conTEXT issue 3

twenty twenty

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three

a student-led journal contemporary practice and critical questions in art and design

Welcome to the third issue of conTEXT, Bristol School of Art’s student-led journal examining critical questions in art and design. Now in its third year, conTEXT has developed into an exciting journal showcasing the work of new writers, designers and makers. From Rembrandt and artificial intelligence to electronic waste and urban mining, issue 3 is our most diverse yet. A dedicated team have been busy working on the journal design, text edits and promotion for issue 3. This has been a truly collaborative project across all disciplines at Bristol School of Art including the Applied Arts, Art History, Fashion/Textiles, Fine Art and Graphic Design degree programmes. Thank you to everyone who has been involved in conTEXT issue 3. We hope you enjoy reading issue 3 as much as we have enjoyed working on it.

Lydia Wooldridge

Editorial Director Artistic Director Artistic Director/ Photographer Photographer Project Lead

Charlotte West Ming Green Sam Beasor

char.e.west@gmail.com jiaming.green@gmail.com beasor2@gmail.com

Magda Nowak Lydia Wooldridge

magdalenanowak1992@gmail.com lydiawooldridge@gmail.com

Cover image: Gertrude from Fondle Me

by Kerry Lewis, (see p.43)

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contents 01.

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Ladies in Movement Ladies in Waiting Megan Georgia Lambert

Identity Tash Bisp

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Big Reputations: What does Taylor Swift’s Renegotioation of the Snake Emoji Tell Us About the Meaning and Value of Signs?

Charlotte West

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Breaking it down: An interview with artist Vicki Cody Becca Cairns

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Distorted fashion of the 18th century Eleanor Finlay

Geometric Typeface Ming Green

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Identity Amanda Hall

Other Place Simona Dlugosova

Tarot Cards Jasmine Eckett

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To what extent was Claude Monet influenced

by Japanese Ukiyo-e prints in his painting after 1860?

Sarah Jose

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Donkey Stradling Penguin Sam Beasor

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The Stradling Collection and Bristol School of Art x Bristol Metropolitan Academy Collaborative

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Disgust: The Aversion/Attraction Paradox in Contemporary Art Kerry Lewis

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Jasmin Claire Clark

Slava!

Magda Nowak

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Untitled Jay Whitby

Experience in the unexpected Will Bertram

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Is adaptable wear the key to inclusivity in the fashion industry?

Ronja Thielmann

Digital textile prints Chloe Pugsley

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Dispose of Responsibility Tim Southall

Untitled Benji Appleby-Tyler

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Can Artificial Intelligence Create True Art? Sarah Jose

Tree Shadows Fan Lee (Lai-fan Lee)

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Sustainable design in Bristol Jessica Thomas

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83.

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Spike Island Amanda Hall

Empty Gaby Solly

We Breathe Gaby Solly

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Flow Michelle Goddard

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An interview with: The Ken Stradling Collection Eleanor Finlay, Becca Cairns, Georgia Collins

Electronic Waste Natasha Hook

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Megan Georgia Lambert

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Left: Ladies in Movement collage and cutout Right: Ladies in Waiting collage and cutout

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Big

Reputa utations

Charlotte West

What does Taylor Swift’s Renegotioation of the Snake Emoji tell us About the Meaning and Value of Signs?

ations A dispute between Kim Kardashian West and Taylor Swift in 2016 led to Kardashian labelling Swift with the snake emoji on Twitter. Others followed, leading to the spamming of Swift’s social media with the symbol. For our purposes here, details of the dispute are superfluous. Suffice it to say that in this context the snake was symbolic, the connotation being that Swift was treacherous and false. This case highlights the way in which symbols and signs hold culturally and contextually specific meaning. This essay will, through looking at this case, question how meaning is imbued in symbols. In doing this, we will first look broadly at the symbolism of the snake. This will lead us to the value and meaning held in the context in question by the snake emoji. Following this, we will explore Swift’s appropriation of the label of snake, and what we can learn from this about how symbols and signs function as social constructs. In looking at Swift’s appropriation of the label, we will examine her invocation of the femme fatale and explore the transference between this trope and the image of the snake. By focusing on a specific use and renegotiation of a symbol, this essay will demonstrate the instability of symbols which we perceive to be natural, as well as the potential for their renegotiation.

Taylor Swift collage, Charlotte West

We will take a broad definition of semiotics as ‘the study of signs’, signs being taken to mean ‘something which stands for something else’ (Chandler, 2017, p.2). This is akin to Saussure’s description of the sign as comprised of the ‘signifier and signified’ (Chandler, 2017, p.13). As Hall (1997, p.21) describes, ‘the meaning is not in the object or the person or thing, nor is it in the word. It is we who fix the meaning so firmly that, after a while, it comes to seem natural and inevitable’. It is this socially constructed nature of signs that explains their potential for negotiation.

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The symbol of the snake is an example of the flexible nature of the meaning of symbols. J.C. Cooper (1987, pp.146-7) describes the snake symbol as a ‘highly complex and universal symbol’; ‘it is solar and lunar, life and death, light and darkness, good and evil, wisdom and blind passion, healing and poison, preserver and destroyer, and both physical and spiritual rebirth.’ Cooper also describes how it can take on ‘feminine characteristics of the secret, enigmatic and intuitional; it is the unpredictable in that it appears and disappears suddenly’. These characteristics tie the snake symbol to the trope of the femme fatale, which we will return to later. The meaning of a symbol is dependent on the context in which the symbol appears, and the cultural codes possessed by the interpreter of the sign. In wider modern Western (predominantly Christian) culture, the description of the symbol of the snake as ‘knowledge; power; guile; subtlety; cunning; darkness; evil and corruption and the Tempter’ (Cooper, 1987, p.147) may seem natural, but these are arbitrary associations that have been embedded over time.

That is to say ‘[t]he meaning is constructed by the system of representation’ (Hall, 1997, p.21). This shows that the apparently mutually understood code that was used to label Swift was only understood because the Western population had been conditioned to understand it in that way.

The emoji is a sort of pictogram, initially designed by Shigetaka Kurita in 1999 for a Japanese mobile internet platform. Kurita was inspired by kanji characters, taking from kanji the ‘ability to express abstract ideas in a single character’ (Moschini, 2017, p.15). Discussing the rise of the emoji, Marcel Danesi (2016, preface, para. 3) claims that they ‘facilitate intercultural communications by transcending the symbolic barriers of the past’. Danesi notes that the language and code of emoji are not free from ambiguity, highlighting how cultural and even timespecific information is unavoidable in any code. Emoji then, like all symbols, bear meaning in specific historical and cultural ways. This is true of the snake within western online popular culture. Due to pre-existing codes, the snake becomes imbued with a meaning that is not necessarily universal. This is not to say that the emoji cannot re-shape prevalent associations, but that they cannot be totally separated from the established complex system of codes. It was the shared conceptual map amongst the intended audience that created the common interpretation of the meaning of Kardashian’s snake symbol.

Charles Sanders Peirce outlined three different relationships for symbols. These are: symbolic; a purely conventional association, iconic; that of perceptual resemblance and finally

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indexical; a direct connection, for example smoke is a sign of fire. For each symbol, ‘dominance is determined by context’ (Chandler, 2017, p.56). In our case, the most pertinent is the symbolic value. Daniel Chandler’s differentiation between denotation and connotation can help us also. He describes how ‘signs are more ‘polysemic’ – more open to interpretation – in their connotations than their denotations, though context usually acts as a constraint’. Therefore, whereas the snake emoji denotes the snake, its connotations are more complex, and the context of the dispute aids interpretation and comprehension.

The symbol can also be understood as a metaphor. Chandler describes how ‘[m]etaphors initially seem to disregard ‘literal’ or denotative resemblance but some kind of resemblance or association must become apparent if the metaphor is to make any sense at all to its interpreters’ (Chandler, 2017, p.153). That the metaphorical value of the snake is not obvious shows how embedded in our culture it has become. As Chandler states, ‘[r]egular repetition of patterns of behaviour establishes or reinforces a social code’. In this context, the emoji builds upon the Western idiom ‘a snake in the grass’, ‘a metaphor for treachery’ which has been dated back to Virgil in 37BC (Tréguer, 2017). Culture and context therefore point us to read the snake emoji as coding for treachery, although it is not the only potential interpretation. This supports Brown (2017) who writes that “[n]o single emoji is inherently shady”. The snake emoji does not intrinsically and permanently mean treachery.

Just as the symbolic value of the snake has changed over time and between cultures, the meaning of the symbol is not fixed, but open to interpretation, and hence, open to change.

This capacity for change is demonstrated by Swift’s response.

The first images Swift posted on Instagram from the Reputation era were CGI snakes, slithering across the screen. This was a statement of intent. Conversations that had taken place about the artist’s character were to be confronted. Galinsky et al. (2013, p.222) describe ‘the phenomenon whereby a stigmatised group revalues an externally imposed negative label by self-consciously referring to itself in terms of that label.’ It is a process of renegotiating meaning, ‘changing it from something hurtful to something empowering’. They outline two assumptions key in reappropriation ‘[f ]irst, names are powerful’ and ‘second, the meanings of names are subject to change and can be negotiated and renegotiated’. Words are codes just as pictorial symbols are, all falling under the scope of semiotics. They are socially constructed, and their meanings are similarly arbitrary and thus similarly flexible.

William Blake, The Temptation and Fall of Eve. 1808 Illustration from John Milton’s Paradise Lost Image courtesy of Museum of Fine Arts Boston www.mfa.org

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Medusa/ Head of Medusa, circa 1600, Flemish School

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The snake was a prominent feature of not only the Reputation album roll out, but also of the visual imagery, merchandise and the arena tour, which featured ‘various serpentine forms on stage and screen: towering, inflatable pythons; gold-embossed cobras; scaly visions reminiscent of Harry Potter projected on the Jumbotron…(even the VIP section was named the Snake Pit)’ (Holub, 2018). Swift, in appropriating the snake symbol, transformed it into a symbol of empowerment. The snake in this context connotes not treachery but can be read as power and rebirth. The idea of rebirth is a theme. It is notable in the first song released from the album, Look What You Made Me Do (Swift and Antonoff, 2017a) which features lines such as “I rose up from the dead I do it all the time” and “The old Taylor can’t come to the phone right now. Why? Because she’s dead.” The Look What You Made Me Do lyric video is peppered with images of the snake devouring its own tail, symbolic of cyclicality and renewal (Bailey, 2017). Swift takes advantage of semiotic instability, and a symbol used to question her character is claimed and so transformed.

As part of the re-appropriation of the snake symbol, Swift invokes the femme fatale. Hanson and O’Rawe (2010, p.1) describe the idea of the femme fatale as ‘the figure of a certain discursive unease, a potential epistemological trauma. For her most striking characteristic, perhaps, is the fact that she never really is what she seems to be’. In the music video for Look What You Made Me Do (2017b), Swift references ‘versions’ of herself throughout her career, reflecting the unknowability of the femme fatale. Album lyrics

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such as “I put the money in the bag and I stole the keys, that was the last time you ever saw me” (Antonoff, 2017b) and “They say I did something bad. Then why’s it feel so good?”

(Swift et al., 2017) lean into a character which contrasts the wholesome image Swift once presented. Perhaps the clearest association though can be seen in the lyric video for Look What You Made Me Do. The video draws on the visual language of film noir, inextricably tied to the idea of the femme fatale.

The cut-out style echoes Saul Bass, who designed for films such as Vertigo. There is heavy use of shadow and silhouette, strongly associated with film noir, as well as clear invocation of narrative tropes. The words “I’ll be the actress staring in your bad dreams” (Swift, 2017a) accompany a female character waiting with a gun for an unsuspecting male.

made even more alluring by [actress Scarlett] Johansson’s husky, sultry feminine voice.’ Kaa therefore ‘comes across as a slippery, calculating femme fatale who is more sinister than previous [male] incarnations’. By claiming the symbol of the snake through the lens of the femme fatale, Swift further alters the meaning of the snake label. Implications of the enigmatic and powerful are emphasised, as potentially embarrassing negative connotations of falsity are overwhelmed. The femme fatale plays with ideas of façade and not being who you seem to be. These ideas were embodied at the end of the Reputation tour with an illuminated message that read ‘and in the death of her reputation, she felt truly alive’ (Yahr, 2018), reflecting the duality of the snake symbol at the centre of this public controversy.

This transference, i.e. ‘transferring certain qualities from one sign to another’ (Chandler, 2017, p.154), between the snake and the femme fatale is not new. The two concepts can be interpreted as sharing qualities of enigmatic unpredictability and the potential for danger. It is said that ‘the idea of the femme fatale is ‘as old as Eve’’ (Hanson and O’Rawe, 2010, p.3).

If Eve is understood to be tempted by the snake, and in turn be the tempter of Adam, Eve and the snake are thus linked. The gorgon Medusa ‘is widely known as a monstrous creature with snakes in her hair whose gaze turns men to stone’ (Johnston, 2016), but also is an ‘archetypal femme fatale: a conflation of femininity, erotic desire, violence, and death’ (Meier, 2018).

Medusa herself is an example of the flexibility of a symbol, as ‘her meaning has shifted over time and across cultures’ having been used as a weapon against powerful women and appropriated as a symbol of empowerment (Johnston, 2016).

A final example of the association between the snake and the femme fatale is Kaa in Jon Favreau’s The Jungle Book (2016). For Radhika Gupta (2016) this decision to make this imagining of Kaa female ‘enhances the snake’s already seductive qualities

Through looking at this single case of sign usage, the constructed nature of symbols is evident. The symbol of the snake highlights some of the variation in significance within cultures and time. Meaning is evidently not innate in a sign or symbol but exists as part of a socially constructed code. This is true of emoji’s, which aim for universality, but build upon preheld associations, as well as developing new meaning through usage. As signs and symbols are not inevitable, they are open not only to misinterpretation but to change and renegotiation.

This is demonstrated by Swift’s re-appropriation of the snake symbol during her Reputation era. The artist reclaimed the symbol of the snake, exploiting alternative connotations of the symbol in order to mitigate the damage that can be done by an externally imposed label.

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Break ing it down: An interview with artist Vicki Cody

by Becca Cairns

Hidden away on a side street in a suburb of Manchester, artist Vicki Cody has made an old flour mill her home, along with her studio practice.

I have come to Manchester to ask her some questions about her work which is a rich menagerie of collage, creating weird, intricate somewhat macabre forms. Yet each piece Vicki creates has a unique fragility, like a piece of precious porcelain that has been broken into tiny pieces, and painstakingly put back together again - not quite in its original form, something new.

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I’m using collage to show a fragile and fragmented ented world How long have you been practicing/producing work?

If counting from the beginning of my studies, it is 16 years.

Where did you study?

I started my studies in 2003 at Grennan Mill School of Craft.

It was a 2 year foundation course where I was introduced to printmaking, metalwork, batik, drawing, ceramics and textiles.

The college was in a beautiful old mill by the river Nore in Co. Kilkenny. After this I studied for my Bachelor in Fine Art (BFA) in 2005 at Limerick School of Art and Design, where I specialised in printmaking. In 2015 I decided to take my skills as a Fine Art Printmaker, and experiment further, which led me to do my Masters in textiles in Gothenburg, Sweden at HDK, Academy of Design and Crafts.

Why have you chosen to work with collage in particular?

Transformation has been a recurring theme in my art practice and it is the perfect medium, as it enables constant change.

I am drawn to its immediacy and spontaneity. I use collage to show a fragile and fragmented world. We are bombarded by images every day, and I feel it shows how our culture is saturated with images both printed and online. Collage has a quality that creates both a beautiful and frightening impact.

I play around with images until something starts to happen.

A single image can trigger a whole piece. In my process I am constantly cutting, taking apart, constructing, breaking it down and reassembling again. New pieces are always evolving. Some images get enlarged, others stay as they are.

There is great satisfaction when two images clash together in harmony. The collages also take form in my printmaking and textile practice.

Where do you source your material to make the collage?

I use only paper, and I source my images from nature magazines and books, mostly botanical, anatomy and natural history books. In Manchester there is a great second-hand

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Photography courtesy of Vicki Cody and Becca Cairns

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bookstore to rummage in called Sharston Books. It is a huge warehouse full of really cheap books. The process of saving and collecting fragments is done over a period of time, and I enjoy the frantic action of collecting.

How do you approach your visual research?

It always starts with reading, tales with anthropomorphic themes are a constant source of inspiration. John Berger’s essay ‘Why look at animals’ is an essay I seem to come back to again and again. He writes about animals as the first symbols and metaphors, and the decline of the animal after the industrial revolution, ‘animals go from caves to carts to cages’ (Popova, 2019). The ancient relationship between man and nature has been broken in the modern consumer age Which artists do you find inspiring, or have inspired your work?

Wangechi Mutu, Elliott Hundley, Fred Tomaselli, Geoffrey Farmer - all artists working with collage today; most recently I have discovered Mary Beth Edelson. Other sources of inspiration include Czech film makers such as Jan Švankmajer, and Věra Chytilová, in particular her film Daisies, and also Hieronymus Bosch.

What was the last exhibition you went to?

It was at the Whitworth Gallery in Manchester, where I saw the work of William Kentridge, a South African artist who uses film, drawing and stop motion animation. I’ve seen his work three times now, and it is always a pleasurable and highly entertaining experience. His multimedia installations have a strong theatrical aesthetic with large projections including music and large scale sculptures that move.

Are there any challenges that you face as a freelance artist?

I think that, like a lot of artists, the challenge is trying to balance my day job with my art practice.

If you could sum up your practice in 3 words....

Otherworldly, Twisted, Hybrid.

Instagram: @vicki_cody

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Other

Simona Dlugosova

Place

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As a multi-media installation, Other Place forms an environment that becomes a platform for performance. It aims to inspire curiosity and is open to interaction with its audience.

Regarding theory, Other Place strives to engage with two key ideas: the concept of ‘heterotopias’ conceived by the philosopher Michel Foucault and the ‘World Technique’ developed by the child psychotherapist Margaret Lowenfeld.

At the same time, it seeks to respond to the collection of Glenside Hospital Museum (GHM) in Fishponds, which highlights the history of the former Bristol Lunatic Asylum.

Other Place is a direct translation of the word heterotopia.

According to Foucault, the concept constitutes a real place that is somehow ‘other’ yet still reflects society. Heterotopias are sometimes referred to as ‘worlds within worlds’ and institutions such as asylums fall into Foucault’s category of ‘heterotopias of deviation’, along with hospitals, prisons, and even retirement homes (Foucault & Miscowiec, 1986, pp.2426). By interpreting this concept, I want to draw attention to division and structure in society, and a certain need to be part of different worlds. Simultaneously, by taking inspiration from Lowenfeld’s World Technique, I put emphasis on the intangible worlds that reside within one’s mind, as the technique itself was designed to facilitate the expression of children’s inner worlds (Dr. Margaret Lowenfeld Trust, 2017).

Other Place explores how the worlds of Foucault and Lowenfeld are intertwined and how they affect one another.

Furthermore, the inspiration drawn from GHM’s collection and my subsequent response to it, permeates the installation’s environment and therefore creates a link with a real place.

