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Material Goods

The Fantasy of Asia

Elizabeth Smith

From the well-travelled Silk Route to the formation of the East India Company, trade has always united disparate nations; commerce weaves countries together and bonds them as only money can. A subtle blend of national identities inevitably ensues but this cultural synthesis is hard to pin down. It is in the traffic of saleable items that we find a concrete insight into this diffusion. In the evolving design of fashionable fabrics the gradual merge of East and West can be traced, the nature of inspiration uncovered and our current attitude to India discerned.

Britain's relationship to India is aptly described as a 'love affair', encompassing as it does all the contradictory emotions common to such deceits; fascination and longing, the desire to dominate, and fear, shame and bravado. Like any relationship, to track its history is to unveil a continually shifting balance of power. At its earliest point it is fair to argue that India had more to offer than we had to give. Much of our literature, mathematical understanding and therefore our technical achievements have their roots in India, yet there have been huge stretches of time when the West has refused to acknowledge this contribution to our development, modes of thought and style of living. Instead we founded our ideas of India on a fictional identity of 'the other'. Whether we prefer the colourful exaggerations of Bollywood, the cool image of white clad colonials or earlier ideas such as Coleridge's 'stately pleasure dome' the West has continually titillated itself with ideas of the strange and exotic East. Textiles in the form of clothes and furnishings were central to the construction and popularisation of this romantic view of India, for without the correct fashions the fantasy of Asia would have been no fun at all.

It was fortunate that the 17th-century surge in the desire for all things Eastern coincided with a burgeoning naval supremacy, placing at the disposal of the affluent the means to furnish themselves with suitable props and costumes to enact their flight of fancy. In 1600 the East India Company was granted a monopoly on trade with India. Such were the limitations and perils of long sea voyages that the company, with its cargoes of tea, spices, silk and ceramics, could import only enough of these coveted items to stimulate a frenzy of demand, one which they could not hope to supply alone. Such potentially lucrative demand could not remain unfulfilled and European craftsmen began to produce furniture, ceramics and textiles that aped, with varying degrees of finesse, the main decorative features of the imported works. In a climate of blind adoration of the 'exotic', chinoiserie was born.

Yet however high the value placed on textiles from India, authenticity was nothing when set against style. The arrogance and sense of ownership with which merchants transacted their affairs with Indian craftsmen is apparent. By the middle of the 17th century, agents began to commission fabrics 'more to the English taste'. The grounds of embroidered textiles were changed from red to white without consideration of the fact that for many Indians this was the colour of death and mourning and avoided for that reason. This toning down of traditional devices was no doubt viewed as a refinement - to become more 'English' could only be an improvement. Ladies of the time would aspire to the look in both dress and interior decoration. Chintz, bed hangings and palampores were essential items in the bedroom of any cultivated person, presumably without a thought to the meanings behind the plundered styles.

Fashion absorbs and recycles history and culture more swiftly than any other creative medium. The voracious appetite of the consumer tolerates nothing less. In the development of chinoiserie in the 17th and 18th centuries, we have an illuminating glimpse of the symbiotic relationship between trade and trends. When offered beautifully embroidered fabrics from India, the English buyer provoked changes in the design. Once satisfied that the product suited the English taste, he demanded it in ever greater quantities, ever cheaper before deciding he could produce it more economically at home.

The assimilation of the boteh, an Indian symbol of fertility into our design heritage is an excellent illustration of the cycle of appropriation and alteration that was the model for our commercial dealings with India. By renaming the design as 'Paisley' the true nature of our inspiration was left unacknowledged and its origins obscured.

It is not difficult to identify with the period when chinoiserie first gripped the nation. In many ways little has changed in the intervening centuries. We continue to cannibalise other cultures and history but now at an unprecedented speed. Our perception of India continues to have a profound effect on textiles, fashion and interior design, but added to this we have a plethora of historic interpretations of the region to add to the mix, Rococo, the 1920s flirtation with the orient and the 1960s Hippie fascination with the mystic East. For all their arrogance and ignorance, fashionable ladies in the 17th century would at least have expected to live with their chinoiserie fabrics for decades. That same sense of longevity is a rarity in today's marketplace. When designs, trends and the latest thing pass faster than the life cycle of a mayfly, 'born at dawn and gone by dusk', how can one grasp the meaning behind the product? Perhaps we are not meant to even try. Many companies seem to have no objection to disposable design, offering caricatures rather than personal interpretations of their chosen source. Like all ephemera any attempt to expose its origins might be deemed a perverse waste of time - buy it, bag it and bin it with the briefest pause to wear or display it. But no matter how transient its intended shelf life, every garment, accessory or object for the home is the result of a process of design and manufacture and, once created, represents our time.

