Munch's Daughters: Tracey & Marlene

Edvard Munch / Tracey Emin / Marlene Dumas

 

I.

 

I have a highly intelligent and sensitive friend who loves the work of Norwegian sjelemaler Edvard Munch (1863-1944). 

 

Essentially, that's because Munch was an artist who didn't attempt to objectively capture the world, so much as distort its reality in terms of his own inner turmoil via non-naturalistic colours and swirling, dramatic brush strokes. That's very much his cup of tea.  

 

What's more, Munch gave visual form and expression to a variety of mostly negative emotions - anxiety, loneliness, sorrow, fear, etc. - and that also appeals to my friend as he is psychologically predisposed to exploring (and manipulating) such feelings as a self-confessed dark empath [1].   

 

What irritates me about this particular friend, however, is not his focus on the more morbid, melancholic, and miserable aspects of the human experience - believing these things to be far more profound and poetic than simple happiness - but his refusal to see how Munch has had a (somewhat surprising) but crucial influence on several contemporary female artists, including two that I would like to briefly discuss here: Tracey Emin and Marlene Dumas. 

 

 

II.

 

British artist, Tracey Emin, is probably the most obvious starting point for a post of this kind. 

 

For Dame Tracey openly credits the uncompromising expressionist style of Munch as a formative influence from an early age. If she has adored Bowie for an even longer period of time - and perhaps with an even greater degree of passion - Munch nevertheless comes a close second, Emin confessing that she has been "totally, madly in love" with him and his work since she was seventeen [2].  

 

This devotion culminated in 1998, when Emin created a haunting work titled Homage to Edvard Munch and All My Dead Children.  

 

In this short Super 8 film, the artist lies naked in a foetal position on a jetty in Åsgårdstrand, Norway, close to Munch's former home and a location central to many of his paintings, thereby explicitly linking her own personal trauma - she had undergone two abortions in the early 1990s - directly to his artwork [3]. 

 

The piece featured in the Royal Academy exhibition Tracey Emin / Edvard Munch: The Loneliness of the Soul (18 May - 1 August 2021) [4]. 

 

The exhibition also included a significant number of Emin's paintings - some displayed for the first time - hung alongside a selection of Munch's oils and watercolours. When seen together, "the dark territories and raw emotions that both artists navigate" create a "moving exploration of grief, loss and longing" [5].       

 

More recently, Emin curated the group exhibition Crossing Into Darkness (18 Jan - 12 April, 2026) at the Carl Freedman Gallery in Margate [6], which again featured works by Edvard Munch. Emin provides an excellent description of this exhibition:

 

"Crossing Into Darkness brings together a group of artists whose works confront the darkness inherent in human experience, not as something to be feared but as a necessary threshold toward renewal. In times marked by upheaval and uncertainty, this journey feels both universal and deeply personal." [7]

 

She continues (in clichéd quasi-religious language that I find problematic, to say the least, even if my friend mentioned earlier enthusiastically gobbles up this sort of guff):

 

"I feel that we have to cross into darkness to find light. I’d like this show to be very emotionally immersive and people to feel the strength and vibrations within the works. I want people to know that art isn't just something that you look at. That it has a deeper purpose and can penetrate all souls." [8]

 

One of the twenty or so artists contributing to this project is the South African born painter (now based in Amsterdam) Marlene Dumas ... [9]

 

 

III. 

 

Dumas - whose work I have previously discussed on Torpedo the Ark [10] - is another artist who might be described as a daughter of Munch, although she's less of a daddy's girl than Emin. 

 

In other words, her relationship with Munch isn't quite so intense and intimate and she enters into a more intellectual and technical dialogue with the latter, although, like Emin, she is known for her expressive, psychologically charged works exploring themes of human vulnerability and sexuality [11].  