During my initial investigation of GHM’s collection, I noticed multiple photographs of the asylum’s dormitories. The great number of beds were placed, it seemed to me, too close to each other, and immediately suggested a pattern that I developed as a response to these photographs (see p.15). In addition, the photographs urged me to think about private space within the asylum, or rather the lack of it, and an idea struck me, to create a sculpture that would imply this.

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This sculpture would take the form of multiple joined dwelling spaces that people could occupy. It should deliver an experience of a ‘private/ not-private space’. Interaction between ‘dwellers’ is encouraged to amplify the experience. However, the nature of this interaction is still to be determined along with the material used to fabricate it.

The installation is visually separated from the rest of the space by a border comprising of multiple, toy-like fence segments that feature my developed pattern through knitting. These segments can be easily moved to enable the audience to step within the environment. The viewer is encouraged to join the performer who continuously carries out repetitive actions that alter according to a written dayschedule. Alternatively, the viewer could simply engage in a conversation with the performer or another audience member who is involved, instead of joining the action itself.

Other Place creates a platform for interaction and open discussion in a similar manner to my other work Picking (2019). Other Place is a direct development of Picking which was a twelve-hour performance during which I picked away three upholstery foam cushions. It explored the soothing nature of repetitive behaviour and was a reminder of all the habits that we develop due to anxiety, stress, frustration, trauma, boredom, etc. Physical behaviours that can become destructive, painful, but are somehow comforting. Similarly, Other Place will put emphasis on those behaviours that are tied to our mental states, through the repetitive actions performed.

By combining a performative element with audience engagement, I make sure that the outcomes of this work are somewhat open-ended. This is my intention as I strive to learn about and reflect on my own work from the responses of others. Audience engagement does, to some extent, transform an artwork, but if the work itself is designed to be engaged with, I think that it can never be stripped of its fundamental idea.

Left: Installation plan sketch This page clockwise from top: Picking, Performance peice (2019) Sketchbook detail Knitted sketch

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Jasmine Eckett Tarot Cards

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To what extent was Claude Monet influenced by Japanese Ukiyo-e prints in his painting after 1860?

Reseach project Sarah Jose The nineteenth century was a time of change, a time of the industrial revolution when modernity flourished. It was during this time that art also began to see new changes and France was one of the cultural capitals of this advancement in the art world. There is an extensive scholarship written around the French Impressionists. However, there is limited research on Japanese prints from the East and how they sparked the inspiration for artists of this period. In this article, I will focus on one of the most well-known Impressionists, Claude Monet (1840-1926) and how he was influenced by Ukiyo-e prints.

What I aim to discover is: to what extent was Claude Monet influenced by Japanese Ukiyo-e prints in his painting after 1860? I will begin by introducing a brief history, explaining how Monet would have encountered these new Ukiyo-e prints. I will then summarise Japonisme, through its two phases that occurred in France during the late 1800s. Finally, using ideas from reception theory I will examine how Claude Monet engaged differently with Japanese prints, leading me to suggest that an additional phase of Japonisme is needed to encompass Monet’s practice.

Utagawa Hiroshige I The Seashore in Izu Province (Izu no kaihin) (detail), 1852 Image courtesy of Museum of Fine Arts Boston www.mfa.org

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History of Monet’s Encounter Monet was born in 1840 and, by the time he was 20, he had already begun to establish his own artistic style and medium.

Working with a group of artists who later became known as the Impressionists, Monet’s aim was to find a new method of expression and a new way to portray the world through art.

However, I believe that as Monet developed his style during the late 1800s he was influenced by Japanese art which was then appearing in Europe.

Japan was in self-imposed seclusion until America agreed a trade deal with them in 1853. Before this, Japan mostly traded with China and a few other neighbouring countries. For the art world, this meant that Japanese art was little seen outside of Japan until after this time. Dutch traders began to bring Japanese woodblock prints known as Ukiyo-e – Prints of the Floating World – back to Europe. Many different artworks were brought from Japan, but two artists were particularly well-known at this time and were arguably Japan’s most famous artists; Utagawa Hiroshige (1797-1858) and Katsushika Hokusai (1760-1849).

Their Ukiyo-e prints became increasingly popular. Monet would have had many opportunities to discover these prints as they began to be displayed in the Universal Exhibitions in Paris and art books such as a series of publications by Siegfried Bing (1881) known in English as Artistic Japan: Illustrations and Essays. However, unlike some of the other Impressionist artists who came into contact with Ukiyo-e prints, “…Monet, who first discovered [prints] independently as a young man in his natale Lele Harve, remembered buying cheese wrapped in prints” (Whitford, 1997, p.103). From this example, I believe it is easy to appreciate just how many Ukiyo-e prints there were in circulation. Monet even began collecting Ukiyo-e prints which still hang on the walls of his house in Giverny, France, to this day. But what also remains clear is how Ukiyo-e prints were received not long after they arrived in Europe.

Through research, I discovered that “… there were Japanese prints on the Paris auction market from 1850 onwards, but nobody saw them as anything more than exotic oddities” (Berger, 1980. p.9). We can begin to understand the concepts of Japanese artworks by referring to Edward Said’s Orientalism (1979) and his approach to understanding ‘the Other’. To summarise Said’s approach, he suggests that Eastern countries are deemed ‘the Other’ and that people believed they came from “…what is a manifestly different world” (Said, 1979. p. 14). The art of Japan was so different from the art of Western history that “…for years it was regarded as a vague adjunct to the Chinese empire” (Whitford, 1997. p.97). This shows how little understanding there was of Japanese culture. Decoration and fashion are two descriptions that I have found to be often used when discussing this understanding of Japanese art.

Authors such as Klaus Berger state:

pre-occupation for two full decades, especially among the feminine leaders of fashion” (Berger, 1980. p.7).

Berger goes some way to describe just how popular this newfound art had become and how it began to spark interest not only in art but within fashion. The artists in France during the 1860s especially began to study Japanese art which is evident in their artistic responses to its popularity. This study has been named, Japonisme. “Japonisme is a French term coined in the late nineteenth century to describe the craze for Japanese art and design in the West” (Tate, 2019d) and Claude Monet was known to have been influenced by this ‘craze’.

Japonisme – Phase One Frank Whitford describes Japonisme as “a vague and uncritical enthusiasm for things Japanese.” (Whitford, 1997. p.104). Klaus Berger writes in agreement with Whitford that “It is the strength of Japonisme, and at the same time limitation, that it first manifested itself as an artistic visual phenomenon and was barely affected by the substance of the Japanese way of life”. (Berger, 1980. p.6). I agree with both summaries that this is what Japonisme had become when Monet would have first encountered Japanese art. Artists would look at the prints, with the appreciation of how popular they were within French culture at the time. This meant that artists such as Claude Monet and other Impressionists such as Édouard Manet (1832-1883), began to produce artwork which appealed to the French public’s demand for Japanese decoration. As Berger concludes, “What counted was not the culture of Japan, or even the objective history of Japanese art, but purely and simply those things that artists in Paris wanted to see and were capable of seeing” (1980. p.6).

“From the time of the Universal Exhibition 1867, at which

One aspect of Japanese art that became the most popular within artists’ practice, was the clothes and objects which they depicted. Focusing on the aesthetic attractiveness and the fashion of Japan, it became increasingly popular to include these objects. The fashion in Japan was different from that of the West; as the Ukiyo-e prints became popular, so did the fashion. Chisaburoh F. Yamada suggests that “before long, members of fashionable society [...] were being ‘Japonized’” (2006. p.28) and Whitford adds that “This left its mark on the art of the 1860s and 1870s in the form of repertoire of Japanese objects included in paintings as exotic props” (1997. p.104). This,

the Japanese pavilion aroused more attention than any other, things Japanese remained a constantly growing

in turn, meant that “Japonism remained superficial” (Yamada, 2006. p.34). What we have is artists taking advantage of the

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popularity of the Ukiyo-e prints. Artists at this time “… might dress a model in a kimono for the sake of the pleasurable Romantic associations it evoked…” (Whitford, 1997. p.104) and therefore appropriated the fashion of Japan without considering any cultural meaning that these objects or decorative symbols might have had. Though many artists took this approach, Monet only fell under this influence once during his career with a painting he created of his wife.

Monet’s painting, La Japonaise (Camille Monet in Japanese Costume) (1876), is a painting often used to describe Japonisme. It depicts Monet’s wife dressed in what I assume to be a Kimono produced to be sold in France. Camille is positioned at the centre of the composition and she stands against a turquoise wall that contains several Japanese fans scattered about its surface; a couple of fans have fallen to the floor.

O’Mahony and Potts state that “At the time it [La Japonaise] caused a sensation” (2000. p.88) probably due to the number of Japanese objects depicted and the clothing that Camille models.

However, Frank Milner states this painting was “Later dismissed as a second-rate work by Monet himself, it was a somewhat cynical attempt to exploit the fashion for Japanese paraphernalia […]”

(2004. p.19). Additionally, some aspects of the painting present this exploitation very clearly.

Firstly, Camille is not Japanese and yet she wears her hair up in what could be argued to be a Japanese style. Christoph Heinrich suggests that “Monet has put a blonde wig on the utterly un-Japanese Camille…” (Heinrich, 2015. p.42). She also wears the Kimono which is not true to her own cultural background. Therefore, it cannot possibly have any meaning for her, other than that it was fashionable to wear one. But even the fans seem to mock the Japanese culture and two lay on the ground as if discarded as rubbish. Heinrich also points out that the fan held in her hand depicts the “…colours of the French tricolour” (Heinrich, 2015. p.42), a direct insult and clear evidence of how Japanese culture has been disrespected and ignored.

The explanation of Japonisme which I have just given summarises those attributes which are most often used to discuss its influence. Monet uses the fact that Japanese fashion and objects were popular, to create a painting which he eventually sold for 2,000 francs (Heinrich 2015, p.42).

These attributes, however, only go part way to examining how Monet in nineteenth-century France used Ukiyo-e prints to influence his working practice as he only created one painting that uses these aspects of Japonisme. These attributes of Japonisme have been deemed by authors such as Frank Whitford as being the first phase of Japonisme which is why I have called this section ‘Phase One’. Ives suggests that this phase is said to have begun during the 1860s (Ives, 2004). However, I have found that other authors, including Whitford, have stated that after the 1880s, a new influence from Japanese art began to emerge – the second phase of Japonisme.

Japonisme – Phase Two The second phase of Japonisme is believed to have shown a new level of influence from the Ukiyo-e prints for artists working during this time. Whitford states that: “The second phase of Japanese influence identified by art historians arrived when attempts were made to absorb not so much the subject matter of Japanese art as its stylistic features, above all its use of strong, unbroken contour lines, solid areas of colour and the decorative disposition of shapes.” (Whitford, 1997. p.104).

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Through my research, I have found that several authors (Berger, 1980; Milner, 2004; Whitford, 1997; Yamada, 2006) have attempted to place Monet within this second phase of Japonisme but only a few have given examples as to why he should be. The examples that have been given only go as far as to highlight certain elements within Monet’s work that could be attributed to this second phase. I argue that this is because there are difficulties with placing Monet fully within phase two. It can be argued that Monet’s influence did not fully correspond with the second phase of Japonisme. Tuffelli describes the phases of Japonisme; “First, it spurred the impressionist generation to reject traditional methods; second, at the time of its greatest influence at the close of the century, familiarity with Japanese art was instrumental in the development of the concept Synthetism among certain artists.” (2004. p.31).

Tuffelli is the only author I have found who links this second phase of Japonisme to Synthetism.

Synthetism is an art movement which I believe explains this difficulty with placing Monet in phase two of Japonisme, as Monet did not work within Synthetism. The style of Synthetism was “in the 1880s characterised by flat areas of colour and bold outlines” (Tate, 2019e), and is obviously different from the style of painting that Monet worked with. This description of Synthetism matches Whitford’s definition of phase two of Japonisme as I stated earlier. Like Whitford, Tuffelli suggests that the artists of the second phase, which I can now recognise as artists working within Synthetism, found that “Japanese woodblock prints radically changed their ideas regarding subject matter, line and colour, and composition.” (Tuffelli, 2004. p.31). If one looks at Paul Gauguin’s painting Harvest: Le Pouldu (1890), this clearly depicts the extent to which Gauguin worked within Synthetism and also shows the second phase of Japanese influence. Gauguin’s use of bold lines used to outline the fields and figures, and the use of the huge areas of flat colour, I argue, define phase two.

Tuffelli adds that “The term reflects both the significance attached to Japanese art and the extent to which it was integrated into artists’ working practices.” (2004. p.33). Artists working in this way such as Gauguin have synthesised the stylistic properties of Ukiyo-e prints and adapted them into their own practice. This painting is a clear example of phase two of Japonisme. At the same time, it remains clear that “…Monet did not experiment with flat Japanese-inspired blackoutlined figures against flatter backgrounds.” (Milner, 2004. p.19). Paul Tucker began to realise this as he states that “Monet’s forms are always far more three-dimensional, his medium more manipulated, his colours more varied and his surfaces more integral to the effect desired.” (Tucker, 1989. p.142). I believe that this clearly evidences how Monet’s own style of work differentiates his practice from Synthetism. Many artists like Paul Gauguin, it seems, were copying the styles of Ukiyo-e prints in similar ways to the first phase of Japonisme. The Synthetist artists, as I have understood, have simply appropriated the style because it was different and desired.

Monet was not an artist working completely within the methods of Synthetism and Klaus Berger touches on this idea when he notes that “There are traces of Japonisme everywhere [within Monet’s work], not yet in the overall treatment but in the use of individual elements” (Berger, 1980. p.74). Paul Tucker adds that “…despite all of the formal and aesthetic associations between his work and Japanese graphics, none of his paintings ever actually looked like a Japanese print.”

(Tucker, 1989. p.142). Monet did not change his style of aesthetics. This leads me to understand

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that although Monet’s work shows some influences from the second phase of Japonisme, he does not work with all its aspects, and therefore he cannot be placed within it. I have found that Monet begins to develop some formalistic aspects that are included within the framework of phase two, but he does not go so far as to create work which in any way stylistically looks like Ukiyo-e prints. It could be said that the influence of Japonisme on Monet is neither phase one nor phase two, but rather, a distinct third phase must be attributed to Monet individually.

Monet’s Individual Phase I will now explore the specific aspects of Japonisme’s influence on Monet. To understand this phase, it is important to establish how Monet may have perceived the Ukiyo-e prints. Paul Tucker suggests that Monet, “Unlike many of his contemporaries who so avidly borrowed aspects of Eastern culture he wanted to bend Japanese idioms to distinctly personal ends” (Tucker, 1989. p.142). However, Tucker makes it sound as if Monet was inconsiderate of the characteristics and I agree with this statement in some ways. As Yamada states, it is not an uncommon approach for artists to take as “Every culture, as it tires of its old values and aspires to revival, will suddenly turn its attention to the lesson of models with which it has often been long acquainted but has not thought to investigate.” (2006. p.27).

However, it is difficult to agree completely with Tucker when one considers how recently, for Monet, the Ukiyo-e prints had arrived in the West. Though Yamada and Tucker acknowledge that Monet will have borrowed aspects of Ukiyo-e prints to enhance his own work, I believe that their analysis is rather hostile towards Monet and his practice. I argue that Yamada is correct that Monet is “…the only impressionist to absorb Japanese influence on a deeper level” (Yamada, 1976, p.47). Although Whitford argues that “The enthusiasm of Monet […] for Japanese art sprang from a fundamental misunderstanding of it” (1997, p.169), I argue that Monet did not misunderstand, he simply was not looking to understand the meanings or spiritual natures of Ukiyo-e prints. I believe his deeper engagement with the works sparked interest in his own ideas as an artist. Monet was developing his own artistic style at that time and had no interest in the trend of things Japanese.

To add to this argument, I will apply some ideas from Charles Martindale’s reception theory.

Martindale’s main argument is that “…the modern poet is attempting to find out what kind of writer the ancient poet is and, in finding that out, what kind of a writer he himself is – or could be…” (2013. p.171). This means that artists would look to primary sources from history to form their own ideas about how to develop their work. Artists must understand the work that has gone before in order to learn and create new art. This, I believe, is the deeper level of Monet’s understanding; a belief that none of the other Impressionist artists sought to achieve. Applying this approach, I can suggest that Monet was using Ukiyo-e prints to educate himself. He looked at the formalistic aspects, the composition and subject of the Ukiyo-e prints, and he would have found that Japanese artists used these aspects differently from the Western tradition. By studying these new approaches, Monet was able to adapt his own approach to composition and subject. Martindale adds that “We cannot know the past as it really was, but illumination can come from the friction between different historical moments in our aesthetic perception of, our receptivity to, different objects from the past” (Martindale, 2013. p.181). The illumination highlights the differences between both the Ukiyo-e prints and Monet’s own working practice. This allowed

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Monet not to simply copy compositions, but to learn from the prints how form, line, and subject can be used in different ways. I consider this perception of Ukiyo-e prints by Monet is crucial to my development of a third phase of Japonisme. Using this approach, I have concluded that Monet focussed on just two formalistic aspects in his study of Ukiyo-e prints; subject and composition. I have found some comparative examples of Monet’s artwork with Ukiyo-e prints which I will now use to demonstrate my argument. I will divide my visual analysis into two themes; Subject and Composition.

Subject Monet’s art often consisted of natural landscapes which he is known to have painted often to express the colours and light within the atmosphere of the scene. However, there are some examples of the subject which are believed to have been used

by Monet based on Ukiyo-e prints. Tucker gives an example of Monet’s Poplars series in relation to Ukiyo-e prints. He draws a comparison between Claude Monet (1891) Poplars (Autumn) with Utagawa Hiroshige’s (1855) Numazu, Yellow Dusk: Fiftythree Stations of Tokaido (see illustrations p.27). He states that “The Poplars […] recall prints, such as Hiroshige’s Numazu, Yellow Dusk, which […] Duret even claimed was the inspiration for the series.” (Tucker, 1989. p.135). Though Tucker gives little analysis of his comparison, it is clear why he brought these two artworks together. Hiroshige depicts a row of tall, thin trees that grow along the bank of a winding river. People walk between them along a path. I agree with Tucker that this could be the inspiration for Monet’s Poplars series (Tucker, 1989. p.135) as Monet has chosen to depict a similar scene of poplars growing along the bank of the river. Their trunks small and vertical with similar details in their foliage. Though I do not know if the trees Hiroshige depicted are poplars, it seems too much of a coincidence if Monet had chosen to depict trees of a similar look if he had not seen Hiroshige’s print beforehand.

Since finding Tucker’s comparison, I offer my own original comparison between one Ukiyo-e print and one of Monet’s paintings which also exemplifies his use of trees as a borrowed subject. I would argue, that in this case, Monet took direct influence from the print. In his painting Antibes (1888) Monet has again depicted a tree that grows along a river with mountains in the background. However, I argue that this painting borrows its subject from another of Hiroshige’s Ukiyo-e prints, Red Maple Trees at the Tsūtenkyō Bridge (1838). At first, it may

not be obvious why I have chosen to compare these two artworks. If you look at the centre of Hiroshige’s print, you can see a tree that looks very much like the tree that Monet has depicted. The trees hang over the water, their foliage rough and detailed in both depictions. But what I have since found during my research is that Monet owned his own edition of Utagawa Hiroshige (1838) Red Maple Trees at the Tsūtenkyō Bridge. I screenshotted The Blue Salon and the Japanese Print Collection when I took a virtual reality tour of Monet’s house in Giverny. As I took the tour, I noticed this Ukiyo-e print hanging above the door in one of the rooms. Though the colours are slightly different, I am sure that it is the same as the one I offer in my own comparison. This would mean that Monet will have been familiar with its subject and that he may have spotted the tree in Antibes and recalled the tree’s form from Hiroshige’s print. This could be the reason why he decided to create his painting using this tree as its subject.

