A peek into Iceland’s past and its turf house tradition TURF WARS

Once upon a time, turf houses, or torfbæir in Icelandic, were the pride of Iceland.These unique structures were stamped with the idiosyncrasies of their occupants and nurtured and protected some 30 generations of Icelanders, from the Viking settlement period to well into the 20th century. And while the craft was known throughout Scandinavia and other parts of Europe, nowhere else did turf architecture enjoy such scope and sophistication as it did in Iceland.

With the increase in interest concerning all things Icelandic nowadays, it comes as no surprise that many foreigners just can’t get enough of these fascinating dwellings that once housed an entire nation for 1,000 years. Unlike other parts of the world, where simple and unsophisticated ‘vernacular architecture’, as it is called, was mainly the domain of peasants and the lower classes, turf houses in Iceland made no distinction as to the social class and income of their occupants.

The first settlers to Iceland came from Norway, circa 874 and with them came an existing building tradition that had to be adapted to Iceland’s harsher climate. Turf was plentiful and offered excellent insulation against the elements, and its use in exterior walls and roofing provided a strong and reliable weather resistant barrier.

While the overall layout of the turf house remained fairly congruous and by extension very much in harmony with nature, no two farms were exactly alike. Each family designed their own lla igga E

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living space to suit their needs, as they saw fit. There were no blueprints, but armed with specially adapted tools, the necessary skills and an intrinsic awareness of the task, Icelanders were able to master and refine the craft to such an extent that it has never been duplicated anywhere else in the world.

World climate cooled considerably from 1550 to 1850, during what is generally referred to as the ‘Little Ice Age’. During this time the great Viking halls that the Norse settlers were known for became increasingly difficult to maintain as fuel supplies dwindled. Although some were carefully preserved over the centuries, most were too big and impractical to heat efficiently and had to be divided into more manageable units. A typical farmstead might have been comprised of a central cluster of 10 to 15 smaller rooms connected by passageways with the ‘baðstofa’ at the centre of the house. Another 10 to 15 satellite houses were used for various designated purposes – a cowshed, sheep cotes, horse stables, a smithy, storage lofts, work sheds, chicken coops, and a latrine that were all interconnected and formed what was essentially a tiny hamlet, housing anywhere from 10 to 30 or even 40 family members, hired hands and other workers.

The mid-19th century brought modern features to the more wealthy farms with the addition of wood panelling and flooring, a glass window pane or two and eventually indoor heating in the form of dried peat-burning stoves. The poor, on the4

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While many of the rooms are sparsely decorated, in Christine’s home you get the impression that everything has been placed there mindfully, and with purpose. Casting your eye around, you can’t help but notice the striking religious iconography around the house; large wooden crucifixes; pictures of Jesus Christ printed onto wide linen wall hangings; old statues of Ganesh and Buddha. Arguably some of the most extraordinary features are the number of large wooden angels on wooden plinths in her living room and bedroom. ‘These old wooden angels are perhaps 200 years old. Each piece is like an anima, and it brings life, I think, whether it’s this angel or an old fabric. If it comes from a chapel or a church, it has a certain kind of history. If a lot of people have prayed around this angel you can feel it. It has a good aura and brings with it this feeling of positive energy.’

Christine’s deference to a spiritual life force echoes all around her home and work. She points at some sitting cushions in her living room. ‘These pillows I made out of French nightshirts. I look at these nightshirts and ask myself what kind of history they have. They are very old and hand woven.When I look at them, I see the person who wove the fabric, then the person who wore it, and the person who stitched the monogram by hand. This is the whole history of this one garment. Then I can make something totally new out of it, while the history is retained inside of the piece. It makes it unique and precious. Like a treasure.’ 4

SHOP TALK NO 8 Jane Audas goes shopping at egg

There are some small temples to shopping that have weathered high street trends, fickle fashion and inclement retailing forecasts. egg, on the tucked-back pretty mews Kinnerton Street in London, is one of the few.

Maureen Doherty is the doyenne of egg. Ahead of her time with her lifestyle shop selling clothing and homewares that opened in 1994, she has continued to trade quietly ever since. Most importantly, her clothing vision has endured. egg have customers that have been with them since the beginning: they still design and manufacture shapes they sold originally, but that have gradually evolved in terms of new fabrics and colourways. A new collection at egg will be as much about subtle colour and fabric changes or new button details, as new shapes and collaborations.

Shopping at egg is the opposite of high street rush and disposability – where you buy it, wear it and throw it away. At egg, the space itself is white and textured and they have left, if not enhanced, the original features of the building. It is an especially nice place to visit in the winter as smells and sounds stroke your senses. Knitwear in great colours stacked just so; socks and mittens and bobble hats and tactile woven and knitted scarves; and a real fire upstairs to warm your cockles. As you go around the shop and touch the merchandise you realise all of their fabrics have a subtle feel and sound to them as well. The rasp of silk taffeta, the uneven stroke of quilting, the hiss of glazed and waxed cottons and the murmur of moleskine.The moleskine, by the way, is in the form of a capacious off-white skirt with a real crinoline underneath.