 

For Dumas, Munch is primarily a modern storyteller who used paint to convey emotion - including love and passion, not just angst - rather than merely represent forms. And like him, she also likes to think her canvases have a tale to tell, but, where Munch uses swirling, heavy oil paint, Dumas often employs a ghostly, ink-wash technique. 

 

This can clearly be seen in her 2018-2019 exhibition, Moonrise: Marlene Dumas & Edvard Munch, at the Munch Museum, in Oslo. By placing her washed-out pictures alongside his more vibrant oils, she obliges us to see Munch as a direct ancestor to the way contemporary artists still struggle to capture the shame and desire of being human. 

 

Interestingly, one of the things Dumas was keen to do in this show, was deconstruct some of the more dated (and arguably misogynistic) myths and stereotypes of womanhood that Munch reinforced in his works such as Vampire (1893) - a picture Dumas admits she found particularly problematic [12]. 

 

And that does make one wonder quite why it is so many female artists - not just Emin and Dumas, but also Louise Bourgeois and Maria Lassnig, for example - seem so attracted to Munch and ready to buy into his romantic mythos. 

 

It's a question addressed by the art historian Patricia Berman ... [13] 

 

 

IV.

 

Berman argues that despite being "one of modern art's foundational misogynists", Munch's willingness to reveal his more feminine side and paint his pain has ironically made him a spiritual mentor to "generations of women who explore the body and memory, and the body as memory, in their art". 

 

Munch, it is said by his female champions, displays "a vulnerability rarely acknowledged by a man" and has an empathy with women that allows him to intuitively understand something of their inner life; Munch is seen as an ally or, as Emin once said, a friend in art. 

 

Obviously, I smiled when reading this; doesn't Tracey know that not only must we find it within our hearts to love our enemies, but also learn how to hate our friends [14] - and that empathy comes in various shades, some of which - as we noted earlier - are very dark indeed?  

 

  

Notes

 

[1] A dark empath is a term coined in a research paper published in 2021 by Nadja Heym and her colleagues to describe a more devious (and arguably more dangerous) form of narcissist; one who is highly attuned to another person's thoughts and feelings and uses this skill in order to manipulate and further their own goals. 

      The study concluded that being empathic doesn't necessarily make someone a good human being - especially when, beneath their charm and intelligence, they also harbour aggressive psychopathic tendencies.  

      See Nadja Heyem et al, 'The Dark Empath: Characterising dark traits in the presence of empathy', in the journal Personality and Individual Differences Vol. 169 (Feb 2021). It can be downloaded as a pdf from the Nottingham Trent University website click here.    

 

[2] See the video posted on the Royal Academy YouTube channel (6 Dec 2020) in which Emin introduces a carefully considered selection of Munch's paintings alongside her own works in the exhibition Tracey Emin / Edvard Munch: The Loneliness of the Soul (18 May - 1 August 2021): click here.  

[3] My favourite description of this work is by Patricia Berman (see note 13 below): 

      "The dreamy setting of water, sky and the artist's coiled naked body is abruptly shattered by a horrific scream that seems to go on forever. Although the film is only one minute long, the scream enters and shakes you to your very core, resonating like an afterimage. It calls forth Munch's most famous motif, The Scream, animating it and reinventing it."

 

[4] For details of the exhibition, an image gallery, further reading, and a virtual tour, please visit the RA website: click here.  

 

[5] I'm quoting here from the press release for the Royal Academy exhibition, which can also be found on the website via the above link.  

 

[6] For details of the exhibition, etc., please visit the Carl Freedman Gallery website: click here. 

 

[7] Tracey Emin, quoted on the Carl Freedman Gallery website linked to above. 

 

[8] Ibid.

 

[9] Dumas's inclusion in the exhibition is titled Utøya (2018-23); a medium-sized oil painting that deals with memory and tragedy, darkness and rebirth. This work can be viewed on the Frith Street Gallery website: click here. 

 

[10] See the post titled 'Marlene Dumas: Mourning Marsyas' (13 Nov 2024): click here.  

