitting is architectural, mathematical, constructive, embroidery is fine, without visible guidelines, ornamental. I wanted to explore their common features and celebrate two time-honored forms of needlework and penmanship.

Sampler3Although girls stitched samplers in America as early as the mid-seventeenth century (the oldest surviving example is by Myles Standish’s daughter, Loara, ca. 1653, now in the Pilgrim Hall Museum; reproduction kit by the Examplarery here), I associate them with the early Republic era, roughly 1790 to 1811. By that time, Nantucket was firmly established as a major commercial center, a situation the robust Quaker community on the island was largely responsible for bringing about. (Right: Polly Coffin’s sampler, Nantucket Historical Association, 1797)

Sampler4Today, Nantucket Island is known as a vacation destination for the wealthy, where exquisite baskets are made and sold for very respectable sums. Herman Melville helped enshrine the island as the control center for a global whaling empire through Moby Dick. Melville’s first mate was Starbuck, and although his name is immortalized on coffee shop signs around the world, it was also a prominent Nantucket Quaker name. (At left: Sally Starbuck’s sampler, 1808, Nantucket Historical Association)

NinkAlthough I tend to think of samplers as American, they are not, of course. Samplers were made all over Europe —particularly in Spain and England— for centuries before the Mayflower brought Myles Standish to this continent. Initially, needlework samplers were, like knitting samplers, containers of information— catalogs of stitches. As written messages began to appear as a standard element, it was clear that this medium had become a gentile occupation for privileged women. Only the wealthy could afford to teach girls to read and write.

Sampler6From at least the time of the American Revolution, needlework samplers were an established feature of curricula in schools that accepted female students, where students generally completed their samplers between the ages of 7 and 14. Independent teachers of young women (almost always women themselves) also taught needlework to their young charges. The sampler, whether assigned in a classroom or by a tutor, was meant to teach young girls how to form letters as well as to sew. Many students found that needlework was the easier skill to master. Ornate or very plain, samplers were not meant to be canvases for artistic prowess; the format, elements, even sometimes the messages, were all carefully prescribed by instructors. The sampler—at first a demonstration of wealth and privilege—became a mark of literacy, specifically of female literacy. The finished sampler came to be regarded as a relic from a rite of passage, a mark of learning, and in later years, a family heirloom. (Above, left: Hope Mosely’s sampler, 1804. Private collection)

Sampler2In addition to one or more alphabets, a sampler might also feature a poem or truism, as well as the student’s name, date and place of birth (or at least age at the time of “writing”), sometimes the names of family members, a school or teacher’s name, and a variety of motifs (including, often, school buildings, such as Harvard Yard, where ironically, female students were not welcome). I was astonished to learn that the National Archives holds a small collection of samplers. Apparently they were accepted as genealogical evidence. When widows applied for their late husbands’ military pensions, they had to prove their own birth date and name, and some had no other evidence to provide. There’s a great article by archivist Jennifer Davis Heaps about samplers as genealogical evidence here. We can expect more on samplers & genealogy from the Winterthur conference this October. (Hannah Foster’s sampler, 179x. New Hampshire Historical Society)

Sampler5The strong Quaker presence in Nantucket from the late eighteenth-century and continuing for about a hundred years assured that young women were educated. Enough samplers survive to demonstrate styles set by Nantucket educators. In general, the heyday of Nantucket samplers (say, from about 1790 until about 1815) produced samplers that emphasize letters rather than pictures, messages more than motifs. The one recurring motif, the Nantucket tree, seems to have represented some kind of a pine tree, and appears across the bottom row of Mary Starbuck’s sampler (1796, left; Nantucket Historical Association).


NSamplerMy own attempt to make a knitted sampler has turned out a bit disappointing, so I won’t be framing it or sending it to the local historical society or to the National Archives. I tried to use materials that corresponded in some way to the samplers of two-hundred years ago: a linen base with bits of color (too much color, I think) in cotton and silk and even some metallic threads. I used a very stiff, barely processed & spun linen (with a mean, insistent twist) for the main color, with bits of more reasonable linen, embroidery thread and silk/cotton yarns. Because I wanted a fair amount of definition, I knit at a gauge of about 8 stitches to the inch. It was a delight to pick out the materials, but when it came time to knit, I spent more time untangling yarn than I did knitting. Knitting with two or more yarns, each in a different fiber, each with its own ideas about how to behave, was a vexing challenge. Luckily, linen relaxes considerably after blocking, so the result is better than I had expected. My message, which is probably hard to make out, is:
Union Pearl / Markt This / Sam[N]ple / r 6 mo* / 2008
[row of Nantucket trees]

* “6 mo.” is the Quaker term for the month of June.
Often, written messages continued from line to line, whether or not the word or sentence broke in the right place, which is why the word, “sampler” stetches from one “row” to the next. Borders are moss stitch, which flattens out after blocking to look like basketweave, also a reference to Nantucket.

