The allure of lace - a
brief history
By Elizabeth Keysian
For
me, understanding lace was a bit like Monty Python‘s quest for the Holy Grail –
one minute I thought I’d “got it”, the next I hadn’t; and
there seemed to be plenty of Frenchman (and Italians, and Belgians) thumbing
their noses at me along the way. And in the end I discovered it was a pointless
quest and I was mad enough to be put away for good.
And
yet, the allure of lace was so strong, I’ve had to keep trying. Antique
handmade lace is complex, valuable, and mindbogglingly time-consuming to make
(it takes approximately 10 hours to make one square inch of a fine Honiton
lace). I really wanted to understand how a textile art that essentially began
with cutting holes in perfectly good pieces of linen became so popular.
I
also wanted to be able to shout at TV costume dramas, “That type of lace is
completely wrong for the Regency, you idiots.” Because it usually is. Handmade
lace is so varied, one can not only work out roughly which quarter of what
century it was made, one can also tell the provenance. We had a flourishing and
varied lacemaking industry in this country (Great Britain) in the late 18th and
19th centuries. And if we weren’t happy with our own products, we could smuggle
in the really valuable stuff from Flanders or Italy. Such illicit importation,
cheerfully known by its operators as “free trade”, was rife during the maritime
blockade against Napoleon Bonaparte. I made much use of this fact in my Regency
romantic adventure, “A Perilous Passion”, where the hero and heroine first meet
when she spots some contraband lace floating in the sea. He thinks she’s about
to drown herself...which is where the fun and games begin.
So
how did lace originate? It is akin to embroidery really – it’s what happens
when one removes the background fabric from parts of the embroidery. Or one can
just cut shaped holes in the fabric (generally finely woven linen) and then
infill those gaps. This is a form of lacemaking called “cutwork” and one of the
earliest styles of lace, Italian Reticella, was made this way. Below are two
examples I photographed in the Burano lace museum in Venice. They are late 16th
or early 17th century and both include human figures in the design. The edges
of the cut cloth are secured with buttonhole stitch to stop them fraying.
Buttonhole is the main type of stitch used in what is known as “needle” lace.
The remaining areas of fabric are held in position by needle-made “bars“ or “brides”.
Gradually
this early form of lace developed into a self-supporting textile, as can be
seen in the next pair of images.
Cutwork reticella lace. |
At
this stage in its evolution, triangular pointed edges were popular but patterns
for lace changed with the fashions.
Venetian Reticella lace. |
Venetian Reticella lace. |
In
the late 16th and early 17th century, metal lace was favoured, made from fine
gold and silver foil, or wrapped thread. Even linen was expensive, and it was just
as important for our aristocratic ancestors to be portrayed wearing lace as it
was jewellery.
The
next image is a close-up of a Venetian needle lace.
One
can see the thick buttonhole stitch edging. The area which, in Reticella lace,
would have contained linen cloth, has now been infilled with different styles
of “clothwork”, all made with a single needle and thread.
As
you can see in the next photo, lace had to be designed before it was made. The
outline of the design is drawn onto thick paper and is overlaid by thick
threads, sewn into place right through the pattern paper and the supporting
cloth beneath. Once the gaps between the outline threads have been infilled
with decorative needlework, the lace can be removed from its backing.
The
Venetian island of Burano developed its own style of needle lace, using a mesh
foundation instead of bars to keep the pattern together. The mesh in the
example below was handmade, as machine-made net did not become available until
the early 1800s. This net or mesh is known as a “ground”. The shape of the mesh
varied depending on the style and provenance of the lace. Burano grounds had a
ladder-like appearance.
Burano lace. |
I had such fun trying to identify the lace collection in the museum where I used to work that I decided to have a go at making my own lace. I thought if I made it, I would understand this textile miracle better. I opted to make bobbin lace, as this looked much easier than needle lace. Needless to say, my novel-writing became so time-consuming, all I ended up doing was covering the lace pillow with fabric, and putting pretty beads on the ends of the bobbins to distinguish them from one another. But I haven’t given up hope of one day taking the project further.