 

[11] If perhaps less intimate and intense, Dumas's relationship with Munch is just as long-standing as Emin's. She first encountered the astonishing lithograph series presenting his version of the creation myth - Alfa og Omega (1908-09) - at the Munch Museum in 1981, for example; an experience she later documented in her book, Omega's Eyes: Marlene Dumas on Edvard Munch (2019). 

      For Dumas, the great thing about Munch's work is its honesty and directness - particularly when it comes to the portrayal of bodies; he was not just concerned with psychological states, but with the physical character of touch and physical sensation (of what it feels like to kiss or to cry). 

 

[12] Munch was obsessed with the idea of the femme fatale and explored this theme throughout the 1890s, using the vampire archetype to depict women as dangerous and seductive creatures who would not only break hearts but drain men of their life-force (presumably he was projecting his own male anxieties and sexual fantasies).

      See, for example, the iconic Symbolist painting Vampire (1893) - originally titled 'Love and Pain' [Kjærligkeit og Smerte] - which depicts a red-haired woman kissing (and/or biting) a man's neck: click here. 

 

[13] See Patricia Berman, 'Munch's influence on women artists', RA Magazine (Autumn 2020) and available on the Royal Academy website (20 Oct 2020): click here. Berman is a Professor of Art at Wellesley College, Massachusetts and an expert in Scandinavian art. All quotes in section IV of this post are taken from this essay (as is the quote used in note 3 above). 

[14] Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, 'Of the Bestowing Virtue' (3). 

 

 

And Hate Shall Set You Free

And Hate Shall Set You Free 

SA von Hell after William Blake (2025) [a]

 

  

I. 

 

"We hate old friends: we hate old books: we hate old opinions; and at last we come to hate ourselves." [b] 

 

That's a great line from Hazlitt: far more philosophically profound and liberating than the Christian idea of learning to love one's enemies and the Californian injunction to love the self.   

 

Love binds: but it's hate that shall set you free; free from the expectation of those who think they know you best and oblige you to remain the person you've always been; free from ideas and viewpoints that have become fixed and congeal into forms of doxa or harden still further into dogma; free from a model of self born of internalised cruelty that some think of as an essential soul and others discuss in terms of subjective identity.  

 

 

II. 

 

Of course, it's difficult breaking from old friends and family members (unless they die or conveniently move far away). Nevertheless, it can be liberating to both parties to encounter one another once more as strangers (an acquaintance of mine once told me that he never loved his wife more than after their estrangement and subsequent divorce).    

 

The fact is, times change and we change and whilst some old friendships can last a lifetime, other friendships become "cold, comfortless, and distasteful" [131] like a plate of cold meat served up over and over again and even if we would like to revive old feelings that's impossible: "The stomach turns against them." [131]  

 

 

III. 

 

Perhaps it's even more difficult breaking from the authors one has loved; even when fully aware that one rewards great teachers not with loyalty but infidelity and by reading them against themselves; giving them over, as Hazlitt says, to the dissecting-knife or opening them up to ridicule [c].  

 

And great books must also be laid aside at some point and allowed to gather dust [d] - even become a little worm-eaten and mouldy. For as Nietzsche writes somewhere or other, it says nothing against the greatness of a spirit - or, in this case, a book - that it contains a few worms; corruption is a sign of maturity or ripeness and doesn't diminish overall value [e].  

 

IV. 

 

"As to my old opinions, I am heartily sick of them. I have reason, for they have deceived me sadly." [135] 

 

Again, I know exactly what Hazlitt means: old ideas and old beliefs that I once subscribed to in all sincerity at the very least embarrass today; words I once used to identify myself - punk and pagan, for example - "are become to my ears a mockery and a dream" [135].  

