“I’m pulling at the thread of my own tapestry.”
“I’m pulling the thread that binds so I can unravel my own history.”
There is a rumor there was a suffragette in the family, although no one seems to know who she was, because this is oral history and she wasn’t part of the supposed, legitimate, male blood line. Our female histories have been erased by patriarchal structuring, glorifying the ‘father god’ and in turn all ‘fathers.’ Meanwhile mothers and female lineages remain in the shadows.
Researching the Goddess may lead to questions about our own eclipsed mother-lines. Who are we descended from? Why are we, the way we are? It is my belief we cannot be whole when we only know the male half of our histories, the half designed to keep women in the dark, subservient.
I graduated with a degree in Feminism and Fiber Art and wondered what I would ever do with such an education. Feminist Fiber Art is an artistic movement, rooted in the 1960s and 70s, that is currently experiencing a resurgence, finding recognition in major galleries across the world. Using fiber and textiles, and techniques such as felting, quilting, knotting and weaving, Fiber Art set out to challenge gender roles in art, whilst elevating the status of craft, traditionally viewed as a female domain, and therefore seen as less than by the male dominated art world.
Only recently have I appreciated the privilege of being immersed in the dominion of the feminist Fiber Artists, as they shaped our creative and political mind-scape, including: Judy Chicago who laid the dinner table for feminists and the Goddess, challenging patriarchy stitch by stitch; Bauhaus weaver, Annie Albers, whose geometrical creativity annoyed Hitler so much he called her work “degenerate;” postwar Polish, constructivist, Fiber Artist, Magdalena Abakanowicz, who examined existential themes such as the anonymity of the human condition under Communism. The theme of anonymity resonates, because for most of history “anonymous was a woman.”
Fiber Art has always been political. Sewing, weaving and spinning gave women an income and financial independence, so they were mistresses of their own destiny. The Three Fates: Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos, spinning the thread of life, measuring it, setting destiny, then cutting it upon death, illustrate how women once held spiritual dominion over the web of life. Allegories can be made to cutting the umbilical cord, and the powers held by midwives, herbalists, shamans and abortionists.
The word “spinster” derived from “women who spin,” now a derogatory term for unmarried woman, or those judged to be past marriageable age, illustrating how women’s independence and age were demonized.
But we know all this, and what does any of it, have to do with my personal journey? Tracing one mother-line, back to the 18th C, I discover I am descended from Lancashire Cotton Mill owners, where, in the mid-19th century, the suffragette movement in England began. Grassroots activism, the fight for women’s right to vote, started in kitchen table meetings, in working class women’s homes, eventually spreading to women of all classes. Some women peacefully petitioned parliament, others engaged in militant, direct action, and when imprisoned, went on hunger strike.
As Jill Liddington says in her essay Radical Suffragists [1],
“[ ] they earned almost equal pay with men! They were well-organized articulate women – yet all remained disenfranchised.”
I’m starting to see how it is likely there was a suffragette in the family. The fight for women’s rights, that started at the heart of my ancestor’s community, explains why my female ancestors pushed for a high level of education, at a time when most women were being groomed for marriage, and/or the factory floor. Knowledge brings freedom. Feminism, Fiber and Cotton Riots [2] are in my blood.
The role of women weavers fighting for their rights in the English Cotton Towns [2] has illuminated why, Ancient Egyptian Goddess Neith, was a Goddess of warfare, weaving and destiny. Substituting the word “war” for “fighting for rights and survival” makes Her more relatable. Neith’s symbols include crossed arrows and shield; the ankh (symbol of life); the was-sceptre (symbol of power, dominion, and authority); and a weaving shuttle. It appears weaving and female power have been entwined throughout history.
There is a tear in our consciousness that needs stitching. Feminist Weaver Goddesses exist in various mythologies, representing different aspects of female power and creativity. Athena was a Goddess of wisdom, warfare, and weaving. Arachne was a mortal woman who challenged Athena to a weaving contest. She was transformed into a spider, after she hung herself (think spider hanging from a thread), so she could weave for all eternity (remember Athena was a war Goddess who didn’t take weaving challenges lightly). The Hopi, Spider Grandmother, co creator of the Earth, is associated with weaving and medicine [3].
In Celtic mythology, Orchil weaves connections between the Earth and stars. Moon and star Goddess Arianrhod weaves the tapestry of life. Brigid is a Goddess of women’s arts, brewing and midwifery. Brigantia is associated with weaving, fire, healing, and warfare. Nimue is a weaver of spells and Elaine is associated with weaving as a means to transformation.
In Greek mythology it is Ariadne’s thread that helps Thesues escape the Labyrinth. Ariandne is associated with weaving and storytelling and this is why she has become a feminist icon for guiding us out of the labyrinth of our unknown past, so we can piece together our hidden histories.
Fiber Art is about heritage. The political NOW merges with the potential for reviving the suppressed, divine, female strength and creativity, honored by Goddess cultures of the past. The narrative is braided: Suppression, resistance and inheritance entwine.
The word “suffrage” is not rooted in the word “suffering,” although perhaps it should be. “Suffrage” comes from the Latin word “suffragium” meaning “vote.”
My studies in Feminism and Fiber Art were cerebral and sculptural, political and practical. I dyed and printed on fabric, which I used in sculpture, constructing both form and narrative. Never did I step into a room with looms. My reaction to these places was visceral. Perhaps I was tapping into traumatic, ancestral memory: Women in the Cotton Mills, boxed in by mechanical looms, fenced in by the politics of misogyny.
It wasn’t only about walls. These women used their anger creatively, to weave resistance and hope.
I’m a firm believer in creativity being the path to wisdom. The universe is playful. Destruction is part of the creative process. This is the principle of war and weaving, so pull the thread that binds us. Open those channels. Unravel that old sweater and you will see.
References, citations, further reading
[1] Liddington, Jill. Radical Suffragists, http://www.jliddington.org.uk/radical-suffragists.html]
[2] Smith, Fiona. Wake Up Blackburn, The Struggle for Women’s Right to Vote in Blackburn. Miller. J. Stanley. Blackburn and the Women’s Movement. Quarto pamphlet (P13). May 1975. Harling, Nick. The Cotton Riots of 1878. Cotton Town, https://www.cottontown.org/Politics/Pages/Women’s-Suffrage.aspx
[3] Spider Woman Stories, published by The University of Arizona Press, 1979. ISBN 0-8165-0621-3 “Kokyangwuti”. MythologyDictionary. Archived from the original on 23 October 2013. Retrieved 23 November 2012. “A creator-goddess of the Hopi. Daughter of Sotuknang”