Detail of Bollywood bag, on sale at the V&A shop, £19.99
image credit: Peter Shaw

What does it say of us, that for the most part we continue to attempt to reduce other cultures to one-dimensional stereotypes? We are perpetuating an attitude one would wish to see confined to the history books. The high street's recent obsession with Bollywood is a pertinent example of a futile attempt to recreate an Indian identity with only the ubiquitous embroidered sandal, shisha mirror work bag or cushion fashioned from a sari. Yet it is not the speed at which we absorb and regurgitate influences that is cause for concern. As is often pointed out, information sources are faster and more accessible than ever, and who would propose to ration knowledge? The problem occurs when we spread that information too thinly - when, in our excitement and often-genuine attraction, our understanding becomes superficial. If we take only what interests us or furthers our own projects, discarding original meanings along the way, then our interest becomes exploitation and our lack of true understanding an insult. The integrity of inspiration cannot be maintained in such a one-sided relationship.

So where do we look for examples of designers who, while operating from a clearly modern, Western perspective, manage to maintain a mutually respectful and profitable relationship with Indian craftspeople and their textile traditions - designers for whom the East is not merely a convenient dressing up box?

We can look to Megan Park and Victoria Bain. These designers have in common that their products, like those of the East India Company, are about desire, beauty, exclusivity and the eroticism of the finest, be that the finest design, materials, or workmanship. They represent the antithesis of the thrown-away fashion item, creating collections of clothes and furnishings that have the potential to outlast both maker and buyer.

Victoria Bain's interior collection is the spiritual home of the cultivated, a place where the aesthetically weary can stop and rest. Her cushions are the place a true connoisseur may lay their head, sure in the knowledge they are reclining on textile perfection. The designer herself is very clear about her role, as a maker of gorgeous objects and, in the wider sense, as one of the few remaining commercially viable bastions of dying techniques. Victoria is passionate about textiles, she is passionate about the need to respect and encourage British craftspeople, and above all she is passionate about beauty. In her ideal world we would all live in splendour, mini Madame Pompadours regaled in finery, but she knows she must keep a firmer grip on reality - depressingly firm at times, as she must function as a hard-headed business woman for much of her working day and constrain her urge to decorate.

Her company produces a range of ready-made and bespoke interior furnishings for clients who have the time and inclination to style their homes to the very highest standard. In some sense her work preserves the long-established relationship between the arts and the aristocracy and she is not afraid to use the term 'patronage' to describe her relationship with wealthy buyers. For without the willingness of the rich to support the highest endeavours in craft, yet more techniques would face extinction. In her opinion we need our 21st century Medici, even if these days they prefer a lower profile. The quality of her collections is uncompromising. Produced in England and India by established master craftspeople, an open, two-way relationship with the workforce is a fundamental part of the company's philosophy. Victoria sources her techniques throughout history but especially the 18th century, she admits she is 'addicted to the Georgian era', decorating her own bedroom in the style. However, there is no set route in her design work and chance encounters often lead to new ideas. Having recently seen the micro-mosaics on show in the Gilbert Collection at Somerset House, she was immediately influenced by the jewellery. 'I came away with a sense of colour, texture, the sheer exquisiteness and already I could see how I was going to embellish that on a voile maybe using semi-precious stones'.

Victoria feels she is a very English designer - a traditionalist - but she is aware that the periods that most frequently fire her imagination were in turn heavily influenced by textiles imported from the East. The woven silks manufactured in Spitalfields are an example of the cyclical nature of inspiration. Victoria Bain cites them as items of particular interest to her. The woven damasks and brocades, which sometimes incorporated gold or silver threads, featured naturalistic, asymmetrical botanical designs of the type popularised by the imported Indian Tree of Life motif. Hugely expensive to produce and acquire, the designs eventually migrated back onto block printed calicos produced in India. Victoria is happy to accept that her work has strong historical overtones and in this she has strong support from eminent art historians: 'No one can deny the staying power of old forms and conventions. Artists have a legitimate wish not always to have to start at the beginning but to carry on from a point already attained, to transform an existing style into something new' (Ernst Fischer, The Necessity of Art. Penguin, 1963).