 

A true philosopher, says Nietzsche, cannot belong to any church or party that requires members to have moral convictions or political principles; for a philosopher is someone who burrows their way into a body, through it, and out the other side and never holds on to even their own ideas for too long, for this would imply that one could know oneself well enough to trust one's own thoughts and that simply isn't the case:

 

"We are unknown to ourselves, we knowers [...] We remain strange to ourselves out of necessity, we do not understand ourselves, we must confusedly mistake who we are [...]" [f] 

 

Hazlitt appears to find this lack of self-knowledge good cause for self-contempt; "mistaken as I have been in my public and private hopes [...] always disappointed where I placed most reliance [...] have I not reason to hate and to despise myself?" [136]

 

But then he adds an amusing final twist:  "Indeed I do; and chiefly for not having hated and despised the world enough." [136]

 

 

Notes

 

[a] The phrase hate shall set you free is obviously playing on the well-known biblical line: 'And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free' (John 8:32 KJV). 

      Ever quick to point out the bleeding obvious and display it's moral colours, the Google AI assistant was keen to inform me that the phrase 'hate shall set you free' is neither a universally recognised nor an accepted statement and that the original saying is emphasising the liberating power of truth, not hate: 

      "While some may interpret it to mean that rejecting societal norms or expectations (through hate or defiance) can lead to liberation, it's crucial to understand that this interpretation is not a standard or positive one." 

      If I were Tracey Emin, I may have been tempted to write the phrase 'hate shall set you free' in the form of a neon sign, but - as I'm not Tracey Emin - I've simply added it the text to William Blake's 'Albion Rose', which can be found in A Large Book of Designs (1793-96). 

      I'm sure he wouldn't object; for Blake acknowledges the vital importance of hate as well as love within human existence by arguing that: "Without contraries there is no progression." See the Argument that opens The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (1790-93).       

 

[b] William Hazlitt, 'On the Pleasure of Hating', essay in The Plain Speaker: Opinions on Books, Men, and Things, originally published anonymously in two volumes, in 1826. 

      I am quoting from the text as it appears in Volume 7 of The Collected Works of William Hazlitt, ed. A. R. Waller and Arnold Glover (J. M. Dent and Co., 1903), p. 130, which was published as an eBook by Project Gutenberg in 2018: click here. Future page references to Hazlitt's essay will be given directly in the text.

 

[c] Hazlitt is right to say that we are aided and abetted in this by the fact that sometimes our favourite writers suddenly become fashionable and subject to an outpouring of academic analysis: 

      "The popularity of the most successful writers operates to wean us from them, by the cant and fuss that is made about them, by hearing their names everlastingly repeated, and by the number of ignorant and indiscriminate admirers they draw after them." [133]

     

[d] Even Hazlitt has some reservations about this; surely, he says, "there are some works, that, like nature, can never grow old and that must always touch the imagination and passions alike!" 

      Or, at the very least, there are books that contain passages "that seem as if we might brood over them all our lives, and not exhaust the sentiments of love and admiration they excite" [133]. 

      Having said that, however, Hazlitt confesses that, for him at least, any passage - even the most beautiful or stirring - soon becomes vapid if we read or recite it too often (see p. 134).

 

[e] See Nietzsche, Human, All Too Human, trans. R. J. Hollingdale (Cambridge University Press, 1986), Vol. 2, Part 1, Section 353, p. 292.

 

[f] Nietzsche, On the Genealogy of Morality, ed. Keith Ansell-Pearson, trans. Carol Diethe (Cambridge University Press, 1994), p. 3.  

 

 

For a couple of other recent posts inspired by Hazlitt's essay 'On the Pleasure of Hating' - discussing topics including spiders, ghosts, and witches - please click here and/or here.  

 

 

Reflections on the Summer Exhibition at Saatchi Yates: Once Upon a Time in London (2025)

Saatchi Yates: Once Upon a Time in London 

12th June - 17th August 2025 

 

 

I. 

 

Only a few days to go before the summer exhibition at Saatchi Yates [1] comes to a close. So, if you want to see it, you'd better get your skates on ...