Bobbin
lace can look similar to needle lace unless one knows what to look for, but it
is less likely to have any raised areas than needle lace, and it often features
geometric and repetitive designs.
I
have made my own little collection of bobbin lace, and had a fascinating time
looking at it under the magnifier and trying to work out if it is hand or
machine-made. In general, machine-made lace (from the mid
1800s onwards) has a fuzzy appearance, and it’s hard to follow the path of any
single thread.
This
close-up image of a bobbin “tape lace” shows where the “clothwork”, or woven
areas are joined by “bars”. The other photo is of an
appliqué lace,
where separately made motifs have been applied to a net “ground”.
Appliqué lace. |
The
lace industry of Georgian and Victorian Britain was a tough one for its
employees. The workers were mainly women, but children as young as five could
be employed. Each worker specialised in a particular part of the process, so
the lace could be mass-manufactured. Hours were long, pay was poor, and doing
such fine work in poor light must have been really hard on the eyes. So
although I find this textile beautiful, I remain aware of the agonising toil
that sometimes went into making it.
So,
that’s my swift voyage through the history of lace. I claim the right to have
made mistakes. I really don’t think I understand more than the basics even now;
each time I try to identify some of my lace, I end up more confused than when I
started. If I ever get to make any of my own, I’ll let you know.
A Perilous
Passion
Miss Charlotte Allston's curious nature has always led her to trouble.
This time, she's tangled in a web of traitors and spies and quite literally
swept off her feet by a handsome stranger. But all is not what it seems with
the Earl of Beckport.
The earl is living incognito, hunting a band of smugglers at the center
of a plot for the French to invade England. The enigmatic Miss Allston becomes
a person of interest...and not just in the smuggling case. Passion flares swift
and hot between the two. But when her attempts to help with his secret mission
only endanger it, he must question where her loyalty truly lies.
When Charlotte is captured by the very traitor he's after, the earl must
decide between redemption...and love.
A
stand-alone Regency romantic adventure, with smugglers, spies and a hot
historical hero! “A Perilous Passion” out now from Entangled.
Elizabeth
Keysian
Bestselling
author Elizabeth Keysian adores history and archaeology, and writes romances
that give the reader an experience of travelling back in time.
She
feels very British-despite her Viking ancestry-and loves creating rich backdrops
for her stories based on real places and actual experiences. She used to be a
re-enactor, so has sampled the living conditions, clothing, and smells of the
past. She’s also sampled the food, which was actually pretty good.
Her
characters battle their problems with both tears and laughter, but she always
guarantees them a Happily Ever After, no matter what she’s put them through.
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As someone who knows next to nothing about the production of lace, I found your article fascinating, Elizabeth.I will be sure to have a closer look next time I see a piece of lace!
ReplyDeleteWhat an excellent account. I read it with great pleasure. When I was a child and living in a Victorian house in Tooting there was a piece of unfinished lace lying on a chair in the conservatory still with its bobbins attached.
ReplyDeleteA wonderfully detailed post, Elizabeth, and a very enjoyable read. Living so close to Nottingham with its long history of lace-making, I've always thought I should find out more about how lace is made. Thank you so much for sharing this.
ReplyDeleteThis is such a fascinating post, Elizabeth. I used to know someone who made my the most beautiful lace until the arthritis in her hands put paid to it. She tried to show me how to do it once, but I was all fingers and thumbs!
ReplyDeleteElizabeth, love the sound of your story! It's really intriguing.
ReplyDeleteThe first time I saw lace being made was my first trip to Europe in 1985. My friend and I spent quite a lot of time in Brittany where people come to learn the traditional bobbin lace techniques. Absolutely exquisite stuff but as you say incredibly time intensive. I've been to the museum in Burano - again, just gorgeous!
There is and was also lace made by knitting, crocheting and tatting.
ReplyDeleteYour article was very, very interesting and well researched. Lace covers a very large area of textiles and geographically and in history. Almost becoming a lost art. I read about a school somewhere that still teaching how to make the lace that had been made by hand in that area for centuries. I don't remember where but the netting you talked about was used.