As I was in at the beginning of the current round on
the use of diagrams, in that it was triggered by
Tamara commenting on my comments to her, but haven't
actually posted on it, I thought I should set out what
I was interested in, especially as the subsequent
debate has illuminated some of it.
I think it is fairly obvious that when it comes to
showing how a particular stitch is done, or how some
technique works, a standard diagram can be invaluable,
and not using one where it is appropriate, on grounds
of tradition or authenticity, is counter-productive
and not very sensible at best. It is now as basic and
useful as standard music notation is. For the sort of
recording of laces that Jeri is interested in, it is
nearly ideal, and it is nice to see (latest OIDFA
magazine again) that they want to pursue her idea of
establishing a standard "notation".
The point I had picked on was the one Lorelei made
explicitly, that it does depend on the lace. The
extreme example is, I think, Torchon, where the
designer, patternmaker and maker all can follow a
standard to get the desired results. The designer may
well work with and through diagrams, and the maker who
wants to adapt or redesign a pattern is not going to
be inhibited in any way by the diagram - indeed, it
may well make it easier to substitute one stitch for
another, or devise new stitches, and adapt a pattern
for a different shape or width. Indeed, to continue
the music metaphor, standard diagrams and Torchon go
well together, as they provide most of the information
needed. Some laces can be different - the order of
working may be important, possibly the tension, and
there are only a couple of basic stitches anyway - so
a non-standard notation may be useful - rather as lute
or guitar tablature instantly tells you not only the
note, but which fret of which string to use, something
which standard music does not do as well.
I was considering what I think of as the other
extreme, the "jazz" laces, where the standard notation
may not be as appropriate to describe the whole piece,
and the use of it may inhibit recreating works in the
original tradition. This seems to me to be the case
with the English East Midlands laces, where following
diagrams for the whole piece (not just the odd tricky
bit or unusual filling) stops the worker adapting to
circumstances and adding and throwing out as needed.
It's clear that the designers and patternmakers did
not work from or even to diagrams. Anne Buck's
"Thomas Lester" book makes this quite clear, showing
old partly created patterns, with the motives outlined
first, then the fillings put in, and only then the
holes for the cloth, and then the ground. The ground
grid would not necessarily be that of the fillings -
in general, the angle is often different, and the
ground can be on a larger scale. In the Paisley
pattern in the "Art Trade or Mystery" book, the ground
gets denser in the last inch and a half towards the
footside - the pattern is ten inches at its widest.
It looks very effective, must have been quite a
challenge to work, and I really doubt if it would have
been done on a pattern designed on a grid and produced
with a full working diagram. Some lovely modern
designs use the same grid for fillings and ground, and
this can be a weakness; the honeycomb in a flower
almost always looks better if on a finer grid and more
acute angle, and certainly it is worth considering the
effect of a change.
The only really floral Bucks pattern in Miss Channer's
book (which does use diagrams where appropriate) shows
this; there are two repeats on the pricking and on the
sample - and each repeat is different, and worked
differently! It's in the original and revised
editions of the book, and the differences are I think
best seen in the leaf motive in the ground, though
once you get your eye in, they can be seen elsewhere.
And that's an instruction book for beginners! The
original book is quite emphatic on the need to sort
out what to do on the pricking as you go along, and to
do "repeats" differently if it suits. This did not
all survive into the later editions.
Of course, using diagrams can help. My favourite
example is the eagle cuff on pages 56 and 57 of Anne
Buck's book. The worker clearly hadn't cracked the
wheel ground until she'd worked a fair bit, and if
someone had put something down on paper (or possibly
even marked the pricking) it would not have been a
problem. But you don't really notice that; what does
strike is the liveliness of the working of the birds,
with the denser and more open cloth and the veining
giving them and the lace such life and spontaneity. I
do feel the worker added to the designer's efforts
like a jazz performer, and this dimension would be
lost if a formal diagram had been produced and
followed. Using our different threads, I suspect you
would have to recreate to get the right effect rather
than follow the original thread for thread.
I think the main debate between Tamara and me was
whether it's worth the effort now!
The query was how other laces fitted in here. Dorte's
fascinating account of Tonder's transmission throws
light on that. The one I personally wonder about is
Binche, where the early pieces have a spontaneity in
the grounds, irregular though they are, which I
instinctively (ie no evidence) feel would have been
destroyed by diagrams. Modern lace using Binche
grounds has a different (not better or worse, just
different) feel - the beauty of the grounds comes out
in the large regular areas of them, and the motives
themselves tend to be much stronger instead of almost
dissolving into the grounds. The final effect is very
different. Is there any research which would cast a
light on it, and what do today's makers and designers
of Binche feel?
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