 

According to the press release prepared by Purple PR, this group exhibition is a celebration of those British artists who, over the last 70 years, have called London their home and it draws upon the history, diversity and culture of a city that has been "a major artistic crossroad where artists have challenged conventions and redefined the artistic landscape" [2].  

 

Still, don't let that and further clichéd guff about the way in which London has "evolved but remains a constant beating heart of ground breaking art" - or how "the current community of London artists [...] create masterfully painted surreal portraits that delve deep into the human psyche in a post digital world" - put you off, as it was clearly written by an idiot (or perhaps, who knows, generated by artificial intelligence given all the right prompts). 

 

Never prejudge an exhibition by its press release: that's my advice; just go see things for yourself [3]. 

 

 

II. 

 

The problem with a show of this kind, in which very different artists from different eras, working in very different ways and with very different concerns, are placed side by side is that difference is often flattened out in the name of continuity, coherence, and the identifying of correspondences so as to open up a dialogue between past and present: Messrs. Bacon, Freud, and Hockney meet Jadé Fadojutimi and Olaulu Slawn.  

 

Maybe that's a noble goal which, if successfully achieved - and I'm not convinced this show pulls it off - allows us to see how one artist takes up the challenge or initiative of another, albeit in a new context and in a new manner, for a new audience (it's never just solely a question of influence and imitation):

 

"Many things change or are supplemented from one initiative to another, and even what they have in common gains in strengh and novelty." [4]  

 

Rightly or wrongly, however, I suspect that Once Upon a Time in London was conceived and curated more as an opportunity for the gallery "to show off their roster of emerging artists with Saatchi legacy artists as a backdrop" [5].  

 

     

III. 

 

Having said that, there were certainly artists included in the exhibition whose work I'm always happy to see; Francis Bacon and Frank Auerbach, for example. 

 

I particularly liked the latter's vibrant portrait Catherine Lampert Seated II (1991), a medium-sized, predominantly yellow coloured oil on canvas, which sold at auction to a private collector a couple of years ago for £630,000 [6]. 

 

There are other artists, however, whose works I could quite happily live without ever having to look at again; sorry Damien, sorry Tracey.

 

Hirst's Nothing Can Stop Us Now (2006) - part of his Medicine Cabinet series - may, as a concept, interest, but, unfortunately, as an object it bores after a few moments; much as Emin's neon heart - Wanting You (2014) - bores as soon as one has read its message (if not before) [7]. 

 

 

IV.

 

Ultimately, I didn't go to the Saatchi Yates summer show in order to see old works by artists I already knew and like (or knew and disliked), but new works by artists I didn't know of ...

 

Artists such as Benjamin Speirs, whose large porno-surrealist canvas, Metamorphosis (2025), certainly caught my attention when I first walked into the gallery. This was a painting which wouldn't have looked out of place at the Time to Fear Contemporary Art exhibition that I loved so much at Gallery 8 back in March of this year: click here.

 

The red-haired nude figure with a strangely twisted and elongated body was only spoiled for me by the fact she was wearing flip-flops: I hate flip-flops, for the reasons explained in an early post on Torpedo the Ark that can be accessed by clicking here.   

 

I was also quite taken with Danny Fox's Black grape vape, purple tape, Guaguin's cape (2024); a large canvas which not only referenced Guaguin, but also had elements that reminded me of Matisse. I would quite happily hang this on my wall, although if I'd been offered the chance to take but one picture home, it would probably have been Our Vegetative Virgin (2020) by Jadé Fadojutimi ... 

 

Why this one? 

 

Because of the title. Because of the lovely colours. Because I think this young woman (of Nigerian heritage who was born in London and grew up in Ilford) has real talent [8]; her work containing both abstract and figurative elements all cleverly orchestrated and full of a certain exuberance that is hard to resist.