Before BlockingAfter Blocking
NSampler2Nnatucket2



Sampler1Some Nantucket & Needlework Resources
  • Sherri Federbush, “Journal of Eliza Brock” Historic Nantucket (July 1982): 13-17.
  • Julia Fein Azoulay, “Reading into History: Susan Boardman’s Nantucket Embroidered Narratives” Piecework (July/August 2004): 34.
  • Elizabeth Shure, “Waiting, Working Women of Nantucket Island” Piecework July August 95: 40.
  • Carpenter, Charles H., Jr., and Carpenter, Mary Grace. The Decorative Arts and Crafts of Nantucket (New York: Dodd, Meand & Co., 1987).
  • Sturgis Library (Nantucket) Archives
InksSampler Bib
  • Swan, Susan Burrows. Plain and Fancy: American Women and Their Needlework, 1650 - 1850
  • Ring, Betty. Girlhood Embroidery: American Samplers & Pictorial Needlework, 1650 - 1850, 2 vols. (1993)
  • Kathleen Staples, “Fancy samplers of New Bedford and Fairhaven, Massachusetts, 1805-1835” Magazine Antiques (Feb. 2008)

  • Frances Faile, “ Caring for Old Samplers” Piecework (Nov. 1993): 12-13.

Nink2Examples of samplers on the WebUpcoming Conference
Who’s Your Daddy? Families in Early American Needlework
Winterthur Needlework Conference
Winterthur Museum & Gardens, Winterthur, Delaware

NSampler3Just for fun

Sunday, June 8, 2008

M is for Mantinia

mantiniamMantinia is an electronic font. Never existed in metal. Existed in stone and paint, but never in metal (unless retrospectively). It was, in short, born digital. Typographer Matthew Carter designed Mantinia as a tribute to the Paduan painter and printmaker, Andrea Mantegna (1430/31-1506). Mantega for his part was a passionate antiquarian, which in the fifteenth century meant that he was fascinated with imperial Roman architecture, history, and . . . inscriptions.

Mantegna
Mantegna was from Padua, where he was privileged to study at the city’s renowned university (founded 1222), but he spent most of his career in Mantua. His panels, murals and prints all display his interest in classical themes, architectural styles and motifs. He is probably best remembered for his painting of the dead Christ, seen in forced perspective from foot level. A great example of his painted inscriptions can be found in his series, Triumphs of Caesar, which Charles I acquired for the British royal collection. The series now lives at Hampton Court Palace. (At right: Mantegna exhibition poster, 2006-2007).

This (at left) is the second segment of Triumphs of Caesar (1484-92) and the detail depicts standard bearers in a triumph, or military procession (complete with vanquished foes and booty), honoring Julius Caesar’s conquest of Gaul. As a humanist, Mantegna took great interest in classical forms, and his focus on Roman letterforms displays a fine taste for the most refined Roman inscriptions. As a proper Renaissance artist, he was very much concerned with the task of resurrecting interest in Classical forms (including letterforms) from architectural sources, rather than from Gothic textual scripts that were more prevalent in manuscripts of the fifteenth century. He was particularly interested in the initial letters, opening verse or inscriptions with a bold design statement and setting the tone for the text to follow.

On the five-hundredth anniversary of Mantegna’s death in 2006, Mantegna’s three cities (Padua, Verona, Mantua) each hosted exhibitions of the artist’s work. Fittingly, the advertisement text was set in Matthew Carter’s Mantinia. A large, three-dimension letter “M” (set in Mantinia, naturalmente) was erected outside each venue (and stood about six feet high and pictured at right in Damiano Daresta’s exquisite photo). Also stenciled on the streets of Mantua as breadcrumbs, leading visitors to the three exhibition sites, were red Mantinia Ms.

Image: “Mantova Metafisica” by Damiano Daresta (K551 Jupiter on Flickr)
Taken on November 12, 2006, at the Palazzo Ducale, Mantua
Used with permission.
Do not reproduce without first obtaining permission from the photographer.