The two comparisons I have just discussed both highlight how Monet took small sections of Hiroshige’s subjects to create his own compositions. The next comparison I have made shows Monet’s subject to have been borrowed on a more substantial level. Milner suggests that “Hiroshige’s woodcut of The Seashore at Izu bears a strong resemblance to Monet’s simple, dominant cliff motifs.” (Milner, 2001. p.19). I have made an original comparison of my own as Milner does not suggest or feature any specific painting with which this Ukiyo-e print relates. Hiroshige’s woodcut depicts a hollowed-out cliff form on a beach (see illustrations p.30). People wander the shore and the waves crash around the rocks within the sea. Mount Fuji can be seen in the distance, shadowed by the great cliff figure. After searching through Monet’s cliff motifs as Milner suggests, I discovered Claude Monet (1885) The Cliffs at Étretat.

I was surprised to see that Monet had chosen to depict, not only the same subject, but the same subject almost entirely to Hiroshige’s composition. Siegfried Wichmann discusses a possible meaning that Japanese artists such as Hiroshige may have intended by depicting subjects of the rock face.

Wichmann states that rock faces were used when “Oriental painters depicted ‘living’ rocks as a form of portraiture. In each case, the individual structure was precisely rendered.” (1999. p.147). He adds that “One of the most popular themes was the rock ‘finger’ climbing out of the sea, as seen by the Japanese.

Such a rock was held to be the sign of an all-powerful divinity.”

(Wichmann, 1999. p.150). This shows a strong spiritual meaning

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Claude Monet Poplars, Three Trees in Autumn 1891 Image courtesy of Philadelphia Museum of Art www.philamuseum.org

Utagawa Hiroshige Numazu Yellow Dusk from the series Fifty-three Stations of the Tokaido, 1855 Image courtesy of Yale University Art Gallery. artgallery.yale.edu

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which Japanese artists gave to their work which arguably Monet does not do.

Monet does not make any attempt to understand, convey or establish the same meaning that this subject presents in the Ukiyo-e print. Monet also excludes people and text. Japanese artists often depicted people within their scenes as they meant to recreate scenes of everyday life. The text on Ukiyo-e prints such as these would display the artist’s name, the title of the work and sometimes a poem or a short story that goes some way to describe the scene being depicted. It could be argued that Monet is simply appropriating these subjects to increase his art’s appeal and depicting similar subjects whilst discarding their cultural meanings. My argument is that in third phase of Japonisme, Monet was using Ukiyo-e prints as sources to learn about his own practice as I have suggested using Martindale’s reception theory. Additionally, the only reason Monet used the same subjects as the Ukiyo-e prints was to simply learn how the Japanese artists used these subjects within their compositions. Perhaps one way of doing this was to copy an entire painting to see how it would look in his own style. This is another aspect that is important to the third phase. Also, many artists had collections of Japanese prints, but Monet owned around 240 prints and he also designed his garden based on Japanese styles. It can be argued that Monet would not have immersed himself so deeply within this culture if his plan was simply to make money from selling paintings that resembled Japanese compositions.

Therefore, Monet borrowed the subjects only to enhance his development of composition, not to appropriate the subject for his own work as he did not look at Ukiyo-e prints with that intention.

Composition Another feature of the third phase is that Monet’s borrowing of subject matter also gave him new ideas about composition. What is most often seen in Monet’s work is the “…cropping [of the] surfaces in ways western eyes found unfamiliar, cropping subjects audaciously and displacing major subjects from the centre, and it was these departures that engaged Monet’s interests” (Milner, 2004. p.42). These aspects are derived from the Ukiyo-e prints. In Tucker’s comparison between Poplars (Autumn) (Monet, C. 1891) with Numazu, Yellow Dusk: Fifty-three Stations of Tokaido (Hiroshige, U. 1855), there are clear similarities between the use of line and perspective.

Hiroshige uses the river to create a sense of perspective which draws the viewer’s eye from the front of the scene through to the back. Monet has extended this use of line and perspective in the way that he has painted the trees that start from the foreground and lead into the background.

Though this formalistic quality is often used by many artists, what Monet has done is cropped the scene and displaced the subject off to one side of the frame. Hiroshige’s main subject seems to be unclear as the central focus of his print is lost behind the trees. Monet has used this same compositional feature. The poplars are cropped off at the top of the painting so that you can only see an obscure view of the main subject.

In my comparison between The Cliffs at Étretat (Monet, C. 1885) and The Seashore in Izu Province (Hiroshige, U. 1852) I offer a clear example of how Monet has not taken a small section from the composition of an Ukiyo-e print but has almost entirely copied Hiroshige’s composition and the subjects within it. Though Monet painted several versions of this location, this one painting seems to resemble Hiroshige’s print entirely. There are several aspects within this comparison which I must highlight. Arguably, Monet has incorporated similar colours to those of Hiroshige. However, apart from the rock, Monet and Hiroshige may have included colours which are realistic. The main aspect of colour I found to be used similarly is the gradient between the darker blue along the top of each composition and the light pink which is present along the horizon of both pieces.

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This might be one aspect of composition that Monet has taken from Hiroshige, though I have not found enough evidence to further develop this idea.

The second aspect of Hiroshige’s composition that I believe Monet has used is that of his placement of the seashore. Monet has painted the shoreline of his painting in almost the same place that Hiroshige has positioned it within his print. Monet has even replicated the angle at which the shore moves through the painting to be almost identical to the angle in Hiroshige’s print. The waves gently washing onto the sand may be a factor which Monet was wary of when he chose his view point for this painting. Monet has also chosen a location that features a hollowed-out cliff face but one which also includes a needle rock point. Like Hiroshige, Monet has placed the rock point within a third of the composition and has chosen to separate both the needle and the cliff form with the water. One difference within this aspect is that Monet has placed a boat between the two rock forms and makes it central to the composition. The boat is so small that it becomes overshadowed by the rocks and arguably isn’t the main subject of the painting, but at the same time is painted in dark tones which contrast with the sea. This could be an example that shows Monet is still in the process of moving away from the centralised focus of traditional Western art and that he is still experimenting with composition. Monet has replicated the cliff face’s cropped nature as it abruptly becomes cut off to the side of this piece and the perspective he could have created is rather limited. Monet has decided to include people, just like Hiroshige, and in both compositions the people are also overshadowed by the extremes of nature. The cropping of the subject follows the compositional aspects of Hiroshige’s print and makes the cliff face the focus within Monet’s work as it is in Hiroshige’s. Similarly, the sky takes up most of the composition in both artworks and Monet has decided to include details of the land which is slightly visible along the horizon of the scene. This example shows how closely Monet may have followed the compositional qualities of Hiroshige’s print. This would have allowed him to enhance his understanding of how these subjects can be used within a new form of composition.

The final point I must make about Monet’s use of composition is that these two scenes are almost identical (apart from a few differences in the natural locations that the artists chose to portray). A factor which proves how reception theory is very relevant to this third phase of Japonisme is that Monet has flipped the composition. At first I was unsure whether Monet had chosen to flip the entire composition used by Hiroshige. I started looking at Hiroshige’s inclusion of text within his print and, as I have stated before, Japanese artists may include poems and titles within the very composition of their work. I realised that Japanese people read from the right to the left and perhaps Hiroshige placed the text on the right side of his work so that it was the first thing Japanese viewers saw to give the piece context. Pehaps this gives an example of how Monet used Ukiyo-e prints as a learning tool, as maybe the reason he flipped the composition was that he also realised that Japanese viewers would read right to left whereas Monet’s audience was primarily Westerners who read left to right. By flipping the composition, Monet may have intended viewers to start in the open air of the sky and slowly work their way towards the vast mass of rock at the side of the composition. I argue that Monet may have done the same thing with the comparison which I made between Antibes (Monet, C. 1888) and Red Maple Trees at the Tsūtenkyō Bridge (Hiroshige, U. 1838). As you can see the tree Monet included in this composition is flipped again. This to me is a clear indication that Monet was not looking at the subject to appropriate it for the popularity of his work but was truly considerate of how the subject sat within the composition. Additionally, he could develop the ideas on composition

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Utagawa Hiroshige I The Seashore in Izu Province (Izu no kaihin), 1852 Image courtesy of Museum of Fine Arts Boston www.mfa.org

Claude Monet The Cliffs at Étretat, 1885 Image courtesy Clark Art Institute www.clarkart.edu

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by Japanese artists to suit his own audience and how the viewer would be reading his work in the West. This is the main reason why I believe Monet works within a third phase of Japonisme.

Overall, I have shown that Monet was working within neither of the two established phases of Japonisme but rather within a third phase with very specific characteristics. What I have argued is that Monet was influenced solely by the formalistic aspects of the subject and how it could sit within a composition. The third phase exhibits how Monet maintains his identity as an Impressionist as he does not try to change his style of painting. Monet continues to work within the style of Impressionism; working with three-dimensional forms, use of colour and attention to light and atmosphere. His paintings may depict similar compositions to Ukiyo-e prints, but stylistically he has not changed his painting technique to make his work look visually like them - as the Synthetist artists had done. A third phase of Japonisme depends on the idea that Monet was working differently from other artists during this time. My application of reception theory suggests that Monet saw Ukiyo-e prints as a source from which he could develop his own ideas as an artist, without over-complicating his study by considering cultural meaning or fashionable trends of that time. The third phase is specific to Monet as he focused on the subject within the composition. He acknowledged the differences between Japanese and French artists in their approaches to these formalistic aspects. He learned from the differences, how he could develop his own approach to incorporate unfamiliar ideas. I propose that this third phase of Japonisme is needed if we are to fully comprehend the extent to which Ukiyo-e prints influenced Monet.

Conclusion To conclude, my argument is that Monet had great admiration for Ukiyo-e prints and for him, like other artists, it was a way to escape some of the traditions of Western art. The amount of interest in all things Japanese led many artists to engage with the subject, which established two phases of Japonisme. Claude Monet was working in a way different from his contemporaries and I argue that a third phase of Japonisme must be defined to explain this. Monet was able to explore new ways of creating art through his use of subjects within the composition. My analysis using Martindale’s reception theory shows that Monet saw these works as his chance to learn how to create a new artistic identity, for himself and for others. He looked at the subject matter that Japanese artists were depicting and how they had incorporated them into their compositions whilst maintaining his identity as an Impressionist. The Synthetist artists adapted their style to look like Japanese prints; however, Monet did not change his aesthetic or simply copy the subject to gain from the popularity of all things Japanese. Instead, Monet chose not to synthesize Japanese Ukiyo-e prints but to incorporate some of their formal aspects in his work. This led him to reconsider his approach as an Impressionist. Monet was working outside of the boundaries of both the first and second phases of Japonisme and he was, therefore, working within a phase of his own making. The third phase which I propose has not received academic or critical attention.

To further the acknowledgement of a third phase, an archival study might be used to develop my ideas. It would help me to examine the sources informing Monet’s approach, compare a broader range of artworks, and perhaps reveal a greater influence from the third phase.

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Yellow and gold woven silk Robe à la Française (front), 1760s Fashion Museum Bath

Distorted rted fashion of th 18th century

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Eleanor Finlay

The Enlightenment of the 18th century was a period of seemingly profound mastery of both the external and internal worlds. Developments in the understanding of nature, and psychological function (among other disciplines: religion, politics, and so forth), allowed for an apparent cognitive and ‘enlightened’ grasp on the world’s complexities.

With this comprehension, man-made alterations in fashion ensued.

An individualistic approach to what the Enlightenment held, brings into view a highly personal object: the dress. In the 1700s, fashion was regarded as an aspect of the decorative arts in France and was synonymous with good-taste and etiquette. As the official mistress of Louis XV during the mid-1700s, Madame de Pompadour was a tremendously influential figure; she set fashion trends and entertained some of the leading-thinkers of the period. Congruent with the artificial form of dress, makeup and hair were also elements of much exaggeration and edifice. Indeed, as makeupartist, Lisa Eldridge explains, “[g]etting dressed and rouging your face in front of an audience was part of a public toilette practiced by aristocratic women” with a “strong element of performance involved in the ritual” (Eldridge, 2015, p.32). The example of Madame de Pompadour embodies the importance of individualism within 18th century France. From here, I will present my analysis of a typical garment,

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traditionally worn by middle-class women of the era, who were likely to be inspired by influential figures, such as Madame de Pompadour.

The ‘Robe à la Française’, also known as a ‘Sacque’ dress was a French fashion, and became formal dress in the mid-18th century. Dating from the 1760s, the particular dress I discuss here, consists of a split-gown with visible underskirt (‘petticoat’); stomacher; lace engageantes that decorate beyond the rim of the sleeve; a square neckline (typical of the 18th century); and most quintessentially, a pleated panel of fabric that stands prominent from the top of the neckline at the back of the dress, draping down to the bottom (sometimes forming a train). The addition of the panel distinguishes the ‘Robe à la Français’ from the ‘Robe à l’Anglaise’; the latter being without a panel.

The fabric of this dress is made from silk, and encompasses an embroidered floral pattern. The extensive use of silk would have been very costly.

The production of silk (sericulture) originated in China and is steeped in artistry and tradition.

The Jacquard Loom was invented in c.1804 and enabled the rapid creation of fabrics with intricate patterns woven in silk; such detailing included damask and brocade. However, at the time of the production of this ‘Robe à la Française’, the more manual Draw Loom was common place for weaving

patterned silk. The waver would employ a ‘draw boy’, usually an apprentice, who would pull the chords required for the pattern. In this dress we see a large amount of detailing, executed with a metallic thread throughout the fabric to create a sparkling effect. The vibrant colours were ubiquitous throughout the 18th century, with black only being worn for mourning. Although this garment has an emphasised hip-silhouette, it does not carry a wide ‘pannier’, and its shape would likely be formed by use of a ‘romp’.

By the mid-18th century it was common for dresses, of both French and English style to incorporate varying wideness of hip shape. Achieved by using panniers, the altering of the natural human form seems to respond to the social and cultural context in which it sits (the Enlightenment era).

This apparent triumph over nature lead to the creation of artificial forms, clearly illustrated within gardening, architecture and fashion. In his discussions of the three concepts of identity, Stuart Hall (1996, p.599) proposes the concept of the “Enlightenment subject”. He suggests “the human

[...] is a fully centred, unified individual, endowed with the capabilities of reason, consciousness, and action”. This strand of thought, from the Enlightenment period, serves to communicate that the individual already has the capacity for a comprehensive understanding of the world, and therefore approaches the natural environment with an undaunted objective to alter it as they see fit.

So, these portrayals of the abnormal human form in fashion, can be considered in line with attempts to harness and control the natural landscape, and indeed the female body. This complicates the popular theory that panniers were purely used to emphasise the child-bearing hips of the wearer (especially as these panniers were worn by older women and young girls).

The detailing within the fabric of this dress, (metallic embroidery) serves to replicate what would have been, among the aristocracy, a very regal and sumptuous element. Such embroidery would have been executed with spun-gold thread, stitched by the hand of someone far removed from the wearer and would have been an extremely laborious task.

Although much time has been invested in creating the garment, its deconstruction became a pastime of the aristocracy. As stated by Amanda Hallay, Drizzling was considered a “relaxing hobby” (Hallay, 2015), whereby, using a ‘Drizzling Kit’, aristocrats would unpick the embroidery that decorated their garments. Men and women alike partook in this activity, for pure satisfaction and pleasure. This act of affluent frivolity can be considered an extension of the ‘enlightened’ approach to the natural world, as well as a further demonstration of man’s ability to control and order.

To conclude, this dress, in line with enlightenment ideals, represents a conscious attempt to distort the forms of nature, but also highlights the extreme wealth of the aristocracy within a divided society.

The act of destroying such fine garments, through drizzling, demonstrates extreme frivolity, and outlines the aristocracy’s separation from ordinary society.

Yellow and gold woven silk Robe à la Française (back), 1760s Fashion Museum Bath

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Amanda Hall Identity Fossil ammonite peice with aluminium wire

Visual responses to the writing of cultural theorist, Stuart Hall (1932-2014). In particular his work on identity constuction.

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Tash Bisp Identity Textile and stitch

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Sam Beasor

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Donkey Stradling Penguin

Ming Green

Geometric Typeface

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The Stradling Collection and Bristol School of Art x Bristol Metropolitan Academy The Interaction of Colour, pupil work

The Fashion/Textiles and Graphic Design FdA students were invited to deliver Bauhaus inspired workshops to year eight pupils at Bristol Metropolitan Academy. They worked with David Beech from the Stradling Collection to devise and prepare workshops ahead of the school visit in November. Here is an overview of their experiences.

Workshopping our Workshops As a group we attended multiple workshops with David Beech, the Education Trustee at the Stradling Collection. These workshops were inspired by the collection’s exhibition The Bauhaus in Bristol (14 September 2019 – 28 January 2020). In the sessions with David we devised our own workshops before delivering them to a class of year eight students at Bristol Metropolitan Academy. Throughout the preparatory sessions we discussed the influence of the Bauhaus on Art and Design education; developed our presentation skills; and tested potential workshop activities on each other. In our final session we workshopped our workshops. This was useful as it helped to refine timings and highlighted the need for additional resources. Ultimately, the preparation sessions with David were extremely valuable and provided us with the skills to adequately deliver our own workshops.

Key things to remember when tailoring a lesson for year eight pupils: Be mindful of the language you use and explain concepts you might normally take for granted Plan timings and allow for questions Clarify the exercises and if necessary, simplify the task Design exercises with an outcome to create a rewarding experience for the pupils Resources, resources, resources

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The Interaction of Colour My workshop was based on the work of Joseph Albers and his explorations into the interaction of colour. Following some brief contextual explanation, the class experimented with coloured paper to see how they interact in different contexts. Using the knowledge gained from this task, pupils developed a collage using abstract shapes inspired by the work of Albers.

Itten’s Contrasts This workshop was based on Johannes Itten’s preliminary course at the Bauhaus. The pupils were given lists of different contrasts, a variety of shapes (some coloured and some black and white), and 2 plain tiles. Using the materials in front of them, the pupils were asked to create a visual representation of a contrast on each of the tiles. They then switched materials and repeated the task. Afterwards, the pupils created A3 sheets by collating their tiles of different contrasts. Throughout the workshop we encouraged the pupils to reflect on the design process. The development task involved the pupils combining all their contrast tiles to create the final poster. This enabled us to see how the pupils worked as a group. Afterwards, I presented a selection of Bauhausinspired images. We discussed recurring themes and how the Bauhaus had inspired the pupils’ own work.

Top: Exploration into the interaction of colours inspired by Albers - pupil work

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Bottom: Exploration based on contrasts inspired by Itten - pupil work

It was interesting to see how creative the pupils could be at such a young age Tamsin

Surface Pattern Our workshop focused on using Itten’s contrasts to create textile design ideas. The aim was for the pupils to create abstract patterns that could be used for surface pattern designs. Lots of preparation was needed; we composed a presentation of our design work to inspire the pupils, we prepared examples of contrasts and organised a range of materials including different papers and fabrics for collaging.