 

I think this description from Rebecca Mead pretty much hits the nail on the head: 

 

"Amid vibrant gashes, iridescent arcs, and urgent lines, a viewer may discern the contours of leaves, flowers, butterfly wings, waves, or suns. But Fadojutimi’s swirling images seem to capture a state of mind as much as they do a state of nature - they are always energetic, and sometimes ecstatic, blooming into color and motion and light. [...] They are an alternative place to dwell." [9]    

 

Despite the obvious speed they are painted at, Fadojutimi's canvases allow one to breathe like little engines of fresh air.  

 

Top Left: Jadé Fadojutimi: Our Vegetative Virgin (2020)

Top Right: Benjamin Spiers: Metamorphosis (2025)

Bottom: Danny Fox: Black grape vape, purple tape, Gauguin's cape (2024)  

 

Notes

 

[1] An independent commercial gallery opened by Phoebe Saatchi Yates and Arthur Yates in October 2020, it is described by Dora Davies-Evitt as the buzziest gallery in London. 

       Since opening its doors five years ago, Saatchi Yates has become the place to be seen for a young crowd of glamorous gallery goers who know how to put the art in party. See 'Once Upon a Time in London: Saatchi Yates heralds a new chapter in British art', Tatler (11 July 2025): click here.

      The Saatchi Yates gallery is at 14 Bury Street, St. James's, London SW1. Visit the website by clicking here.      

 

[2] This from the press release written by Purple PR; a global communications agency who provide services including editorial procurement, product placement, and high profile event management for clients in the worlds of art, fashion, beauty and lifestyle. Visit the Purple PR website for more information: click here. 

      The Once Upon a Time in London press release can be read on the Saatchi Yates website: click here. 

 

[3] Obviously, as a writer trained in the art of the press release by the amazing Lee Ellen Newman, I rarely follow my own advice and usually go straight to any available literature about a show - both promotional and critical in character - in advance of actually looking at the pictures. But it's a habit I'd like to break if possible.  

 

[4] Gilles Deleuze, 'Nietzsche and Saint Paul, Lawrence and John of Patmos', in Essays Critical and Clinical, trans. Daniel W. Smith and Michael E. Greco (Verso, 1998), p. 37.    

 

[5] Nigel Ip, 'Review: Once Upon a Time in London - Saatchi Yates, London', blog post dated 7 July 2025 on nigelip.com: click here. 

 

[6] For more details see the Christie's website: click here. The Lot Essay, detailing the close relationship between Auerbach and Lampert, is particularly interesting. 

 

[7] I didn't realise until visiting this exhibition at Saatchi Yates just how much I dislike Emin's neon signs and the bullshit that surrounds her unflichingly honest and sometimes painfully initimate sculptures. Having said that, I do like her piece entitled My Favourite Little Bird (2015); but then this is a (slightly sentimental) figurative work rather than a conceptual (and confessional) work pushing an overt message. 

      For a far more positive reading of Tracey Emin's neon works, see the article by Erin-Atlanta Argun on myartbroker.com (31 October 2024): click here.     

 

[8] In 2019, Fadojutimi became the youngest artist to have a work placed within the collection of the Tate; I Present Your Royal Highness (2018).   

 

[9] Rebecca Mead, 'The Intensely Colorful Work of a Painter Obsessed with Anime', in The New Yorker (11 November 2024): click here.  

 

 

Weaving a Short Post on Textile Art (With Reference to the Work of Graham Hollick and Others)

Malcolm McLaren and Johnny Rotten as fabricated by Graham Hollick 

in the series Pop Formation (2025) [1] 

 

 

I. 

 

Textile art includes a range of forms, including weaving, knitting, sewing, and embroidery. It has been practiced for many thousands of years and can be functional, decorative, or, indeed, functional and decorative. 

 

Historically, it's usually been seen as a form of folk art associated primarily with women and thus rather looked down upon by those within the (male-dominated) Academy; more craftwork than artwork; requiring skill, certainly, but lacking genius. 