Matthew Carter designed Mantinia in 1993 as a titling font, which means that it was meant to function like, well, an Imperial Roman inscription: bold statements, full of weight and power. Mantinia is an all-capital font. Carter is quite the erudite typographer, and the pamphlet he designed to accompany and demonstrate the intricate possibilities of the Mantinia font is rife with his own scholarship on Mantegna’s antiquarianisms. He also designed the lovely font, Galliard (for which he is probably best known). Its italic and Mantinia complement one another beautifully. He designed a number of alternate characters, raised capitals, tall capitals, ligatures, and even ornaments for Mantinia that give the type designer a whole range of juicy possibilities. Some of his other type designs include: Snell Roundhand, Georgia (which you are reading now, unless your browser has made a substitution), and Sofia.

didyma_mI’ve created my own red Mantinia M, this one in yarn. For now, it’s another letter in my knitted abecedarium, but I’m saving it as an idea for a bold statement later on. I have, however, used Mantinia letters in another project. I charted a few words to create, well, let’s call it a name tag, on the inside rim of a hat. The original pattern comes from Adrian Bizilia of Hello Yarn. I used her brilliant pattern, “We Call Them Pirates,” but substituted ampersands for skull & crossbones. The pattern is incredibly well knit_mantinia2conceived and an absolute joy to knit. I’ve now made it three times (but only once with ampersands). Adrian has designed a matching mitten set as well. As of this writing, Ravelry members have made the hat pattern 761 times, which is a measure of how wonderful a pattern it is! Download it for free from the Hello Yarn site. Here is my chart for the ampersand variation of Adrian’s “Pirates” design.

Carter & Mantinia Bib

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

L is for Lopi

LlopiThe concept of Lopi is so central, so basic, so reliable: take the fleece of Icelandic sheep, the product of eleven centuries of controlled breeding in a climate guaranteed to produce hearty wool, card it into roving, and just knit with it. No spinning necessary! Need thicker yarn? Knit with two “strands” of unspun Icelandic. Need more? Make it three.

lopiwheelsIn Icelandic, this unspun knitting wool is called Plötu Lopi, literally: unspun wool in a “disc”—at least that’s how I interpret results from the Icelandic-English dictionary. Knitting with Lopi is delightful. It drifts up from the loosely-wound cakes/wheels/discs/cheese rounds in airy strips of wool—one, two or three at a time (more, if you’re working with more than one color). The hairiness produces a “glow” that radiates from the knit fabric. Since it is unspun, lopi can be quite delicate, but if one of the strands breaks, or if you need to change a color, it’s very simple to join or re-join strands. Just spit into the palm of your hand, overlap the strands, and twist them back & forth between your palms. The heat and moisture will felt them together into a tight bond very quickly. This property demonstrates two benefits to using Lopi. First, it felts beautifully, and second, you don’t have to weave in many ends (something I can appreciate now!). The felting part can also be a liability if you don’t take care in washing completed sweaters, but is wonderful for intentional felting projects. Not every kind of wool will work for unspun knitting. Icelandic sheep produce particularly long fibers that cling together and make the fragile roving more cohesive. Although the breed produces wool that is relatively low in lanolin, you can still sense a faint aroma of sheepiness, a reminder of its rawness and close connection to the animal that gave its wool. As delectable as the wool looks, don't be tempted to taste it. It’s bitter. I won’t say how I know this. I’ll just caution knitters to take care while performing the spit join. Wondering how to do it? Here’s a short demo video:



Lopi projectLightly-spun lopi is lovely, too. Reynolds Yarns (now owned by JCA Yarns) brought it to the U.S. in the early 60s, and helped popularize the “Icelandic” yoke sweater in this country. The yarn itself is more twisted than spun, and comes in dozens of bright and muted colors, including the seventeen natural colors (some say more) supplied by the sheep themselves. Unspun comes in seventeen colors (nine dyed, eight natural). Reynolds’s Lopi comes in bulky and lite weights, which knit up at about 3 and 5 stitches per inch, respectively. If you prefer the airy strands of unspun Icelandic, Meg Swansen introduced (in Knitting Around the World, see reference, below) a great way to take advantage of the subtle gradations in natural colors: slowly transition to a new color by grafting (using the spit join method outlined above) a slightly different color to one strand, thus knitting with two strands of the old color and one of the new for a few rows, then repeating so that you have two strands of the new color and one of the old, then finally complete the color change to three strands of the new color. This is particularly effective for stranded color work, in which colors can be graded for foreground and background.