Others would go even further, insisting that all creative endeavour is 'drawn from a dictionary of used term and ideas' and the quest for authenticity and originality is futile. Victoria Bain simply doesn't have the time to analyse her cushions in such detail; she is one of the Oscar Wilde 'elect', those 'to whom beautiful things mean only beauty'. However the unintentional effect of her intelligent and thoughtful designs is to demonstrate that one can utilise other cultures and history without treating them in a cavalier fashion. In Victoria Bain's hands, history may repeat itself, but as it does so, it is enriched and given new contexts in which to be appreciated.

Megan Park's Autumn/Winter collection demonstrates her unparalleled ability to internalise the sometimes overwhelming influence of India and blend it with her own more idiosyncratic ideas. As she herself points out, she does not duplicate, but each collection contains delightful hints of her eclectic inspirations. For an outsider, pinpointing the sources is like attempting to discern individual instruments in a symphony, occasionally diverting but often distracting. An overall impression can be as satisfying. When displayed on the beautifully styled models, the latest collection embodies the nonchalant grace and glamour of an F Scott Fitzgerald heroine. Like Daisy from The Great Gatsby, if they spoke their voices would have the inexhaustible charm of money. Infinitely seductive, sexy in a terribly well bred way, they recline 'High in a white palace the king's daughter, the golden girl...'.

Megan describes the process by which she creates as simply 'mixed up'; each new collection begins when she casts a fresh eye over her collection of vintage pieces that occupy a large chest in her studio. As she rummages through the chest, ideas that may have lain dormant for months or even years, re-surface and take shape.

The factor that unites the work and sets it apart is the craftsmanship - for Megan the embroidery is the focus. Entirely produced in Delhi, India, by a superbly skilled, all-male workforce, the collections become infused with an Indian feel during production. Split into two main types, the men specialise in either ari (primarily tambour work) or zardozi, fine goldwork. Megan works closely with the embroiderers making changes and discussing techniques. It is very much a learning process for everyone involved. Megan sources the raw materials herself, often adapting them further until they match precisely her vision of the final garment. The development of a single florentine embroidery motif for use on a dress and scarf in the Autumn Winter collection involved much time and effort, ageing and manipulating various elements. During the trial and error process, Swarowski stones were washed using the wrong type of acid, clouding and dulling the gems. Fortunately Megan decided it was a pleasing effect and bathed the rest in the same solution. Megan spent part of her early career working for an embroidered fabric company in Calcutta and has gained some fairly obscure expertise along the way, expertise which meant she knew just how to turn uniformly bright, shiny sequins a beautiful, uneven gold. She boiled them in coconut milk - and not just any coconut milk; it took three attempts to find the brand of milk that gave the desired effect. It was a technique new to the embroiderers in her Delhi workshops. This type of exchange of information helps the collections evolve and the work become ever finer. It is very important to Megan: 'I think to do embroidery well it really takes a lot of building up of knowledge and learning what is possible and available. Whilst you need to keep your shapes and spirit fresh, the embroidery is better with the more knowledge you gain.'

Megan Park and Victoria Bain are designers who distil their many influences before creating. The result is beautifully crafted work with integrity. More a compound of elements than a loosely mixed cocktail, each collection withstands scrutiny in every important aspect. These designers accept and understand the impact history has on their personal vision. As we drown in a sea of cheap imports that cynically lift and copy motifs, when we are bombarded by revival after revival of past styles and when period costume so often masquerades as contemporary work, this offers hope. More importantly these designers acknowledge their debt to the Indian craftspeople that produce their finest work; they work with them to maintain their traditions without forcing them to stagnate. Their relationship is grounded in economic reality with workers commanding appropriately high wages for such skilled work. This is fair trade in action, without the labels, rules and guidelines so sadly necessary to regulate the working practice of much of the textile industry.

There is a difficult line to tread in our appreciation of the textile heritage of India; we must walk with care the path between exploitation and patronising interference. At times we seem to have given ourselves the mission statement of preserving their skills but how can we imply their culture is only safe in our hands? Having let our own craft traditions all but disappear have we the right to insist that they remain traditional? It is a complex question. In the success of these two companies it seems that, for once, market forces may resolve a moral question. By satisfying each party involved - designer, craftsperson and buyer - Megan Park and Victoria Bain seem to have discovered the true value of material goods.

We would like to thank Caroline Washington for providing the historic background for this article as well as Victoria Bain and Megan Park for their co-operation.

This article is from Embroidery, Volume 54 No.5, © Elizabeth Smith