 

I'm pleased to say that this crass distinction - a blatant form of both sexism and snobbery - has become increasingly untenable, thanks to contemporary artists such as Grayson Perry and Tracey Emin, who unapologetically adopt craft techniques and utilise textiles in their own practices [2].  

 

Today, then, we might say that textile art has undergone something of a renaissance. Not only is it now recognised by galleries and museums as worthy of exhibition space, but, by experimenting with new methods and materials, pioneering individuals have radically extended the boundaries of the medium [3].

 

Whether Graham Hollick might also be thought of as pioneering in the field of textile art is, however, debatable ... 

 

 

II.  

 

Hollick graduated from the Winchester School of Art with a degree in textiles and fashion, in 1988. 

 

He only took up rug hooking relatively recently, however, although has since made a name for himself with a traditional craft that essentially involves pulling loops of yarn or fabric through a stiff woven base with a crochet-type hook [4]. 

 

Drawing inspiration from various sources - including street art, found graphics, and the world of masks - Hollick had a solo exhibition entitled Pop Formation at The All Good Bookshop in March of this year, featuring portraits of several iconic figures from the world of music, including Bowie, Prince, Madonna, Boy George, and, as seen here, Messrs. McLaren & Rotten.

 

Now, whilst I'm pleased to see these latter two figures included in the exhibition - particularly Malcolm in his Duck Rock phase - I have to confess I'm a little taken aback by these meticulously rug-hooked renditions (roughly A4 in size and priced at £150).   

  

For without wishing to be ungenerous, it seems to me the works lack something, although I'm not sure what that is; perhaps it's the sex, style, and subversion that McLaren always insisted upon as vital to the punk aesthetic. 

 

Having said that, there is something of the make-do and can-do attitude to Hollick's work - as well as an element of almost humorous naïveté - that was crucial to the look (and politics) of punk. And so it just might be the case that Hollick has actually captured what matters most ...          

 

 

Notes

 

[1] For more information on Graham Hollick and his work, visit his website - click here - or see his Instagram page: click here.

 

[2] Grayson Perry is celebrated for his large-scale tapestries which, whilst depicting scenes from contemporary life, draw on traditional techniques in their making. He has also created a series of embroidered works and sewn items with which he actively attempts to reclaim and elevate textile art. 

      Tracey Emin, meanwhile, is equally well-known for her quilts that often incorporate various personal items and form part of a larger self-narrative. 

      Looking back a bit further into art history, we can probably thank William Morris for being one of the first to challenge the distinction between art and craft in the mid-nineteenth century; for teaching us that the choice of paper we hang on our walls is just as important as our choice of pictures. 

 

[3] Such figures include the American artists Sheila Hicks and Nick Cave ... 

      The former is known for her innovative and experimental weavings and textile sculptures that incorporate distinctive colours, natural materials, and personal narratives. She is particularly fond of producing three-dimensional objects that entice viewers to reach out and touch them. Her pieces range in size from the miniscule to the monumental. 

    The latter, meanwhile, is best known for his Soundsuits; brightly-coloured sculptural costumes incorporating found objects and recycled materials, such as plastic buttons, twigs, feathers, and human hair. These outfits are sewn together and can either be worn, exhibited in a gallery, or even played like a musical instrument (thus the name).

      For more on both of the above - as well as eight other exciting textile artists - see Sarah Gottesman's essay 'Pioneering Textile Artists, from Sheila Hicks to Nick Cave', on artsy.net (31 October, 2016): click here. 

 

[4] Rug hooking is a form of textile art that is believed by some to have originated 200 years ago in the weaving mills of Yorkshire, England (others argue that it developed in the form we know today in North America). 

      Like many similar crafts, it has gained much greater respect in the art world today than in previous times and hookers, as they are known, have been encouraged to explore new materials, design patterns, and techniques. Perhaps the most famous practitioner is Canadian artist Nancy Edell, who introduced rug hooking into her work in the 1980s, using the medium to explore ideas of feminist utopia and the gendering of space.