Even though we were initially apprehensive, the workshop went surprisingly well. The pupils were motivated and brought with them a willingness to experiment. As this was the first time we had worked with teenagers, we were unsure how they would respond to the tasks, but they thoroughly enjoyed the exercises and joined us in discussions about how these abstract patterns could be transformed into surface pattern for fashion.

Sam Beasor, Charlotte West, Ming Green, Andrew Banda, Tamsin May and Chloe Pugsley Surface pattern inspired by Itten’s contrasts - pupil work

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disgust

Kerry Lewis, Gertrude from Fondle Me, Textile

Disgust: The Aversion/Attraction Paradox in Contemporary Art Kerry Lewis

A pursed or open mouth pulled down at the corners, a wrinkled nose and squinted eyes – the universal expression of disgust.

Considered by many psychologists to be a ‘basic’ emotion, disgust alongside anger, fear, joy and sadness are pancultural, recognised by members of societies throughout the world (Korsmeyer 2011). At its core, disgust is a revulsion response to protect us from potential threats and dangers, but it rarely does so without capturing our attention. As McGinn states in his book The Meaning of Disgust, ‘Disgust sticks in the memory and vivifies the senses, even when - especially when - it is deemed most repellent. Disgust is not boring […] the human psyche is drawn to the interesting and exceptional’ (McGinn 2016). It can cause an unsettling arousal, sometimes it is sad, sometimes funny, sometimes outrageous and naturally just plain revolting. Disgust requires sensory input, whether that be through smell, touch or vision, akin to an artistic setting

rejection; not all disgusting art can be savoured, nor for that matter valued.’ As also documented by Kant and Mendelssohn, once objects of disgust are portrayed in art, they must either trade-off aesthetic appreciation or be toned down to something merely ugly (Korsmeyer 2011). I believe this presence of aversion entangled with allure, calls for explanation.

such as an art gallery.

designer Merel Witteman, which aim to give reason to the aversion and attraction phenomenon. Then I will look at Marc Quinn’s Self (1991), an artwork using his own body as material and decipher the reason for our visceral response. Moving on, I will also look at the work of Andrea Hasler, in particular, her installation Embrace the Base (2014). Through this, I will scrutinize whether disgust can enhance our engagement with art, specifically when a political message is involved. I will also analyse ways in which I have tried to express disgust in my own work and discuss how I hope my audience will engage with it. Finally, in my conclusion, I will summarise the concepts of my findings to reflect on the presence and value of disgust in art.

For many years artists have been regularly utilizing the disgust response, whilst film makers have been developing ever more shocking special effects to repulse and nauseate audiences.

Disgusting or shocking art is not a modern concept used purely by contemporary artists though. This is demonstrated in artworks such as Saturn Devouring His Son, by Peter Paul Rubens, dating back to 1636 and then again by Francisco de Goya Y Lucientes in 1821. Both depict the same Greek myth of the God who, fearing his son would acquire his power, ate him. Of course, as Carolyn Korsmeyer notes ‘[…] it should not be forgotten that sometimes disgust plays its standard role of

Throughout this essay, I will explore ways in which artists have portrayed disgust in their work and for what recompense. How can the disgusting become interesting, comical and have us even savouring the experience? Initially, I will explore some of the main theories and concepts regarding disgust, such as its origins and role in moral protection. I will make reference to academics, including Korsmeyer and William Ian Miller as I examine the emotion in ideas such as, ‘the paradox of fiction’. From this platform, I will analyse the slogans of graphic

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If asked to think of something disgusting, what comes to mind? It is nigh on impossible to picture something that is non-organic or at least simulates the organic. Using McGinn’s example of a worn down, battered car that is peeling, rusty and leaking oil (McGinn 2016). It is significant, because manmade objects that share many of the same physical features of the disgusting, are not themselves disgusting – for example, things that are greasy, slimy, sticky, dirty, leaking, deformed, decaying etc.

Another strong component of disgust is the compromise of boundaries, as Korsmeyer puts it, ‘Aspects of the human body that operate at its margins, such as its orifices and fluids—holes and leakages that appear to compromise the intact, self-contained, clean body’ (Korsmeyer 2011). This is interesting as it acts as an indication of a deteriorating body. In Miller’s book, The Anatomy of Disgust he explains that our fundamental recoil stems from the recognition of our own mortality, that we will decompose and become the disgusting object ourselves. He argues that it is in fact decay that brings about life. Miller states ‘The having lived and the living unite to make up the organic world of generative rot […] the gooey mud, the scummy pond are life soup […] slimy, slippery, wiggling, teeming animal life generating spontaneously from putrefying vegetation’ (Miller 1998). This also rationalizes our fear of swarms, nests, hives, infestations as they symbolize the devolution to life-forms where discrete individual identity is insignificant. I believe McGuinn perfectly summaries disgust, by that which makes the body ‘[…] itself felt too much as a body’ (McGuinn 2016).

It is impossible to talk about disgust without talking about the senses. We have been programmed to recoil from things that taste or smell foul, where contact or ingestion could prove dangerous. There are a number of disgust provoking substances that are similar across the globe - namely faeces, pus and blood. They can all bear diseases and parasites, but because it is difficult to determine exactly which ones are actually a potential threat, we have created a ‘protective umbrella’ (Korsmeyer 2011) of objects that elicit disgust that is greater than necessary. Therefore, what may be an irrational expression of disgust, is in fact, our mind protecting us from contamination. Such is the case with trypophobia (fear of clusters and holes), this may be due to the fact many diseases resemble holes or clusters on the skin. Of course, paradoxically often those foods held in highest regard like; cheese, cured meats and wine have been through a process of fermentation that comes with a foul smell. These luxurious delicacies still retain their link to the revolting as the decay accentuates and exaggerates flavours.

Indeed, what is deemed as a delicacy by one society may be repulsive to those of another.

This supports the idea that this emotion has evolved by education and nurture. Disgust elicitors are culturally variant, but all produce such a visceral response. It is perplexing how the same sensory stimuli can evoke different responses from different audiences. To illustrate this point human adults are repulsed at the sight of faeces, whereas young children and animals appear unfazed. It should be noted that disgust arises in humans only at a certain age of cognitive development. As Korsmeyer states, ‘However, automatic and reactive the disgust response is, at least some of its activity requires a cultural account to understand’ (Korsmeyer 2011). I agree with Korsmeyer’s comment, but this means that often they are so embedded in beliefs and cultural values that we cannot say one side of the nature/nurture argument overrides the other.

Another theory is that ‘Disgust evolves culturally and develops from a system to protect the body from harm to a system to protect the soul from harm,’ says professor Paul Rozin (Rozin 1997). This view is that one of the prime functions of disgust is to keep us humans at a psychologically healthy distance from our own animal nature. As Korsmeyer notes ‘[…] disgust is considered at one and the

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same time the most primitive of emotions, a modular response similar to the emotions that we share with other animals, yet it appears to be uniquely human’ (Korsmeyer 2011). With this perspective, we can control social boundaries and norms. On such a view, without disgust at violations of hygiene codes, lower animal orders such as vermin, perverse sexual activities etc. we would have been less successful in our evolutionary fight for survival. Whether those judgements should be trusted is a matter of controversy.

When disgust is depicted in art, the subject portrayed remains disgusting although perhaps to different degrees (a real-life encounter with vomit will always be more disgusting). It is the only emotion that cannot be transformed into aesthetic enjoyment when represented artistically (Kant as discussed

by Korsmeyer 2011). This, and the fact disgust seems to present large barriers to make it actually pleasurable, makes it all the more complicated when trying to analyse the aversion and attraction paradigm. A sort of ‘anti-aesthetic’ is conceived, it requires a difficult cognitive assessment to try and formulate appreciation (Korsmeyer 2011).

The paradox of fiction is understood on the basis that ‘[…] emotions are sensitive to events of particular importance to the subject’ and that the rational mind understands if we are confronting an artistic rendition of something that poses no real threat to us (Korsmeyer 2011). Yet despite missing the belief in the imaginary subject, we still often respond in a visceral way with unpleasant recoil. What’s more confounding is that

the main sensory triggers of the emotion are actually rarely depicted in art at all. Senses such as taste, smell and touch are often non-existent in a museum or gallery setting. In fact, art mostly provides us only with visual stimulation (occasionally audio), despite our physical body allowing us to encounter objects by various different senses. When a visual portrayal of a disgusting subject is experienced the mind is able to reflect.

Whereas bodily senses of touch, smell and taste are immediate and reactive. It is the situation represented by a portrayal that we tend to find aversive rather than the mere representation itself, leaving the power of fiction in this scenario obsolete.

Graphic designer, Merel Witteman created a series of images for her 2014 Design Academy Eindhoven graduate project, Aversive Aesthetics which depicts photographs triggering disgust. Overlaid are quotes in a white slab capitalized font.

The word ‘Aesthetic’ has roots in Greek, meaning ‘I experience’.

Witteman has explored the idea of an effective aesthetic being one which generates an emotional experience. This correlates with my previous reference to Rozin, as it affects both the body and mind (Rozin 1997).

By using both text and imagery working together, the artworks grab your attention. One without the other would not have quite the same impact. The image would be universally recognisable unlike the text which is only understood by English speakers.

However, it would just be a purely disgusting image, the context of which we might not question. This relationship is evidenced in the way the text has been placed on top of the image as if it is one. By not placing the text below or above the image it is clear they should not be separated. The text frames the scenario depicted and provides the viewer with a potential revelation to contemplate. Almost all of the text could be interchangeable with the various photographs, it is not image specific.

The images themselves are not extraordinary, mostly featuring everyday objects but in scenarios that instantly conjure up a repulsion reaction. A bare foot walking through faeces, snails climbing the side of a cup: they are often fairly relatable circumstances which make them all the more accessible to the audience. One piece carries the slogan, ‘Even when the shit is fake, the disgust is real’ (Witteman 2014). This plays on the paradox of fiction as described earlier, although they are actually fake scenarios, our emotional response is the

Merel Witterman, Why are we attracted to poo?

2014 Design Academy Eindhoven

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same. Even if we have not encountered the exact scenario, we straight away recognize the object and are transported by our imagination into the experience. It is not the image itself that makes us recoil, it is the situation represented through it.

This results in us curling our toes imaging a squelch sensation of walking in such a substance or pursing our lips at the idea of drinking from a slimy or contaminated cup. Or perhaps we cringe, laugh with unease or are amused with schadenfreude.

I think this is partly due to the fact that humour and disgust share similar points of contact.

Witteman recognizes the power of disgust as a tool in design.

The bold text in another image reads, ‘You’ll listen to interesting but remember disgusting’ (Witteman 2014). In an interview with Dezeen, she describes the changing role of a designer, now being more about telling stories and yet we are still using the same guidelines of the beautiful and clean (Howarth 2014).

It is clear to me, that Witteman recognizes although we may want to distance ourselves from the disgusting, involuntarily we are also made curious and want to sneak another view. The format of the collection is also significant, rather than separate posters, it is displayed page by page in a book. I envision this as a sort of ‘coffee table book’, the kind you may display and dip in and out of for entertainment, instead of dedicating time to intently read. This maintains the concept of disgust actually being of aesthetic value, even amusement, not just something to be avoided at all costs.

Her work is interesting to me as she is stepping back and making people recognise this aversion vs attraction phenomenon, and just how bizarre we as humans are. It is hard to disagree with any of her statements, she truly has managed to harness the power of disgust in her design work.

This particular awareness is not something I have seen many other graphic designers delve into, therefore setting her apart from the crowd. We come to realise that everything we have been taught about only things which are aesthetically pleasing or beautiful making ‘good’ design, is in fact false.

An altogether different representation of disgust in art is Marc Quinn’s very literal self-portrait. Self (1991), directly uses the artist’s body as material, as he took a cast of his own head, immersed it in frozen silicone and poured in ten pints of his own blood, collected over several weeks. It is contained in a transparent cube that is kept refrigerated. Ice crystals slowly form, foreshadowing its eventual decomposition. Cultural

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History and Aesthetics Professor Peter de Bolla, characterizes an audience’s reaction to the work: ‘I have come across viewers who, on seeing Self for the first time, describe a sensation akin to tingling, a kind of spinal over-excitation, or a curious shudder – that involuntary somatic spasm referred to in common speech by the phrase “someone walking on one’s grave”’ (Bolla as referenced to by Korsmeyer 2011).

During the time of its creation the artist was an alcoholic. The work characterizes the dependency of subjects needing to be ‘plugged in’ or connected to something to survive. The artwork relies on electricity to preserve its form (Korsmeyer 2011).

Marc Quinn was part of the influential group of visual artists, known as The Young British Artists (YBA), who gained a lot of press coverage throughout the 1990’s. They are associated with much controversy for using shock tactics to draw a reaction from an audience. During this time the more obscure, disturbing and offensive art was, the bigger the potential for it to be praised for its originality. Work like Quinn’s, depends on spectators being shocked, made uncomfortable and unsettled.

This kind of ‘shock art’ responds to the public’s hunger to be challenged and a culture of sensationalism (Dacic 2015). This connects with Sensation, the controversial 1997 Exhibition, which featured Quinn’s work alongside other members of the YBA. Self, takes a taboo subject, in this case alcoholism, and deals with it in an inappropriate way, a defining mark of ‘shock art’.

On first view, we may feel both intrigued and confused by the realism of the head. Then on knowledge of its organic material, we may feel disgust’s signature response of nausea. We may even have to ask ourselves difficult questions in order to detect the source of our disturbance, as the response is so instinctive.

But why do I involuntarily recoil in repulsion?

Although the notion of what disturbs us has been changing throughout history, to quote Contesi, ‘Becoming one with the worm’ (Contesi 2015) has been a constant feature. Quinn’s Self, very literally projects our ‘fears about death onto the face of life’ (Henderson 2018). As discussed previously whilst making reference to Korsmeyer, it is the illustration of a body with compromised boundaries that we find unsettling. The very medium of Self, the artist’s blood, suggests a boundary has

been broken and health is no longer contained. The head without-body reiterates this interpretation, as it is a form that shouldn’t exist, the intimate contact of the viewer results in a feeling of unease.

I find it also interesting to note the non-existence of the paradox of fiction in this scenario. We are aware that this may not be an actual decapitated head, but it is directly made from blood, organic matter from the body. So, it could be argued that this piece is not merely a rendition of a subject, but it actually is the subject. We are reminded of the sinister inevitability of our own ‘fairness so easily being reduced to foulness’ (Miller 1998). “Fairness” being our intact, healthy attractive bodies, and “foulness” being that which is repulsive and vile.

Provocative artist Andrea Hasler exploits our involuntary revulsion in yet another form. Embrace the Base is a collection of pieces influenced by the female demonstrators who in the early 1980’s protested against the nuclear weapons being kept at Greenham Common, Berkshire. The fullscale pieces were initially formed in fiberglass and then coated in wax to look skin-like. Hasler explains, ‘Metaphorically, I am taking the notion of the tents which were on site during the women’s peace camp, as the container for emotions and ‘humanize’ these elements to create emotional surfaces’ (Hasler via Azzarello 2014).

These unconventional tents portray the ones used to house the protestors, albeit with a distinctively human, flesh-like appearance. These pieces maintain the structure of the tent, whilst also suggesting the consequences of nuclear war through faux intestine textures.

I believe Hasler is firmly aware of the very nature of disgust being rooted in sensory experiences.

Mindful of the political and social context of the protest, she has been able to harness the power of disgust to demand an audience. Unlike Witteman’s work, which has an air of humour, these objects feel much more sombre. Hasler has used the uncompromising emotion of disgust to give voice to her political statement. The scale and uneasy physicality of the objects command attention. I believe a piece like this does not need a cultural encounter to understand, in contrast to Kormeyer’s argument I quoted earlier (see p.45). Even without the context, we recognize it relates to some form of violence or injury, the destruction of the intact and whole body. Again, I recoil instinctively, despite knowing this is art, a rendition of something rather than an actual object in life. Yet I, as a viewer question its surreal presence, was it once living flesh, how can this form exist?

I find it interesting to consider what the responses of the viewers would be, if the tents were twodimensional paintings rather than three-dimensional works. When talking about her work Hasler says, ‘It’s interesting how people are often repulsed by the abject quality of a sculpture but can’t help themselves but to touch it’ (Hasler via Davidson 2012). I certainly agree with this statement, this kind of uncomfortable viewing is rather ashamedly, compelling. People want to explore things physically, despite its uncertain outcome. Therefore, if this particular piece was merely portrayed on paper, I don’t think its effect would be to the same degree.

Hasler’s work has a rebellious streak and is familiar with dissecting the moral values and concepts we deal with on a daily basis. Another of her works features a series of fleshy forms, manipulated and labelled to look like designer handbags. Again, Hasler is commenting on how objects can shift back and forth between being desirable and yet repulsive. I feel this statement on consumerism explores the idea that beauty is simply not just the opposite of disgust. In fact, I speculate that another source of disgust can be pleasure itself – a result of too much sweetness (Korsmeyer 2011).

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The tantalising allure of disgust is something I have been exploring in my own practice. Led by my own fascination I have been examining the emotion on a tactile level. Using trypophobia, the fear of clusters, namely holes, as a starting point I have been questioning, why is it that in some people they can induce sweating, nausea and panic, whilst in others an irresistible curiosity. Often, we cannot help but poke and prod something we are disgusted by, but also instinctively enticed to explore its strange sensation. As Robert Solomon eloquently describes in Savouring Disgust ‘[e]motions are subjective engagements with the world’ (Solomon via Korsmeyer 2011).

Disgust helps us position ourselves in the world. I believe it is this fascination of the known and the unknown that appeals to our primitive nature.

I realised early on, to explore this relationship with the material world of disgust, my piece needed to be worn on the body.

The contact with the wearer and onlookers is the prime focus of my work. By creating a garment that effectively swallows the body, I am looking at the correlation of the inside and the outside, what is visible and what is contained.

I have encountered the problem-solving, that comes with trying to create something disgusting from non-organic materials.

The organic being intrinsic to that which gives the disgusting its characteristics. This informed my decision-making when choosing fabrics. Eventually, I decided on various fleshy hues as a colour palette, to hint at the skin of living matter. Scuba lends itself well to this, as it is smooth with a slight sheen. To

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create clusters of holes reminiscent of those which trigger trypophobia, I laser cut the scuba with hand drawn un-ordered circles to give a feeling of chaos.

After discussing with my peers what it is exactly about holes that makes them feel uncomfortable, the feedback was that it is the possibility something might be in, or living in the holes. This is consistent with Miller’s thoughts on the fear of devolution to infestations and creatures that swarm where individual identity is lost and the creation of ‘life soup’ (Miller 1998). Using shibori fabric manipulation, I have managed to create worm-like forms protruding from the holes. The only part of the wearer visible from the outside are the legs, making them faceless and without identity, which also plays on this.

By using biomorphic, irregular shapes and silhouette of the garment, again I am hinting at the organic nature of disgust elicitors. As with the synthetic hair sprouting from the piece, this gives the impression of it being an unknown living creature.