Dotted among things to wear are things to use at home: from plain black A4 Daler Rowney notebooks and small boxes of pretty art pastels, to the book Wabi Sabi by Leonard Koren. Then there is the joy of plain and simple and exquisite craft pieces: Scottish kilt pins next to silver hammered beakers by William Welstead, and Murano glass tumblers and spoons by Yali.

The clothes are the stars of this show, however. They are either designed and manufactured by egg or by complementary labels like Apunto, Casey Casey, Ricorrrobe and Sara Lanzi. The egg look might be described as artisanal. Not tailored, but loose. Not darted, but pleated with drawstrings. Not short, but calf length. Not zips, but self-covered buttons. Layered and draped and gathered, the clothes are designed to work with each other, on top of each other. Customers can add new purchases to old purchases and it will all work together. And most of the items have pockets, which is glorious.

egg came late to the web. For years, their presence was just a simple holding page but they are now selling online in their own minimal and understated way. It can’t be denied that shopping at small expensive shops tucked away in rarified places can be intimidating. Most of their customers, they tell me, are ‘strong women’ who won’t be told what to wear or where to buy it. My suggestion, if you are keen but wary, is to think of egg as a gallery where you can touch the art, try it on, look at the inside seams, admire the handwork and, if you are lucky, buy it. Jane Audas p48-49

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IN THE WARS

Looking back at the essential role of baskets during World War One

Picture a World War One soldier transporting shells by packhorse to the front line in protective cases of woven cane. Basketry may seem at odds with war, almost impractical; but in Britain it was integral to the war effort.

The Basketry Then and Now project, runs from the University of Hertfordshire Everyday Lives in War Centre, has recently given basketmakers a chance to reflect on the legacy of the First World War. Early industrialisation drove the UK basketmaking industry – and its apprenticeship system – that went on to supply the armed forces in huge quantities.To meet the demand, an industry developed of willow growers who planted and harvested the fields, graded and boiled the willow, stripped, bundled, sold and transported crops.

While the demand for baskets on the home front and the front line increased, pressure was felt by men to join the forces. After conscription was introduced in 1916, employers had to make a good case if they wanted to retain their employees. Factories such as Dryad in Leicester (a name now synonymous with supplying materials for hobby crafts but which then specialised in manufacturing cane furniture) were completely turned over to weaving artillery shell cases and woven seats for aeroplanes. These chairs, terrifyingly flimsy-looking to our eyes today, had to be extremely light to prevent the early planes breaking up in flight. The total weight of a Sopwith Camel aircraft was 650kg, and 58,000 WW1 aircraft were produced in total, some requiring passenger seats as well. 4

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Left and below; Willow Pigeon Basket, 65 x 25 x 80cm

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COHABIT stunning interiors beautifully photographed 48 TURF WARS A peek into Iceland’s past and its turf house tradition by Elaine Marie Valgarðsson, photography by Sigríður Ella Frímannsdóttir 72 WITH THE GRAIN Christine Mayer’s orthodox home in Berlin by Anne Parsons, photography by Anne Schwalbe 54 WOOL CLIP Wool working with Ásthildur Magnúsdóttir by Maggie Wilson, photography by Sigríður Ella Frímannsdóttir

EVENTS dates for your diary 24 March 2018, Appliqué and Embroidery with Natalie Chanin, London, UK, £200, www.selvedge.org 14 April 2018, Illustrative Stitch with Sue Stone, London, UK, £130, www.selvedge.org

WIN gifts and offers for our readers 83 PRIZES THIS ISSUE A set of Laine Saint-Pierre Embroidery Threads from Loop, worth £234 www.loopknitlounge.com A cashmere scarf from egg, designed by William Welstead, worth £280 www.eggtrading.com A blanket and cushion from Oleana, worth €515 www.oleana.no

INFORM the latest news, reviews and exhibition listings

05 BIAS /CONTRIBUTORS A letter from the founder, Polly Leonard and comments from our contributors 07 NEWS Margo Selby at the Huguenot Museum, new Ecco transparent leather, May Morris at the William Morris Gallery, Anne Morrell - Chasing Tensions, Christiane Smit, and Caitlin Hinshelwood 84 READ Ptolemy Mann reviews: Navajo Weavings with Ceremonial Themes, by Rebecca Valette and Jean-Paul Valette. Sophie Vent reviews Legendary Authors & The Clothes They Wo r e , by Terry Newman, Harper Collins. 86 VIEW Diligence and Elegance: The Nature of Japanese Textiles at the Textile Museum of Canada, Toronto, reviewed by Natalia Nekrassova. Botanical

Wonders: Flower Figure Quilts at Columbus Museum of Art, reviewed by JoAnn Greco. The BP exhibition – Scythians: warriors of ancient Siberia at the British Museuem 95 COMING NEXT The Japan Blue Issue: The Colour of Culture. 96 SWATCH Favourite Fabric No 40: Nordic Knitting, illustrated by Thomas Radclyffe

SELVEDGE ('selvid3) n. 1. finished differently 2. the non-fraying edge of a length of woven fabric. [: from SELF + EDGE]

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