reynolds1Iceland the country is a place of spectacular, dangerous beauty I have always wanted to visit. Alas, I have gone no further than the airport during a short layover. Reynolds’s marketing department very wisely decided to stage its photo shoots in Iceland, where models would pose in large, yoked sweaters against otherworldly landscapes. I have collected a few examples from the sixties (as reproduced, right), but the ones I first saw were from the eighties. Those images always spoke to me of casual elegance and made me want to whip off “an Icelandic” when I was first yearning to knit in high school. I remember a friend had designed an Icelandic-style sweater with abstract heads as design motifs; it was so warm that she could wear it instead of a coat throughout most of the winters she spent in Vermont. The first sweater I ever tried to knit was an Icelandic. I had no idea what I was doing and no one to guide me; I just bought some yarn from a yarn store in Turkey, where I lived. I have no idea what kind of yarn it was because I didn’t know Turkish well enough to ask the clerk about the fiber (and I doubt I would have known to ask). I just picked a few colors I liked and asked for enough for a sweater. Needless to say, I never finished it. All I recall is that it was destined for my brother and contained purple and gray (probably not his choices!). I made up the loss to him a few years later with a Fair Isle sweater. And I did eventually make one of those fabled Icelandic sweaters, and was delighted at how quickly it progressed at three stitches to the inch. I think the yarn I used was actually from New Zealand.

Lopi3But back to Iceland: Situated at the cross-section of the North American and Eurasian tectonic plates, it lies atop a mantle plume of molten rock. This geological phenomenon has spawned volcanoes that threaten the Icelandic population—sometimes with catastrophic results—forging and re-forging an ever-changing landscape. Undaunted, Icelanders make the most of this unstable geology; almost 20% of Iceland’s energy is geo-thermal! Iceland’s harsh, ethereally beautiful landscape includes geothermal fields, spectacular waterfalls, hot springs, even a blue lagoon (partially a natural formation, but waters fed by a geothermal power plant). Not limited to physical beauty, Iceland has also earned the moniker, “land of sagas.” Colonized by Vikings in 874, Iceland has survived natural disasters (earthquakes, volcanoes, floods), famine, plagues, isolation, and pirate invasions to emerge as an independent, progressive country that is as urbane as it is proud and protective of its history and traditions. A poet with the unlikely name of Snorri Sturluson helped record some of the sagas in the twelfth century, and generated a tradition of recording family epics (mostly blood feuds) that make the Hatfields and McCoys seem tame in comparison. Perhaps because of isolation or deeply-valued tradition, Icelanders retain a few letterforms that have been absent from my language since the Middle Ages. Icelandic is not so far removed from Old Norse, which was written and spoken at the time of Old English (also sometimes called Anglo Saxon ca. 450 to ca. 1150). The eth (ð Ð), thorn (þ Þ), and aesc (“ash”—Æ æ) survive in modern Icelandic almost as artifacts, and exude medievalism (they make me wonder if this blog should be called “Knitting Letters, A to Þ?”).

Pepys, unfeltedPepys, feltedAnd back to knitting: I’ve taken a very, very simple idea: a repeated L pattern, in which L’s appear backwards, forwards, upside down & reversed in several different sizes. The main L’s have slight serifs, and somehow the overall effect to me looks Chinese, although I was trying to form a central cross, which appears rather often in Icelandic design as a motif. I used three colors of unspun Icelandic yarn, never more than two at a time, each of which was in three strands for a chunky yarn. The design forms a cylindrical hat, which I then felted (before felting, left; after felting, right), and caused Samuel Pepys to wear. If it had felted too much, it would have made a nice bowl. When I have time, I’ll post the pattern.

lopi4Icelandic Gems

Lopi2Icelandic Knitting Bib
  • Meg Swansen, “Make a Wooly, Warm Coat: Knit mirror-image Turkish patterns in Norwegian-style with Icelandic wool”, in Knitting Around the World from Threads (Newtown, CT: Taunton Press, 1993): 78-83.
  • Schoolhouse Press also produced a video on this pattern, which appears to be out of print: Meg Swansen, “A Turkish Coat” (Pittsville, WI : Schoolhouse Press, 1989)
  • Materials available from Schoolhouse Press
  • Susan Mills, Norah Gaughan, Elaine Rowley. Best of Lopi (Sioux Falls, SD : XRX Books, 2002) Highlights excerpted here
  • Elsa E. Guðjónsson. Notes on Knitting in Iceland. (Reykjavík, 1985)

lopi_swatchesPictures