I have also felted balls to be beaded and to sit inside the holes. These look a little like eyeballs or the frogspawn carried under the skin of a Surinam toad, in the hope of provoking a skin crawling sensation from the viewer. This in combination with intestine-like soft sculpture, give the impression of an impossible creature. Portraying specific organic subjects just enough to be recognisable, but in an abstract way, I am aiming to combine things that shouldn’t exist in one form.

If I have determined one thing from analysing the presence of disgust in art, it is that it is extraordinarily hard to articulate.

hand, the subject of disgust in pieces such as Hasler’s still command our attention and have power in addressing political issues. Involuntarily, we find ourselves doing ‘double takes’ at the things that disgust us.

As discussed, utilizing the power of disgust through art is no new concept. It panders to our search for that which makes us ‘feel something’. Paradoxically being faced with our own mortality as much of the disgust elicitors do, we are made to feel alive through adrenaline or as Bolla phrases a ‘somatic spasm’ (Bolla as referenced by Korsmeyer 2011). The visual arts allow space for the contradictions that come with being human, the tension between the aversive and the attractive.

I have asked, ‘but why am I having such a strong repulsion response, what is it that is actually disgusting?’ It is so ingrained in our thought process and instincts through both nature and nurture, that to really dissect it is a challenging task. However, I can conclude that with such a diverse variety of manifestations, no single answer will explain all cases of encountering disgust in art. I believe that the diversity of its forms demonstrates how complicated this emotion can be.

Plato said that the allure of disgust panders to an underside of human nature that ought to be quashed (Plato as discussed by Korsmeyer 2011). I speculate that we are all mildly perverted, at least possibly or in some scenarios. But when our curiosity arouses such an odd feeling of satisfaction, can we be to blame? In art, I am confident that aversion, repulsion and disgust are here to stay.

Images courtesy of Kerry Lewis

I have predominantly looked at disgust’s representations in visual forms. I could take this further by expanding my investigation into the other senses also. This would also be an intriguing element to explore through my own practice, to perhaps go alongside the physical, tactile presentation of my work.

Through Witteman’s work, where the viewer is at just a far enough distance of safety that the disgusting is not too disgusting and may be amusing, we can understand how it may even enhance our experience. Quinn’s Self, leaves me questioning how its perceptions will change with time, in an age where we are much more aware of the daily traumas experienced across the world. Is it possible that we may become immune to shock and controversy, and with the oversaturation of ‘shock art’, it will eventually become less engaging and even expected. We have mostly come past the point of being outraged by the presence of a urinal in an art gallery, and yet the future looks bleak if these pieces become normal and lose their power in opening up conversations. On the other

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Claire Clark

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Jasmin Screenprint (details)

Jay Whitby

Untitled Paper and ink collage

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Is adaptabl

ble wear the key to inclusivity in the fashion industry?

Ronja Thielmann

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l Introduction ‘Inclusivity is a social movement that encourages humanity to embrace people who otherwise would be marginalised’ (Evans 2019).

There have been conversations about inclusivity in the fashion industry for decades (Witchel, 1997) but there is still a lot of work to be done and much needs to change to make inclusivity standardised, so it is no longer news-worthy. Attitudes need to change and societal norms need to be challenged.

I would like to discuss inclusivity because for me for me it makes sense to include everybody. In my eyes it is the most compassionate and empathetic way to engage with the fashion industry. While inclusivity also means diversity, I will not discuss race or religion within this study. These are of course very important elements within inclusivity but my concern is with the body: the different body forms of adult men and women, the way the body transforms with age, and generally different sized bodies. The colour of your skin or your beliefs do not change the way you fit into your clothes. Inclusivity for me means designing or producing garments that consider everybody regardless of age, size or gender.

I will discuss inclusivity in terms of equality (or the lack of ) in unisex wear, with its origins in the era of the 1960s, gender fluidity and sexuality. For this, my key theorist is Jo B. Paoletti, a scholar who writes about gender and fashion. I will also look at the forgotten and undervalued grey market and the ageing body. I have concentrated on the writings of Julia Twigg, Professor of Social Policy and Sociology who has written extensively on the subject of age. In addition, I will discuss the under-analysed subject of size discrimination and body positivity. Lastly, I will discuss adjustable garments in my own design practice and how they could be key for inclusive design within the fashion industry. So my question in this article is: Is adaptable wear the key to inclusivity in the fashion industry?

Gender, unisex and masculinity ‘For me, clothing is a reflection of who we are and it is the first way to express yourself when you see someone. I didn’t understand who decided that a man should be dressed differently from a woman and all of these other conventions that we have in life such as our age, gender, religion, nation, or any other boundaries that divide people from each other. I am someone who likes to live with no limitations or boundaries.

So I thought, why are there no unisex clothes? Each of my garments is a neutral garment that can be worn by a man or women or any kind of gender’ (Hourani via Euse, 2015).

These are the thoughts of unisex designer, artist and film director Rad Hourani in 2015. Unisex wear is not a recent phenomenon, the 1960s was an era of social change in which civil rights and women’s liberation movements opened up the sexual revolution and questions of sex and gender (Paoletti, 2015, p.9). The term ‘gender’ has been in use as part of the English language since the 14th century, but the modern meaning of the term found common usage in the 1960s. Prior to that, the term ‘sex role’ was most commonly used to denote the role a person of a particular biological sex should adopt (Paoletti, 2015, p.22).

The generation of baby boomers, who made up the ‘youthquake’, as coined by Vogue editor Diana Vreeland (Paoletti, 2015, p.19), tore up many conventions in fashion and styling regarding gender rules. Unisex clothing for the most part referred to more masculine clothing for women or even women buying men’s clothing. This change was embraced and endures today, in contrast with the short lived ‘peacockrevolution‘ by men (Paoletti, 2015, p.6). In the 1960s there were legal battles over long hair for men and a brief flirtation with colourful patterns in menswear (see Carnaby Street).

The pendulum swung back with a counterblow and in the 1980s conservative dress had been restored and still reigns supreme today.

While there is a movement for more diversity and inclusivity in fashion and more acceptance of wearing non gender binary clothing, I believe sexuality has an impact too. Should your sexual preferences be defined by wearing a dress as a man or a buttoned up shirt and neck tie as a woman? Paoletti wrote about the 1970s ‘Just as women’s unisex styles had to balance being sexy and liberated, men’s styles tended to navigate the territory between expressiveness and effeminacy. That

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tension still exists, kept alive by unfolding controversies about LGBTQ+ rights’ (Paoletti, 2015, p.10), which is still felt in straight men’s choices of ‘masculine classics’ in fear of appearing ‘gay’ (Perry, 2017, p.58). This comes 60 years after men were fighting for the social acceptance of long hair while they were being accused of anything from anarchy to homosexuality for wearing their hair beyond the ears (Paoletti, 2015, p.12). While long hair is now common and socially acceptable for men, I can only hope that change will come and remain, for men of any sexuality to wear whatever they want, including ‘women’s’ clothes.

The increase in awareness of gender dysphoria has society talking about gender and inclusivity.

I suggest the current trend towards non binary clothing has been brought about by what people have described as a gender crisis (Read at al., 2009).

Age and ageing ‘Now that I’m 70 am I expected to wear boring and beige clothes? I don’t want to but I have trouble fitting into the little bitty things from the high street’ (Anonymous, 2019).

As previously discussed, the baby boomer generation made waves in the 1960s and 70s and the power of these movements was partially down to the sheer numbers of participants. And where are they now? They are part of the so-called grey market. They wanted something different in their youth and they still do. They do not see themselves as old (Twigg, 2011).

Who does? You are limited only by your body and what it can or cannot do. The way you physically fit into clothes changes, not necessarily your taste in fashion or the way you want to express yourself.

However, most fashion brands focus on youth and ‘designing for the older market […] is regarded as a marginal and low status field’ to work in (Twigg, 2011, p.1038). Europe has the greatest percentage of people aged 60 or over, 25 percent of the total population, and globally people over 60 are the fastest

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growing age group (UN, 2017). In addition, people over 45 have 80 percent of all financial wealth, which makes them a powerful market (Twigg, 2011, p.1037). So why treat them as a minority?

Fashion, beauty and youth have always been tightly intertwined so that it is difficult to break this relationship. ‘We are familiar with the malign effects of [bodily perfectionism] on younger women […] But it has an impact on older women too, supporting the widespread culture of fear of ageing’ (Twigg, 2010, p.475). The term ‘antiageing’ is most profitable in the beauty industry but products cannot defy the ageing process or, as it seems they are implying, mortality. Actress Helen Mirren said in an interview: ‘You only have two options in life: die young, or get old’ (Freydkin, 2018). We need to be made comfortable with ageing and our own mortality — not afraid.

Size and body positivity ‘Inclusivity for me is simple – recognising we are all human, all have a body and are all just trying to find our way. Creating divides by gender, age or size etc. is a barrier to creating an all-embracing society’ (Lewis, 2019).

As with gender and age, size and body positivity is also a big issue in the fashion industry, which is gaining traction through social media. Despite some societal change, there is little academic writing on the issue of sizing in beauty, and even less in fashion. This needs to change, as there is a lot to be discovered when investigating why Western society has such narrow understanding of the ideal body. One problem is that the diet industry is a $60 billion a year business with a 95 percent failure rate (Witchel, 1997; Freedhoff, 2014; Parrish, 2017). Another explanation or factor might be that women from UK size 12 upwards are considered plus size (Format, 2019), while the average British women is in fact UK size 14.

Designers who do want to make a change have difficulty

designing for larger sizes from the start, as many manufacturers do not often produce certain elements of a garment above a certain size (Tomlin, 2018). As mentioned previously, not being able to fit into certain clothes because of your body size or flexibility should not mean that we are not able to express ourselves anymore. After all, ‘clothes mediate between body and social world. They are the vestimentary envelope that contains and presents the body; and they thus play an important part in the presentation of identities’ (Twigg, 2010, pp.472-473). Our identities are fragile when we don’t feel selfconfident in our bodies, which makes the subject of inclusivity and acceptance even more urgent. Though body positivity is on the rise, stigma and battle with acceptance is a daily issue: for example obese workers often have lower starting pay and 45 percent of employers are less inclined to recruit obese candidates. This is especially sad as there is a strong correlation between obesity and low household income (Bevan, 2019). I was touched by one Instagram essayist saying: ‘I’m not talking about how I see myself. I’m talking how institutions treat me […]

I can’t “self-love” my way out of employment discrimination. I can’t persuade a doctor who refuses to see fat patients that they should see me because “I really love myself”’ (Your Fat Friend, 2019).

My Major Practice: Inclusive Designs In my major practice I am aiming to include everybody. In this collection, I am focusing on inclusivity through adaptable clothing, where the designs are led by problem solving and innovative detailing. My aim is for any age, any gender and any size to have freedom of movement wearing the same clothes. In order to make the designs inclusive I have received feedback from the models seen wearing the same garments. They represent a variety of ages, sizes and genders and they have, through the garment fitting process, guided me in my attempt to reach inclusivity.

The jacket can transform to fit most adult sizes by closing the inner layer for the smaller sizes and the outer layer for the larger sizes. Waists are adjustable through webbing woven through slits on the waist, which caters for smaller sizes and allows the silhouette to be changed. Laser-cut toggles keep the layers together at the neckline, and also form an attractive detail.

For smaller sizes the outer layer can overlap by attaching the toggle on the shoulder opposite to form another look, while the sleeves fold up elegantly for shorter arms. Pleats in the neckline on the back leave room for rounded shoulders and back, which often become more pronounced with old age.

The jacket can expand more by opening up 3 vents that are under the arms and in the centre back. Through the different fabric and colour, the vents also add another interesting touch to the garment for the larger sizes. For me, designing for all sizes means not to cater for a small range of sizes and then squeezing in people of larger volumes. Specific design details that come to play especially for larger sizes will make the wearer feel included.

The second garment is a pair of culotte-type trousers that turn into a skirt. The diameter of the waistband is very large to allow for larger sizes and for older people to get dressed comfortably even with less flexible and possibly arthritic knees. Through a D-ring buckle canvas belt the trousers and skirt are adjusted to any size. The jersey is soft and stretchy to add comfort and the drape of the fabric allows the trousers to look flattering even on smaller sizes. The inseam is unconventionally attached through webbing woven through slits in the fabric.

When the webbing is removed the trousers turn into a skirt that can be worn in different ways. The canvas belt is used the same way to tighten to the desired fit, while the side seam can be twisted to the front for different styling. My aim with the convertible trousers is twofold, to allow selfexpression and to take away the fear of men to wear skirts. Men can wear the trousers but in their own time and space experiment with the skirt without being judged on buying a skirt. Though a skirt in itself has established female associations, the designs are aimed to be unisex wear. I want the designs to be gender defying, beyond conventional unisex wear, which often is just menswear passed off as unisex

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designs. I am concentrating on pattern cutting and functional ways to suit the bodies I design clothes for. Surface designs and colours are secondary, however important it may be to keep the youthful look in fashion. Patterns of any kind on the fabric will limit the audience I am trying to reach. Through my unconventional approach and unusual designs, I am aware that I may not appealing to a wide audience, but I believe the individuals I am reaching will appreciate the effort and will feel included.

Conclusion This article, with its three contemporary, pertinent and sometimes even contentious points about fashion, is ambitious.

Gender, age and size in fashion are contemporary issues that are fighting their way into mainstream discussions. However, this study opens up more questions into related subjects such as class, culture, diversity in race and religion and the global perspective of economic and social factors, as I have merely looked at the ‘Western’ perspective.

The question I have addressed is whether adaptable wear is the key is to inclusivity in the fashion industry. In my major practice I am aiming to prove that adjustable and adaptive wear can cater for different body shapes and genders. I believe there are changes the high street designers can also make to include more shapes of bodies and functionality. Doing away with fake pockets or shoulder straps that give the impression they are adjustable, but are not, is an easy start for the high street as well as high end designers to show their intentions for inclusivity. How often can you find ‘adjustable’ straps, buckles or laces that are actually not adjustable but decorative only? It should not stop there. If a garment can fit several sizes this reduces the range of sizes that a shop needs to stock.

The fringe sizes are always less likely to sell which end up at waste. Designing multi-size garments can help sustainability in reducing waste. The fashion industry is not addressing the issue of inclusivity enough, this could be because it is less profitable.

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However, I believe we should go further with inclusivity. You can currently see scattered responses to inclusivity and diversity in the fashion industry: the occasional ‘plus size’ model on fashion runways, sometimes older women in magazines or poster adverts, very occasionally men, however all still beautifully photoshopped and thin (Twigg, 2010). We need to move away from ticking diversity boxes and head for real change (Tomlin, 2018). I think adaptable fashion - garments that can be adapted to fit different body shapes – might very well help with inclusivity and can be the start of social change. But the mind-set of society, designers and the fashion industry will need to change to fully embrace inclusivity. To include every BODY.

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Chloe Pugsley Digital Textile Prints

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Can artificial intelligence create true art?

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In the twenty-first century, technology is constantly changing, and artists pursue new forms in which to express their creative ideas. Artificial intelligence (AI) has already become a part of many people’s everyday lives through predictive text programming in our phones, to the latest invention of the self-driven car.

But now, artists are including AI in their creative processes. In this article, I ask whether artificial intelligence can create true art? The themes I focus on are; replication, authorship and portraiture. I will be discussing whether AI has reproduced an original Rembrandt through the theme of replication. I then discuss authorship and whether AI conveys meaning through the artwork it creates. Finally, I will finish with some thoughts on portraiture and whether the work created by AI can be considered art at all. I will explore these themes through traditional, art historical approaches to discover if they can be applied to the new technology of an AI creation. Some of the key authors include Hillel Schwartz, Roland Barthes and Shearer West. My discussion will focus on one artwork, J. Walter Thompson Amsterdam (JWT) (2016) The Next Rembrandt which was created by artificial intelligence.

J. Walter Thompson (JWT), The Next Rembrandt (detail), 2016.

Paris: Musée Jacquemart-André.

Sarah Jose

The Next Rembrandt JWT (2016) The Next Rembrandt is one example of an artwork that was created by AI. As part of an eighteen month collaborative project between ING, JWT, Microsoft, TU Delft and Mauritshuis. Teams of art historians, specialists in reproducing paintings and data handling experts worked together to construct an algorithm to create The Next Rembrandt. “Artists create algorithms not to follow a set of rules, but to ‘learn’ a specific aesthetic by analysing thousands of images. The algorithm then tries to generate new images in adherence to the aesthetics it has learned.” (Elgammal, 2018). What we have begun to experience, are machines thinking for themselves and composing their own art.

The developers made 3D scans from 346 original works by Rembrandt vin Rijn which generated over 168,000 fragments of data. The AI system analysed the consistent subjects and characteristics from the scans, resulting in its decision that the new painting should be a portrait of a white male. The specific characteristics of the subject’s face were created from combinations of the individual facial features that were scanned from Rembrandt’s works. The AI was able to create a composition which encompassed the comprehensive data from the scans. The composition was 3D printed onto a canvas. The developers “trained a deep learning engine to ‘paint’ in the master’s signature style” (Blakemore, 2016) which replicated Rembrandt’s brushstrokes in the 3D print. The outcome required 13 layers of pigment to create the brushstroke effect.

The portrait “brings back to life one of the greatest masters” (JWT, 2019).

Replication It is important to decide if we consider The Next Rembrandt an original or a copy. Can we say it is created by Rembrandt? Hillel Schwartz states that “…the duplicating of our own words and artefacts, from the handcopying of manuscripts to the digitizing of art. Such copying, inherently flawed, always begs for ratification even as we look to copies themselves for assurance of continuity, value and authenticity” (2014. p.175). Copying, in whatever

form it may take, seeks the validity of authenticity.

Schwartz’s argument continues as he suggests; “the more adept the West has become at making of copies, the more we have exalted uniqueness” (2014. p.175). As the West has become better at making copies, Schwartz understands that if copies are flawed, the original is elevated in its uniqueness as it contains no flaws. Schwartz continues with “the copy is at once degenerate and regenerate” (2014. p.215). The copy loses the uniqueness of the original, whilst reawakening uniqueness within itself as a copy because of its difference from the original.

Schwartz’s approach relies on the fact that a copy must visually adhere to the original – the paintings must depict the same aspects and share the same qualities. In sharing these qualities, the copy can hold the same value as the original.

However, The Next Rembrandt has not been copied from an original. The AI that created it has taken visual aspects from 346 different works to create one whole. Had the AI algorithm been instructed to create a work which was nearly identical to the original, then the copy would hold similar value as an original

by Rembrandt. If the original is copied and mistakes or mistranslations are made, the resulting value may not differ from its origin. However, the AI has created something brand new. The painting does not visually resemble any original work and therefore it must be considered an original but cannot be attributed to Rembrandt. That would mean it is unique. But if we have a new originality, does that mean this painting will present the viewer with a different meaning?

Schwartz does not directly discuss meaning. Bohn, in his discussion of reproduction, “grants that any reproduction of a novel, story, or poem that accurately reproduces the words or spelling of the original manuscript counts as a genuine embodiment of that artwork.” (1999. p.56). I argue that text is equal to meaning as text gives meaning. If we understand Schwartz’s definition of originality to include unique meaning, then a copy must also embody the original meaning intended by the artist. This makes art’s visual qualities and artistic intention both equal in creating an original. I argue that Schwartz is

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suggesting that meaning can be transferred and shared between one original and any copy which is visually similar. However as established, The Next Rembrandt is not a copy, this new composition cannot have an original meaning to incorporate. In this case, we are looking at 346 originals that are being combined to create an entirely new original, not a copy. That means that there cannot be one set meaning translated onto the new painting. We are not looking at an original Rembrandt, but a painting in the style of Rembrandt. Therefore, Rembrandt cannot be the author of this artwork. I suggest that Schwartz’s approach proves difficult to apply to this type of artwork as the work sits outside the boundaries of a copy due to the nature of the new capabilities of the technology JWT has used. As it remains, AI crosses the boundaries of tradition. If original meaning is one of the most important aspects that must be present to create an original by Rembrandt, we now must consider what the new meaning of the new original could be.

Authorship Authorship has been studied by Barthes who states, “the sway of the author remains powerful […] the necessity to substitute the language itself for the person who until recently had been supposed to be its owner” (1977. p.143). To substitute the language for the author means that readers looks to the author for meaning in the text. He continues by stating that “…it is language which speaks, not the author; to write is […] to reach that point where only language acts” (Barthes, 1977. p.143). It should be the reader who creates meaning from the words. Barthes adds, “the writer can only intimate a gesture that is always anterior, never original” (1977. p.146). In terms of art, no meaning intended by an artist will ever be original as the author must rely on the past to create meaning. Barthes anticipates that originality does not exist. Thus, “a text’s unity lies not on its origin but in its destination” (Barthes, 1977. p.148).

Ultimately, it is the reader or the viewer who is responsible for giving meaning to art.

Considering Barthes’ approach, The Next Rembrandt may be the perfect example that Barthes could have used to prove his argument. It is recognised that AI technology was used more as a tool by the software developers to create this artwork. They may be responsible for creating meaning for the art and that the data they used came directly from Rembrandt.

Blakemore asks, “does it contain the soul of the person whose data seeded it?” (2016). As established previously, it cannot be deemed to be Rembrandt’s creation because it is an original piece by the AI, not a copy. The developers programme the AI to think for itself. Many of the decisions were made by the AI and not the developers; perhaps we are looking at a post-human artist – AI is the author.

However, Kelly states, “[w]e may be able to see a machine’s product as great, but if we know that the output is merely the result of […] algorithmic formalism, we cannot accept it as the expression of a vision for human good […] it seems to me, nothing but another human being can properly be understood as a genuinely creative artist.” (2019). This AI has only made decisions about aesthetics alone and not any form of meaning. Elgammal says “it’s not just about the final image. It’s about the creative process – one that involves an artist and a machine collaborating to explore new visual forms in revolutionary ways.” (2018). Graham adds that AI systems “certainly create things […] but they do so with no intent and with no sense of what’s relevant. It’s the human who interprets and sifts through their output” (2018).

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It is a collaboration between artist and machine.

The machine is not advanced enough to create intention and meaning and if the developers of The Next Rembrandt were simply looking at aesthetics alone then this artwork was never given a meaning.

The developers are the artists who relied on the AI to create the aesthetic, as the machine cannot think with intent, then this original work cannot have a meaning.

Barthes’ theory can be applied perfectly to The Next Rembrandt as he asks the reader to discard any possible intention by the author and to create their own meaning for the piece. This artwork has never had a meaning. The viewer is entirely open to create a meaning without any limitations from the author.

However, as Kathrani suggests, “AI-based machines will become more human like – more capable of learning, […] we must recognise AI as being capable of owning intellectual property” (2017). Perhaps in future, AI will be able to create meaning for their art and Barthes’ approach may become more difficult to apply as there will once again be an author giving intended meaning. This leads me onto my final development; If this piece has no intended meaning, what meaning can the viewer possibly create?

Portraiture Meaning could be created by considering the work’s appearance; The Next Rembrandt looks like a portrait. Shearer West maintains that “all portraits represent something about the body and face, on the one hand, and soul, character, or virtues of the sitter on the other hand” (2004. p.21). If an artist uses “portraits [to] convey a likeness of an individual” (West. 2004. p.24) then one key aspect of portraiture is the sitter’s identity. West adds that “portraits are filled with the external signs of a person’s socialized self” (2004. p.30). This means that the function of a portrait is to enable the viewer to gain insight into the sitter’s identity, personality and social status.

seventeenth century, so we can develop our ideas based on what is known of art from this period. What is obvious is that a white male of a particular age is depicted. The clothes that he wears can offer aspects of his personality and social status. West states that “any definition of portraiture needs to take account of the unique interrelationship of artists, sitters [and] patrons” (2004. p.37). West adds that portraits “can demonstrate the imagination of the artist, the perceived social role of the sitter”. (2004. p.24).

The expression on his face may suggest comfort; maybe he had a positive relationship with the artist.

Portraits during the seventeenth century could only be afforded by wealthier members of society, suggesting that the sitter or patron was wealthy. This could also mean that the figure depicted is from a high class.

Another aspect which West stresses is; “the subject of the portrait has a physical proximity to the artist representing him or her” (2004. p.37) adding that “unlike a landscape painting […] which may seem to transcend a single moment in time, the portrait reminds us of the encounter between artist and sitter” (West, 2004. p.41). This places a portrait within a specific time in history – a meeting between artist and sitter. West states that “the transaction between artist and sitter is evoked in the imagination of the viewer” (2004. p.41). The portrait asks the viewer to

The viewer can, therefore, give meaning to The Next Rembrandt by analysing the image to develop ideas about the sitter. Its aesthetics derive from the J. Walter Thompson (JWT), The Next Rembrandt (3D print process), 2016.

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imagine the interactions taking place at that moment.

However, West’s ideas become totally irrelevant to this artwork.

West suggests that, like Barthes, the viewer is left to create their own meaning, but in this case the sitter does not exist, and the artist does not have the capability to create meanings. West’s approach cannot be applied because the person depicted is not real. He has no body or face, no personality or soul. He is fiction. Any interaction between artist and sitter never happened. The sitter is a culmination of many other sitters and their identities. As I established, because this is an original work by AI, anything that Rembrandt originally intended through his portraits cannot be transferred to this piece.

Additionally, we could analyse the work through the clothing, but it can no longer be historically accurate to a specific time as it is a compilation of many historical garments which have been combined.

These clothes may have never existed in life. Any historical qualities taken from Rembrandt’s originals are lost as history is distorted, including the colour pallet and fashion.

I suggest that we cannot be looking at a portrait.

We see an artificial intelligence creating a form which looks human but has the characteristics of a machine. No personality or soul, no body, no face and no place in society. Perhaps we could consider it an AI self-portrait if AI had the means to create intention. We also have a painting that does not have

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a place in history. It is entirely new. This art cannot be considered ‘true art’ if we continue to study it with traditional approaches. West’s approach to portraits cannot be applied because this artwork does not comply with the aspects that she claims must be evident within them. I argue it is a new type of true art that we have yet to name and explain. As AI improves and meaning is created, like Barthes’ theory, maybe the application of West’s approach will change, and new approaches can develop.

Conclusion To conclude, AI can copy and create new art. By creating new art, AI becomes the creator and the original artistic intention and meaning is lost.

Currently AI does not have the capability to create its own intended meaning, only to make decisions based on the data it is given about aesthetics from existing artworks. The New Rembrandt cannot be attributed to Rembrandt but is original to the AI that created it. The artwork has no meaning as AI cannot yet think like humans. Any meaning which humans try to impart to the artwork becomes confused as the usual approach to portraits cannot be applied due to the loss of connection to sitter, artist and history.

What I have shown is that traditional approaches to studying art may no longer be applicable to current forms of AI artwork. As technology advances, art historians may be able to adapt traditional approaches for this type of art, or perhaps new approaches will need to be invented.

Amanda Hall

Spike Island Tea bags and machine embrodiery

This is a visual representation of Spike Island that aims to align its current use as a contemporary art space with its history as a tea packing factory.

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Michelle Goddard, Flow, photography

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Electro waste ronic e 69

Natasha Hook

onic e

Electronic waste

Introduction Marketing and advertising have aided the creation of a society in which we feel a need to constantly consume, to continually be needing the latest “stuff�.

With technological advances and the development of planned obsolescence, the electronic items we buy are doomed within a few years; if you want to keep up to date with the latest applications and processing speeds, you have no choice but to upgrade to a newer model. This constant production, consumption and disposal has led to a general lack of understanding of materials used and the attitude that an old product no longer has any value and is therefore disposable. This has led to a huge increase in all waste, but electronic waste is thought to be one of the fastest-growing waste streams of the 21st century.

In this article I will explore the current consumption of electronic goods with an analysis of a piece by artist Heidi Hinder entitled Where Fate Calls which considers materials involved in mobile phone production. From here I will consider the collaborative, interdisciplinary, project between Dr. Hywel Jones and Dr. Karen Vernon-Parry from the Materials and Engineering Research Institute (MERI). Additionally, I will look at Maria Hanson, Reader in Metalwork and Jewellery in the Art and Design Research Centre (ARDC), whose project explores sustainability, recycling and growing awareness of materials used in technology and their scarcity. With the help of Hanson, this project considers what comes after production; how to use the waste produced from our consumption of electronics to create something new.

Jorien Wiltenburg has also considered this and developed the concept of Micro Urban Mining as a way to re-use or re-purpose the waste. I will then discuss my current practice, aiming to use Wiltenburg’s technique to repurpose copper electronic waste into vessels and jewellery. Through this exploration, I will consider how electronic waste is being re-purposed by designers to raise awareness about materials.

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Today we live in a culture of consuming everything, without always thinking about what it is that we are consuming or what consumption really entails. Magazines, television adverts, and billboards are all there trying to catch our attention and to make us want what it is they are advertising. With each purchase, we become a new form of this advert, though perhaps an even more successful one because it comes with the approval of someone we know and with the conception that having all this stuff is realistically attainable. With the rise of social media, we are each perpetuating this further. We make one another feel that we need to have what they have and are, perhaps, entitled to it. Celia Lury supports and expands on such an idea in Consumer Culture, probing into the thoughts behind why we have such a need to consume. She suggests that we have given our relationship with stuff, in terms of possessions, a privilege. That ‘the emergence and growth of this preference is tied up with the rise of individualism and mass consumer society, which are seen to have led people to define themselves and others in terms of the things they possess’ (Lury, 1996, p.7). If we each define ourselves by what we have, and, according to Helga Dittmar, Professor in Psychology, ‘to have is to be’ (Dittmar, 1992) then it is no wonder we are a society of consumers, and as our society grows so also will our consumption. The problem is, as I mentioned earlier, what does our consumption really entail?

Kate Frankiln and Caroline Till state in their book Radical Matter: Rethinking Materials for a Sustainable Future, ‘Our addiction to new technology, abetted by short product lifestyles and a culture of rapid upgrades, is creating a vast waste stream of discarded metals, glass, plastics, and rare earth minerals’ (Franklin & Till, 2018, p.14). The Oxford English Dictionary defines consumption as ‘the action of using up a resource’ (Oxford University Press, 2019) and of this waste stream, metal, glass, and rare earth minerals are finite resources that we are using up. Even the components of plastic will run out eventually, perhaps before the plastic created has even decomposed, if we continue to consume as we are. The research project conducted by Maria Hanson, Dr. Hywel Jones and Dr. Karen Vernon-Parry entitled What’s In My Stuff suggests that our consumerism is represented best by our attitudes to the mobile phone. They have set out to question ‘the short-term and long-term issues for materials supply driven by our seeming insatiable demand for the latest gadgets?’ (Hanson et al., 2012). They aim to explore this privileged relationship between us and our stuff, specifically the mobile phone, and hope to raise public awareness of some of the emerging critical material supplies, and issues in recycling and sustainability. The project sets out to do this by exploring effective ways to engage with the public and users of everyday technology.

Scientists plan to set up public engagement field laboratories in which mobile phones are disassembled and analysed, engaging participants in a practical activity to find out what they are made of. They suggest such activity provides a sense of agency which is important in raising awareness. ‘The project seeks to create an emotional connection between people and high technology devices by getting individuals to discover for themselves “What’s In My Stuff?” (Hanson et al., 2012). The collaboration between scientists and artists allows for the information and research gained from the field laboratories to be explored through the making of creative artefacts and jewellery. The pieces created will then be used in exhibitions and public engagement activities to continue the debate and stimulate further thought.

Disposed mobile phones come under the term electronic waste (e-waste). The UK government refers to it as Waste Electrical and Electronic Equipment (WEEE) and estimates that every

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year 2 million tonnes of WEEE is discarded by householders and companies in the UK alone. They consider WEEE to be, in broad terms, any item with a plug or requiring batteries (Health and Safety Executive, 2019). In America, it is thought some 9.4 million tonnes of electronic waste is disposed of each year. Recycle-more (Recycle More, 2019) claims that 15 million mobile phones are upgraded every year in the UK alone and Hanson et al. estimate that 85 million phones are lying unused in the UK. The United States Environmental Protection Agency estimates that from one million discarded phones an astonishing abundance of highly valuable metals could be recovered, including; 16,000kg of copper, 350kg of silver, 34kg of gold and 15kg of palladium (Franklin and Till, 2018, pp.14-15).

The value of the precious metals alone in these one million discarded phones exceeds £1.76 million.

Mobile phones are just one aspect of the electronic waste stream and the one I will focus on in this article. However, it is estimated that within the total e-waste mountains we are creating, precious metals could be found in concentrations higher than 40 to 50 times that which could be found in ores mined from the ground (Wiltenburg, 2015). Zoe Laughlin, co-founder, and director of the Materials Library project at the Institute of Making speaks of the process used to gain materials. She writes, ‘when you buy copper, they don’t tell you the story of the hundreds of people who died to bring it to you – copper mining is incredibly destructive’ (Laughlin 2018).

This raises questions on why we are not doing more to recycle and/or re-purpose and serious questions around our moral values; why are we content to produce such, and so much, waste? Kyle Wiens, co-founder, and CEO of iFixit concludes that the reason for such waste comes from our reluctance to fight back and repair, being eager to give up and throw things away. Speculating on the knock-on consequences he says: ‘We throw things away when they break, squandering the years of work and thought and mining and manufacturing that went into them. But this behaviour carries a penalty; if we throw our hands in the air and submit to entropy, we stagnate. We forget that it is solving problems that makes us human and points the way to our collective future’ (Wiens, 2013).

Have we already started stagnating? Making and disposing as we do with lack of consideration for other humans, prioritising our relationships with gadgets as opposed to people. There is a reported rise in loneliness across the world, the UK has even appointed the position of a Minister for Loneliness to implement changes and strategies to tackle this issue thought to affect nine million UK citizens. Franklin and Till touch on the importance of connections that a community can bring, in their book Radical Matter: ‘Social connection has long been acknowledged as a key component for physical and mental wellbeing. However, particularly in urban environments, neighbourhood communities are in decline; this is partly due to decreasing engagement with once ubiquitous social gathering points such as religious services, and partly due to funding being stripped from local services and amenities. The number of people living alone is rising across the world, meaning that finding ways to connect with others in our locale has never been more important’ (Franklin and Till, 2018. p.110).

Could collaborative efforts to solve this problem around e-waste help us re-connect, not only with materials in our stuff, but with one another in our communities?

Architect Anders Lendager considers the future value of waste, he says that the reworking of a material is what we are looking for in sustainability: that this can add value. ‘It doesn’t have to mean more investment. It has to be a layered story about why this material is more valuable’ (Lendager, 2018).

Julia Lohmann, a Professor of Design, suggests that craftsmen are ideal candidates to be developing ways to add this value, stating: ‘One of the biggest ailments of our society is that we’ve become blind to the value of the material we surround ourselves with. Look at anything around you, a plastic bag, for example, and think of what went into bringing it to you: millions of years of sedimentation transformed into plastic, into something we use for five minutes. I find it very sobering. Craftsmen are acutely aware of that

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Heidi Hinder Where Fate Calls, (2017) Photography by Jonathan Rowley

value, of the natural history of their materials. The voice of the material coming through in the object is often very much appreciated in craft – and, while it is valued in craft techniques, it is almost impossible to achieve in industrial production and mass manufacture’ (Lohmann, 2018).

In 2017 artist Heidi Hinder was commissioned by Warwickshire Museum to create a piece for the Museum’s collection inspired by their Treasure Plus project. The project set out to bring together a collection of objects defined as personal ornaments or jewellery to a single location, enabling visitors to see and engage, making connections with the pieces. The objects dated from the 13th to 17th century and were selected for their ability to encapsulate personal and individual expressions of family connections, status and/or identity. The piece Heidi created, Where Fate Calls, is a neckpiece. It consists of 12 circular “charms”, each one appearing to contain an object or image encased within a glass cover and metal frame. Each one different in its content and size. The shape and construct of the charms give the feeling one is looking through a magnifying glass or the lens of a microscope, and looking through the lens one can see that the majority of objects initially appear dull and grey in colour. There are however four charms that

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do contain colour, contrasting against those in grey. One of these holds a bright green mottled material, another is holding something in a dusky pink and two charms are shimmering gold with the objects inside. The smaller of the golden charms has texture, appearing to be made up of lots of little beads. On closer inspection, you can identify that one of the initially dull and grey looking charms is actually filled with a wire wound in loops, another filled with little metallic fibres and another looks as if it could be a precious deep blue stone. The grey in the others is dappled with black and gives a feeling of looking at the night sky or the moon. Heidi explains in email communications that her piece: ‘Was inspired by a 17th century ring in their collection which is inscribed with the Latin phrase: ‘Quo Me Fata Vocant’ or I go where fate calls. The ring is thought to have been given as a love token, so I started thinking about our contemporary equivalent ‘love tokens’, what we value, exchange and leave as a legacy now, for future archaeologists to dig up and discover, just as this ring was found locally in Warwick by a metal detector’ (Hinder, 2019.

Per comms).

The text accompanying the neckpiece explains that it is compiled of some of the raw materials necessary in manufacturing a mobile phone. Where Fate Calls includes the use of plastic, glass, graphite, aluminium, lead, zinc, tin, copper, silver, gold, palladium and platinum. It states that there are currently more mobile phones than people on Earth; that production of mobile phones is increasing at a rate five times faster than that of human beings; and that our level of consumption is ‘unprecedented and overwhelming’. ‘Where Fate Calls seeks to question our apparent disregard for the consequences of this phenomenon and considers what value will be inherent in these raw materials in the future.’ Where Fate Calls questions not only the consumption of electronic goods but also, within the aims of the project by Warwickshire Museum, that of our current societal relationship with both people and objects. It broadens our view on what the knockon consequences have been of this consumption, highlighting this shift in prioritising our relationship with objects as opposed to people, even loved ones, as expressed by Lury in Consumer Culture.

Hanson et al. also break down the components of the mobile phone in two different methods. The first is similar to Hinder’s in that it is an exploration of the materials used. Hanson has designed and made a variety of rings. The rings are presented predominantly flat on a white background with squares, each ring sitting within its own square. The squares have letters and numbers in them. It is a representation of the periodic table, displaying the atomic numbers of the elements. Each ring is drastically different. The ring in the box labelled as atomic number 16 is white, slightly iridescent, and has creases in its curve; it appears to have a garlic bulb growing from its side.

Next to it in 17 is a ring that looks similar to a bracelet, made from cloudy clear glass beads strung together on red thread.

There are what look like simple stacking rings in silver and gold. One looks like a pineapple ring you would buy in a tin from the supermarket. Hanson writes that after discovering that there are at least 40 different elements found in a mobile phone, which raised her awareness of the complexity of our material world, she decided to create ongoing works entitled Element Rings. This is a project to make 40 individual rings representing the 40 elements in as pure a form as possible, using craft-making processes. Hanson notes that many of the elements used are too dangerous or unstable to be used directly and so has used materials to represent them, for example, the garlic bulb. I consider this exploration of the elements in a mobile phone to be engaging and educational

of the components of phones, through its visual play on the periodic table and use of everyday domestic objects; the use of the garlic bulb only highlights the seriousness of the actual materials used.

Hanson et al. also break down the components of mobile phones, literally, in another project entitled Reuse-Revalue (2014). One piece from this project, Necklace 2, is a series of black and dark grey components strung or suspended together on a red ribbon. The components all appear to be thin sheets of metal, all with small holes punched through them at an equal distance from one another. The sheets have been bent, curved or joined to another around the ribbon. One of the components has a gold inlay which, to me, is recognisable as a large sim-tray, though I am aware that this is now somewhat dated since most, if not all, modern phones come with nanosims and so no longer require these; such pieces highlight the technical advances and the impact of planned obsolescence.

Hanson says the Reuse-Revalue project set out to ‘reclaim, deconstruct and re-use’ components and fragments from mobile phones. Stating that reworking the materials allows for their individual aesthetic characteristics to be ‘exploited in a way that emphasises their intrinsic preciousness’ (Hanson et al., 2012).

In his Guide to Artifacts of Colonial America, archaeologist Ivor Noel Hume contests such a theory that suggests simply using disassembled components of a product, such as the mobile phone, helps raise awareness of its material components and the issues surrounding it, as people often cannot see the connection to the original. He speaks specifically within the archaeological field, but I feel such a statement could be applied in a broader context and relevant here, especially given the use of dated technology that a younger audience may not have come across before. He states, ‘I have frequently found that both collectors and museum personnel are unable to identify from fragments objects with which they are well acquainted when intact’ (Noel Hume, 1970, p.5). I can see his point and I think that it highlights that pieces such as Hanson’s need to come with explicit statements that can open up a dialogue discussing their context and purpose. The scientific aspect of the Hanson et al. project does attempt to do this.

One artist who has considered another way to address the waste issue on a small scale is Jorien Wiltenburg. Her pieces consist of copper wire, woven, knitted, twisted and handled to create both practical and artistic products. Wiltenburg

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Natasha Hook, Experiments with Urban Mining

developed the concept of micro-urban mining whilst studying at the University of Arts in Rotterdam, graduating in 2015. This seeks to encourage individuals to recycle their own waste at home in the form of small-scale metal extraction and then using existing processes, such as craft techniques, to inform a new vision on how to deal with the continually growing e-waste. The process starts with disassembling computers and stripping cables to mine aluminium and copper. Wiltenburg says ‘looking at the properties of aluminium the Urban Miner can melt this with meagre resources. The copper lends itself well to be used in its solid form through various weaving techniques. This lowtech crafts work is in line with the self-sustaining approach of the Urban Miner.’ (Wiltenburg, n.d.) Though this technique only considers the aluminium and copper, if we are disassembling such objects it should hopefully allow for a more successful option to recycle left over components or seek ways to repurpose these elements on the small-scale whilst looking to collaborate with other designers and perhaps develop a local community of small-scale re-purposing. Wiltenburg talks about the process of micro-urban mining restoring a connection between the creation and the use of an object. She believes that learning the skills she includes in her process, such as the weaving of copper, can achieve this. Could it also restore a

connection amongst our communities? I believe not only this concept of Wiltenburg’s, but also the project by Hanson could help us reflect on the value we place on objects. It could help raise awareness of some of the emerging critical materials supply and perhaps even affect our consumer habits.

Conclusion The aim of my article was to explore how electronic waste is being re-purposed by designers to raise awareness about materials. I initially chose my subject after reading an article on Wiltenburg’s micro-urban mining concept. The process and concept excited me; someone was trying to think about what we can do as individuals to help when there can be such an overwhelming feeling that one person cannot make a difference. It helped me to re-engage after starting to feel a lack of enthusiasm to make things, concerned I would only be contributing to the waste build up and having a negative impact on our planet. I decided to explore micro-urban mining further and in doing so chose Wiltenburg’s technique to influence my current practice to re-use old electronic copper wire. My home has been undergoing renovations, including updating the old hazardous wiring system, and so I have been left with a reasonable amount of copper wire. I have no nearby recycling

facilities, even having a fly-tipping problem in my street, so I plan to use Wiltenburg’s concept of using the wire to weave vessels and brooches, perhaps with a message to raise awareness of the growing concerns around levels of e-waste. I have been thinking about where the products in our gadgets come from and what is the real impact of using the gadgets. I will also consider other craft techniques, such as knitting and crochet. I will take inspiration from jewellery designer Rosalyn Faith, a designer who ‘knits’ with silver and gold wire to create beautiful and valuable items due to the nature of the materials she uses. It is a traditional craft but in using metals she gives it a modern twist to create contemporary jewellery.

During further exploration of micro-urban mining I was disappointed to discover that Wiltenburg is no longer working with the process, nor is she seemingly exploring alternative or new ways to combat our e-waste or general materials use. I also found a surprising lack of designers seeking options to combat a decline in materials, questioning where we get our materials from, or raising awareness of the issue.

The majority of associated links to the projects I’ve explored are no longer active. Despite all this, the pieces I have found have really spoken to me. Though I was already conscious of this issue I can see the potential such projects as these could have on the wider audience. This project has opened up new possibilities and challenges for me but most importantly it has educated me. I often think that one of our biggest hindrances in being green is not a lack of care for our planet or the people on it, nor negating the value of either, but rather that we are choosing to prioritise our individual time and energy by choosing convenient options to us. It is so easy to pop an unwanted item in the bin, to be collected by the refuse workers and taken away without another thought. Life can be so busy and full of demands that something has to give. Maybe a project such as Hinder’s or Hanson et al. could speak loud enough to make us question what it is that has to give. Perhaps it could ignite a change, an opportunity for us to reflect on our relationships with items and materials. I would like to hope that at the very least it would make us question our disposal of goods, if not our consumption of them. Maybe a concept such as Wiltenburg’s could re-establish community efforts, which could escalate into such a spirit of sharing that nothing has to give, or it is given in exchange for something else. It could affect the privileged relationship we give to our gadgets and bring it back around to one another and help combat the reported rise in loneliness felt amongst society. The way Hanson especially has considered re-purposing waste, in a combined project with academics and scientists, for me, is a forward-thinking concept that addresses some of the most pressing issues of our time. I can see real potential. I think it just needs a louder voice and wider audience in order for more people to be seeing, hearing and doing.

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Slava!

Madga Nowak

As I am very interested in Slavic mythology, I decided to use Slavic motifs in my major project. I created a board game called Slava! My game’s name relates to pre-Christian greetings used in Poland, Ukraine, Russia and other Slavic countries.

At the beginning of my project, I considered redesigning an existing game with new visuals. However, I was more ambitious and designed an entirely new game with an original set of rules and visuals. This project allowed me to get involved in many fields of graphic design such as; illustration, semiotics, typography and product design. Therefore, it helped me develop my skills and grow as a designer. My idea was to create a board game that would not involve any text. It allows players from different countries to enjoy the game as fluent English isn’t a requirement to play. To achieve this aim, I had to develop a unique visual language which would be clear in communicating meaning. I decided to use Slavic runic symbols, whilst maintaining simple and almost pictographic symbols representing necessary materials like wood, stone and grain.

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The board has many references to Slavic culture. I have used a map which, in its shape, resembles Polish territory during the reign of the Piast Dynasty. I also refer to Slavic mythology through an artwork that portrays the Baltic four-headed deity, Swiatowid. As he looks at the four sides of the world, he was the patron of various aspects of human life. I decided to portray him lurking from the ‘cosmic tree’, which was also an essential element of Slavic beliefs and was considered a portal between the world of the living and the dead. People believed that it was an entry to an afterlife, but interestingly also a place where birds travelled for the winter before their return in the spring.

In my design, I incorporate a large sun as it is one of the most important Slavic religious symbols. The whole board is made of plywood and it has been laser cut; the natural material refers to earlier times in which wood was the primary building material. I designed packaging – a wooden box with the engraved sun on the lid that relates to a key element of the board – a spinning sun in the left corner. I have established my own contribution to the promotion of Slavic culture.

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Will Bertram

Experience in the

As every art student knows, art can take over

challenge which can lead to new breakthroughs,

your life very easily. It’s a passion, a driving force, a commitment, a frustration, yet it remains an aspiration. We’re warned that finding a career in art is highly competitive and often unrealistic. We’re encouraged to consider who we want to be as artists, we’re encouraged to constantly develop, dissect, destroy and rebuild our practice until we’re comfortable.

collaborations, exhibitions and projects that help to shape our practice. This may not always lead to success, but will always be something to learn from.

That is not to say that artists should not consider how a project fits within their practice, just that sometimes the best experience can be found in unexpected places, and Go Wild Gorillas was one of those unexpected places.

But as every art student knows, artists should never be too comfortable. The striving to develop can be daunting, but ultimately it’s an exciting

A few months after finishing at Bristol School of Art and returning home to Jersey, I had my first introduction to the Go Wild Gorillas project. A fellow artist, collaborator, exhibitor and good friend let me in on a secret project he’d be working on for our zoo, Durrell Wildlife Conservation Trust, founded by the renowned conservationist Gerald Durrell.

He was painting a life-size gorilla sculpture, the first of many that would make up a sculpture trail to celebrate Durrell’s 60th anniversary, aiming to raise funds for a new indoor gorilla enclosure. It sounded different from anything I’d seen in Jersey before; I wanted to be a part of it, and at the time, I just wanted to create my own gorilla sculpture.

I was eventually recruited as ‘artist co-ordinator’ after being recommended by some of Jersey’s art community with whom I’d worked in the past. The role only had a vague description but sounded important and it was clear it would be hard work and a huge commitment. The role made use of all elements of my own artistic practice, from my knowledge of our local arts community and the related contacts, to exhibition preparation, curation and practical knowledge. The role made use of my organisational, research and critical thinking

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Images courtesy of Go Wild Gorillas and Will Bertram

un expected skills that I had developed whilst studying Fine Art and working towards a dissertation. I was tasked with managing the submissions process, shortlisting and sculpture creation, managing the painting space, as well as offering advice and support to artists. During the trail I became an ‘oncall artist’ assessing any damage and performing any ongoing maintenance, which luckily was minimal. The role became more about maintenance and logistics towards the end of the project. I was busy making lists and ensuring gorillas were ready for their final appearance at the zoo and subsequently the auction.

The auction was the final part of the project and by far the most nerve-wracking. Despite Jersey fully immersing itself in Go Wild Gorillas with over 200,000 visits, none of us could predict the result of the auction. There’d been rumours, pre-bids and guesses made based on the partnering app, which allowed users to vote for their favourites and tracked the most visited gorillas, but nothing was certain. The project had exceeded expectations in every other way, which was reflected in the public engagement and feedback. The quality of the artwork was praised for being exceptionally high for a public sculpture trail, but the auction was the ultimate measure of success for Durrell and whether

their initial risk would pay off. The auction was an electrifying demonstration of how gripped the island had become with the Go Wild Gorillas; from the start, prices exceeded our expectations, three going for over £50,000, one of which was for a recordbreaking £72,000. The final result was a staggering £1.1million raised for Durrell’s gorilla family at Jersey Zoo, completely smashing our expectations and predictions.

The project required me to step away from my own practice, taking up most of my time and energy at its busiest points. But, it allowed me to learn about public art projects and the managing of a large-scale activity. It showed me a potential way to utilise an art degree, in a completely unexpected way whilst developing transferrable skills for my own practice. My own expectations of working as an artist were challenged, and my perception of public art projects has been changed. Go Wild Gorillas brought happiness to Jersey, using art to raise money for a great cause, whilst keeping artists in the spotlight. It encouraged islanders and visitors to explore Jersey and their connection to nature, discovering or re-visiting some of Jersey’s most beautiful locations whilst getting to experience high-quality art in an accessible way. And, best of all, I did get to create my own gorilla sculpture..!

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Benji Appleby-Tyler Untitled Screenprint on room divider 160 x 56cm

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Fan Lee (Lai-fan Lee)

Tree Shadows Ink on Paper 70 x 70cm

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Gaby Solly

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Empty Plaster and cardboard Dimensions variable

Empty is an installation of plaster-casts taken from the inside of used home delivery boxes, mostly sent via Amazon and collected from recycling bins around Bristol. The piece asks us to consider the value of the boxes’ contents - to the shopper, to the corporation, to those involved in manufacture and delivery, and to the planet.

Empty is a frustrated response to our consumption-based culture. It was exhibited on Buy Nothing Day, an annual international protest against mass-consumerism, that coincides with ‘Black Friday’.

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Tim Southall

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Dispose of Responsibility Cardboard 3D sculpture 90 x 45 x 18cm

Embroidered Jacket, Tamay and Me photography courtesy of Naomi Wood

Sustainable design in Bristol Jessica Thomas

Introduction Sustainability is arguably the defining issue of the twenty-first century. The problems it presents for the fashion industry are broad: All materials have ecological and social impacts, each affecting the environment at differing rates (Fletcher and Grose, 2012, p.13). Therefore, fashion systems need to undergo improvements. Labour abuses, toxic chemicals and obvious over consumption are a product of fast fashion with textile waste in the UK exceeding 2.35 million tonnes a year (Fletcher, 2008, p.98). To promote sustainable practices a more considered approach to fibre choices and finishes is needed.

Thinking sustainably shows “understanding of the patterns, networks, balances and cycles at play in the fashion system� (Fletcher and Grose, 2012, p.11). This inquiry examines how designing ethically has the potential to transform industry systems and the creative practitioners who work within them. I will discuss independent Bristol-based designers and smallscale businesses with the aim is to suggest positive solutions that could transform both the fashion and textile industries.

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Industry waste Recycling is an important step in reducing waste and landfill.

Bristol Textile Recyclers are just one of many companies collecting and recycling unwanted textiles, receiving 20 tonnes of discarded items per day (Bristol Textile Recyclers, 2019).

Half of the discarded textiles are synthetics, such as acrylics or polyester. These products take approximately 500 years to degrade, releasing toxic chemicals into the environment. The material that was manufactured at the birth of synthetic fabrics will be with us for generations. However, at least 50% of the textile waste is reusable, but only 25% of waste is currently reused or recycled (LBHF, 2019).

It is crucial that we find a solution to the continual production of new synthetic fibres, with circular design approaches being favoured by Dr. Kate Goldsworthy and Prof. Rebecca Earley from the Centre of Circular Design. However, circularity within existing textile waste management is challenging. Remanufacturing synthetic fibre is difficult as it is impossible to remove the oxygen that gets introduced throughout the chemical processes. Recycled synthetics are perceived as much weaker and less resilient. However, as the public become more aware of the environmental impact of synthetic textiles, traditional fibres like wool are increasing in demand (Ribeiro et al., 2015, p.254). Wool is biodegradable and can be recycled effectively. However, as Kate Fletcher states: ‘No one fibre, regardless of whether it is organic, fairly treated or recycled can single-handedly transform the practises of a polluting and resource-intensive industry into a more sustainable one’ (Fletcher, 2008, p.5). Instead, we need to reduce consumption and develop products that use renewable resources.

Upcycling and material re-use is a model that is often explored on a small-scale production. There is much pre-consumer waste that can be used as a resource, more favourable to the customer than pre-loved, post-consumer waste. Textile waste is fast becoming a valuable resource. Companies are now expected to pay for responsible disposal and individual designers are exploiting the cost-effective benefits of postproduction textiles. As Jessica Hemmings states, “if more designers were to embrace pre-consumer and show that out of rubbish can come a profit” other companies will follow suit (Hemmings, 2012, p.379). These practices are common in the sustainable design movement within Bristol. The next section will consider how independent designers in Bristol are engaging with textile waste, responsibly sourced materials, and ethical manufacture.

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Sustainability in Bristol Focusing on local brands to Bristol and the South West, The Bristol Textile Quarter was established 5 years ago (The Bristol Textile Quarter, 2015). The permanent members of the selfmanaged community get the benefits of working as part of a collective. The facilities are ever expanding due to the demand for the ethically produced textiles. The studio has been the birthplace to several independent brands who design with a focus on sustainability. The site shares its space with Fernhill Fleece, a local company who grows and harvests British wool. Botanical Inks is also nearby. They produce British plant-based textile dyes without using artificial chemicals or metals. Next door to the studio is the Bristol Weaving Mill, who work alongside Dash and Miller to create high-quality woven fashion and interiors. Whilst studying in Bristol, I had the opportunity to speak to the designers and gain insight into what it is like setting up and managing a sustainable business.

In this section I will analyse three different brands: Antiform; Tamay and Me; and Bristol Cloth.

Antiform Antiform is owned by Lizzy Harrison. The brand creates sustainable clothing using reclaimed materials that would otherwise end up in landfill. After moving to Bristol five years ago, Harrison came across some issues with her business.

Although Antiform has always used waste materials to create their garments, Harrison noticed that they were also generating waste. Antiform were not able to use all their materials each season, so they scrapped the idea of the seasonal collection and instead numbered collections. This ensures all the materials are used until they run out (Harrison (pers.comm.) 08/11/2017). This decision actively changes the conventional model of working. Having permanent collections can cause issues with clients, as consumers tend to want the latest designs. However, their new model better adheres to the ethical standards the brand wants to encourage.

Upcycling material means that the company gets very good quality fabrics at a reasonable price. However, manufacturing costs are significant, as the garments are constructed within the UK. The Antiform Folk Dress is popular with its classic style, creating a flattering shape while still being easy to wear.

It incorporates woven silk swatches in a panel down the front of the dress to give a patchwork effect. In line with Tim Ingold’s research about materials, the fabrics are always “becoming something else […] overtaking the formal destinations that […] have been assigned to them”, showing that the resource

is never finished (Ingold, 2012, p.435). The other products that the brand produces have similar features like patchwork cuffs, pockets, and yokes. Each item has its own aura. The brand also sells loose fitting trousers, knitwear, leggings and accessories all unique and made from surplus textiles.

Antiform are also interested in sharing mending skills with their clients. They offer workshops in basic sewing skills that are open to the public. Here they teach people how to repair clothing, alongside more traditional workshops in weaving, knitting and dyeing. They encourage consumers to undertake visible mending, like that promoted by Celia Pym, in the hope of extending the life of the garments (Fletcher and Tham, 2015, p.265).

Alongside the brand’s website, Antiform online, Harrison also co-manages Leeds Community Clothes Exchange where the public can engage with sustainable fashion even when they don’t have the disposable income spend on Antiform clothing.

Events are held monthly and last for four hours. At each event around 2000 items of clothing are exchanged. The clothes exchange now has over 2500 members with 150 attendees per exchange (Leeds Community Clothes Exchange, 2019).

This project has encouraged the local community to recycle and exchange clothing in order to develop community spirit, reduce industry consumption and landfill waste, whilst raising awareness about unethical consumer habits.

Tamay and Me Tamay and Me, was established by Hannah Cowie in 2008 after visiting Vietnam as part of her anthropology degree. She spent three months in a self-sufficient community where she was taught embroidery by Ly Ta May. This drove Cowie to build a sustainable business built on excellent ethical standards. The delicateness of the embroidery (figure 3) means that each A4 size piece takes over 100 hours to produce and could span over a year’s work (Cowie (pers.comm.) 08/11/2017). This community in Vietnam functions on tradition; every year for the Chinese New Year each family makes their own clothing from start to finish, fibre to completed garment. They wear them for the full year and sell the previous years at the market before making new items for the following year (Tamay and Me, 2010). Inspired by this process, Cowie returned to Vietnam, to find the community had gone through rapid modernisation.

Cowie wanted to preserve something from their old lifestyle and bring it to the UK. As traditional clothing was fading from their society, Cowie decided to work with Ly Ta May and replicate how the locals used to make their indigo jackets.

These garments are now prominent in Bristol. Tamay and Me joined the Bristol Textile Quarter in 2015.

Having only 20 people producing these jackets in Vietnam means that the production is small and manageable. People work on a freelance basis to grow the cotton and construct the garments. A substantial amount of trust is needed for every part of the construction process to be successful. The jackets need to be dipped in the indigo vat between six and ten times to create the light blue. To get a deeper black, the jacket would need to be dyed 21 times (Tamay & Me, 2019 a). This is a timeand labour-intensive process that is reliant on the community working together.

The selling point of the brand is that they produce slow, sustainable and unique fashion. “A handcrafted object evokes the aura of human tradition […] cultural boundaries” (Rovine, 2012, p.272). Cowie found that although the locals had the skills and the resources to create these jackets, they did not have access to the right markets. The Tay ethnic minority spend most of their time coordinating the planting, nurturing, harvesting of rice, cotton, and indigo for the jackets, it seemed a waste to Cowie that the people were not getting anything back from their hard work (financially).

Tamay and Me’s garments are considered investment pieces, and, like Antiform, the brand encourage the consumer to

Embroidered Jacket, Tamay and Me photography courtesy of Naomi Wood

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Photographs of Tamay and Me, featuring Bristol Cloth, courtesy of Naomi Wood

care for and mend their garments. The brand offers similar workshops and mending events throughout the year. These brands are not necessarily driven by rapid expansion, instead they are focused on ethical and sustainable methods of production and consumption.

The Bristol Cloth Project To reduce the industry dependency on oil, biodegradable fibres like wool would decrease the emphasis on polyester products. The market for wool is small but growing due to initiatives like the Campaign for Wool. The Bristol Cloth project is a crowd-funded collaboration between several brands based in, and around Bristol. Fernhill Farm, Botanical Inks and The Bristol Weaving Mill are working together with Brown In Town, Jokoto Tailoring and OB Wear to deliver commissioned orders (Crowdfunder UK, 2019). The aim of the project is to produce sustainable fabric using traditional methods. Fernhill Farm are the fibre providers for the Bristol Cloth Project; Babs Behan from Botanical Inks naturally dyes the fleece; and the Bristol Weaving Mill manufacture the final fabric.

In the recent past, the British landscape and economy was shaped by the textile industry. Local textile production was vital to our agricultural systems and our livelihoods. Traditional British textiles have been threatened to near extinction and there is now a lack of locally sourced and manufactured cloth in the UK. The Bristol Cloth Project aims to change this by creating a sustainable regional fabric that regenerates, rather than damages our land and natural resources (Baker, 2018).

The production of cloth, using this method shows that small scale production can be commercially viable. The project was first bought to my attention via Crowdfunder. Supporters could pledge support in return for products made from Bristol Cloth.

With around 20 products to choose from the £15,000 target was exceeded by £3000 (Bristol Cloth, 2019).

Changes in consumer demand is the most effective solution for ending the damaging effect of the fashion industry. It is encouraging to see a resurgence in this interest through the Bristol Cloth project. Natural materials impact the earth far less than their synthetic counterparts and the most popular plants used in dyeing can be grown very easily. The collective chose madder and weld to dye the Bristol Cloth yarn. Madder is a root and weld is a yellow flowering plant which gives a beautiful burnt rusty orange colour to the yarn. The fleece is prepared in a hot wash without the use of chemicals.

Soil forms an important aspect of the Bristol Cloth project.

The collective chose wool as their resource to create the cloth. Carbon neutral and carbon fixing processes are used at Fernhill Farm to rejuvenate the soil. The idea is that the process mimics natural grazing herd systems which mean they are always moving onto fresh grassland. The soil is rested, which leads to better quality grass for the sheep to ingest (Sky News, 2019). With blade sheering you can leave an inch of wool fibre all over the sheep’s body so that they are insulated from the sun and from the rain. Around 2kg of fleece can be utilised from each sheep to spin into yarn (Sky News, 2019). Overall, Bristol Cloth’s approach seems to maintain high standards of animal welfare, whilst manufacturing textiles that are chemical free, completely transparent and have a very low carbon footprint (BBC Points West, 2018). By making a cloth that is compositable, this project is giving carbon back to the earth as biological nutrients as opposed to pollutants in landfill waste (Bristol Live, 2018). The cloth nourishes the soil at the end of its useful lifespan as textile.

The production of Bristol Cloth is also an example of circular design. The project is built upon an ecological system, a network of cycles and open loops. Circular design is a strategy with the aim to use the earth’s resources in a more sustainable manner (Earley and Goldsworthy, 2017, p.114). In circular design cycles, materials are part of a loop, where salvage or a future use is predicted. The aim is to keep materials in circulation continuously. Bristol Cloth provides an example of successful circular design, where production of the fabric enhances the environment instead of damaging the ecosystem.

Conclusion Independent brands are leading the way in developing sustainable textile business models. As I have explored in relation to Antiform, Tamay and Me, and Bristol Cloth, sustainable practices are varied, and a one-size-fits-all approach is unlikely to succeed. As a society we need to stop promoting the broken narrative that everything is disposable.

Fast fashion allows for planned obsolescence because of increased consumption and micro-trends. The garments themselves need to be an investment for customers. Brands need to provide appropriate facilities for repair and eventual recycling. To transform industry systems, we must first change the culture it thrives on.

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‘Life begins with an inhale and ends with an exhale. In-between we all breathe and live different lives. And yet, each breath keeps us together, connected, sharing the same air.’

Jeppe Hein 91

Gaby Solly

We Breathe

We Breathe is an interactive film installation that connects people through the consideration and embodiment of our universal breath. Participants will be introduced to the piece and helped to put on ‘breathing apparatus’ for the experience. This apparatus consists of headphones and an elasticated chest binder. The headphones will mostly play sound from an accompanying video projection intermittently fading to silence thereby allowing the wearer to hear their own breathing. The binder is just tight enough to enhance the wearer’s awareness of their own breathing sensations and should not be uncomfortable.

The participant will be invited to become part of an ‘exchange of breath’, as they watch a looped film of different people breathing; the focus being on the movement of the shoulders, ribs and torso, from behind. As the soundtrack fades in and out the participant will become aware of their own breathing, and how it compares and aligns with that of others.

I am fascinated by the way we share our breath with all living things. This intimate and integral phenomenon links our physical, emotional and metaphorical being, crossing boundaries of personal space and moving between species. There is potential scope to include animals (and even plants) within We Breathe, but currently I am concentrating on recruiting a diverse group of people who would be happy to be filmed for the project.

We Breathe flows from my previous work Held Breath which considered breath as a metaphor for identity and freedom, within a class of primary school pupils. Both pieces have been made in response to an interdisciplinary research project on breathing and breathlessness run by the University of Bristol and Durham University, called Life of Breath. I will be making We Breathe in collaboration with Film and TV students at Bristol Old Vic Theatre School. The final piece will be shown in February as part of a celebration event at Bristol Museum to close Catch Your Breath - the arts and public engagement element of the Life of Breath project.

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An interview with: 93

The Ken Stradling Collecton

Pictured clockwise from top left: Julia Donnelly, Chris Yeo, David Beech and Janet Brinnand and interviewers Georgia Collins, Becca Cairns and Eleanor Finlay Photographs of the Ken Stradling Collection

by Madga Nowak

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Was the collection accumulated through conscious choice?

Chris Yeo: Ken never set out to be a collector. His desire to collect has come as a result of his role as a buyer, and as managing director for the Bristol Guild of Applied Art. ‘The Guild’ (as it is known, locally), had a very wide material scope, and was expanded

by Ken in the 1950s, 60s, and 70s. It has changed a lot since then; originally, it was one of only a handful of places in the UK that was selling such products.

His own collection has come about through his vision for ‘The Guild’.

Though he officially retired in 1997, Ken never really took a day off work; in 2007 he set up the Charitable Trust, which maintains the collection. Today, Ken’s role as Chairman, as opposed to Managing Director, means that he can pursue his own interests in the field of design. Items are still purchased by Ken for the Stradling Collection that are reminiscent of the sort of objects that were bought for The Guild.

You describe education as being “at the heart” of the collection, with handling of the objects being welcomed. How do you achieve this whilst preserving the objects?

C.Y.: Here, at the collection, Ken would make announcements to groups when I was doing tours.

He would say: “go and pick anything up, and if it gets broken then it gets broken”! And we did have some damage caused in that way. To remain true to Ken’s vision and philosophy, we have the ‘handling collection’.

Usually about 75-80% of items in a museum collection never come out of the basement; they’re in the reserve collection, or in specialist drawers.

That is perhaps true to a lesser degree with us, but it [the handling workshop] gives our reserve collection a new lease of life, which means that we can actually fulfil Ken’s vision. Upstairs, with the more important pieces, objects can be handled, but it’s within a more controlled environment.

David Beech: When we lend objects to a school, we do a handling workshop either with a particular group of children, or the staff. One teacher told me

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the other day that she was a bit worried about this: having the objects out for the children to touch; she felt that in her experience, they [the pupils] belong to a ‘throw-away culture’. Yet [as it happened], their attitude was completely different towards these objects, they were handling them very carefully, and they were very delighted and thrilled to be given the opportunity to handle them.

Does conservation play a big role in preserving the collection?

C.Y: Because of the objects we’ve got here are, in museological terms, fairly recent, it’s “light-touch” and preventative conservation. This involves making sure that things aren’t in direct sunlight, aren’t displayed above radiators, and don’t get knocked Furthermore, the handling workshops ensure objects are picked up properly.

How are the items catalogued?

C.Y.: When I arrived (in 2009), nothing was catalogued. Previously, I’d worked in auctioneering.

In those days, I lived in the flats [adjacent to the Stradling/Guild]. Ken was one of my clients from the auction rooms. One day, I was walking past [the Guild] and he was putting out leaflets for this fabled collection, which everyone knew about but no one had ever seen. So I grabbed one and tapped Ken on the shoulder and said “hello Mr Stradling, do you remember me?”. The next day I had a guided tour of the collection. I found out that it hadn’t been catalogued at all. I offered my services- starting on a voluntary basis- for cataloguing. Eventually, that led to me becoming curator.

I came in and it was a total blank canvas. I started off cataloguing the collection in the way that I had learned from working in auctioneering, which is the Christies standard method for museum cataloguing: identifying an item, a material, a technique, a shape, a maker, a designer, a date, and also a value. From there, we wanted to make it more official. We got the Adlib Museum Lite package installed, so I was taking the information we had and transferring to the new system. With many of the objects we started from scratch using Adlib.

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How many people do you need to run a collection of this size?

C.Y.: We have a team of volunteers and two parttime employees: Julia and Chris, as curator.

Please could you tell us about your education and outreach program, which is such an integral part of the work that you do at the collection?

D.B: We have the handling workshops that we give to teaching staff and children. It is difficult for classes of school children and large groups to access the collection because of the location and space. By visiting schools to give workshops we are not limited by the space or equipment needed.

Janet Brinnand: We would like to have a computer in the gallery upstairs so that students can access the collection electronically. Students and people who are interested in the collection should and must be able to access it.

D.B: We also offer work experience to students at SGS college. They devise their own workshops based on objects in the collection and deliver them to schools. By doing so they act as ambassadors for further education, or a career in the arts. We are about to start working with teachers in training at the Olympus Academy Trust – They will use the collection to develop a teaching program for their student teacher placements. This is also another way qualified teachers can learn about the collection. The wonderful thing about working in education here is that no matter anyone’s project or topic at school, you can pick out an object that will support it. It’s a great place to work.

How does the education programme support disadvantaged children?

D.B: One of the barriers for children from disadvantaged backgrounds is not being able to progress to higher education. They are unaware of what is involved in a university education and can be alienated from mainstream culture. We have recently put in a bid for funding to Bristol City Council so we can exhibit students’ work. It is really important that we bring their work into the gallery and show it publicly. We encourage the students’

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families to visit the exhibitions, so that they see their children’s work alongside pieces from the collection that inspired the exhibition.

Are there any groups of people that you would like to work more closely with?

Group: We are interested in all groups of people, everyone! We focus on people who are not properly represented in the arts. If people’s voices aren’t heard, then our society is in danger of disintegrating.

You recently required funding from the Arts Council, how do you intend to use this funding?

J.B: The grant from the Arts Council was for the Bauhaus in Bristol exhibition directly, but they were very generous, and we have been able to use this money to improve the facilities of gallery (including a new loo!) The grant has contributed a lot to the work we do overall. It has made the gallery more accessible, but there is more we want to do, such as wheelchair access, which we are working on.

Have you received a similar sort of grant before, and if so what did you use it for?

J.B: In 2013, the Heritage Lottery gave us £25,000, and that really was a start-up grant. It was instrumental in that it allowed the trust to employ Julia and Chris on a two day a week, part time basis, and essentially to run it. It’s very difficult to get core funding, for your core staff and the core costs. Investors to want to fund a project once, so it has a beginning and an end date, not continuously.

So, sustainability is always an issue, but we have worked closely with the Gane trust for the last few years.

Tell me more about the support from the Gane Trust?

C.Y: For us it’s been highly beneficial. What we do at the KSC, is what Crofton Gane, who formed the Gane trust, would be championing if he were still here. The Gane trust are aware of that and that is why they have been so supportive in the past and continue to do so.

J.B: The Gane trust is very important actually, it’s an unusual trust in that it makes fairly small grants to individuals to extend or help them further a career in the arts and anybody is free to apply and it particularly focuses on the South West of England.

Ken was chairman of the Gane trust, which was a voluntary role he took on. So, the grant we were giving has not been huge but it’s been pretty critical. KSC trustees are looking into sustainable funding models now.

Could you expand on your future plans?

J.B: We are managed by a board of trustees, and the board of trustees are diverse, so there are stresses and strains within the board because everybody has different priorities. Independence is incredibly important for the trustees. So if we go into partnership with anybody who might fund the core costs of running this organisation it is absolutely critical that we retain independence. So, it is a bit of a balancing act. We are looking at other organisations that have faced similar problems, to help us establish a pathway to being sustainable in the future.

Julia Donnelly: And I think the education work is crucial to that. It’s what we are all about really.

C.Y: Within the organisation, it’s not just purely David’s valuable work with schools and colleges, but it’s the public as well. It’s the exhibitions that we do, everything that we do is for education.

J.D: We’ve reached such a large audience with the Bauhaus in Bristol exhibition, we aimed to get 500 through the door, September to the end of January, and we got over 1,000 visitors, which is really good because we are only open two days a week.

How are exhibitions like that handled by KSC? J.D: We have a fantastic Friends of the Collection.

It started out when we first opened to the public in 2014. It’s a yearly membership fee, of £20 for adults, £30 for couples and there’s a student one for £5.

That’s a good supportive role. Also, we are always looking for more volunteers; we currently have 24 who are on rotation.

issue three

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Is Adaptable Wear the Key to Inclusivity in the Fashion Industry?

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issue three

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Please be aware that this is a student publication. Efforts have been made to credit the images featured.

Concerning students’ images: all copyright lies with the individual.

Acknowledgements Alexandra Owen Alice Tillotson Amanda Bonney Amanda Hall Andrew Banda Becca Cairns Benji Appleby-Tyler Caroline O’Brien Charlotte West Chloe Pugsley Claire Clark David Beech Dominic Hall Thomas Eleanor Finlay Elenya Knops Ella Unuvar Elly Morris Emily Patterson Farinaz Pourebtehaj

Fern Baldwin Fleur Hewitt Gaby Solly Georgia Collins Harri Nourse Harriet Jackman Ian Thomas India Honeyball Jack Lewdjaw James Rubery Jamie Reid-Sinclair Janie George Jasmin Marron Jasmine Eckett Jay Whitby Jessica Thomas Jo Kear Jon Chmielewski Katherine Bulmer

Paper Stock:

Cover: Oxygen Recycled 300gsm Pages: Oxygen Recycled 120gsm Heidelberg Anicolor 52

Printing: No lamintation Perfect Bind

Katie Alderman Keira Jocelyn Kerry Lewis Lai-Fan Lee Laura Edmunds Lee Hodges Louise Franklin Lucy Bates Lucy Goodson Lydia Wooldridge Magda Nowak Mags Murphy Mark Samsworth Megan Lambert Michelle Goddard Mike Griffin Ming Green Natasha Hook Oli Timmins

Ollie Kent Pam Stockwell Patricia Crystal Rachael Illsley Rachel Toon Ronja Thielmann Rosie Ford Ryan Cater Sam Beasor Sarah Jose Simona Dlugosova Tamsin May Tash Bisp Tim Southall Valeria Labruna Vera Boele-Keimer Wesley Owen Will Bertram Zoe Shaw

Qottab Pastry Farinaz Pourebtehaj

Ingredients

In a large bowl, whisk the oil and egg yolks until fully combined.

½ cup vegetable oil 2 egg yolks 1 tbsp icing sugar 1 tsp ground cardamom 1/2 cup plain yogurt 1 2/3 cup plain flour 1 tsp baking powder Walnut filling:

Add in icing sugar and cardamom. Whisk well until everything is combined.

Whisk the plain yogurt into the mix.

Using a wooden spoon, add the flour and baking powder until the batter forms a dough.

Place the dough in a bowl and cover with cling film and a tea towel. Set aside for 2 hours.

Grind the walnuts in a blender or food processor.

1 cup walnuts 1/3 cup icing sugar

Mix with the icing sugar and ground cardamom.

1 1/2 tsp ground cardamom Flour the work surface well and roll out the dough to a thickness of 3.5cm.

Fold it in half, and then fold it in half again (so you have four layers).

Roll the dough out again, this time to a thickness of 3cm.

Using an 8cm round cookie cutter (or the rim of a glass) cut out circles and set aside.

Place some walnut filling in the centre of the dough circle.

Fold the dough in half and pinch seal the edges by rolling and folding, little by little.

Place the walnut filled pastries on the baking sheet and brush with whisked egg yolks.

Bake the pastries in a pre-heated oven at 1750C for 15 to 18 minutes until golden brown.

Remove from the oven and roll them in icing sugar.