The Victoria and Albert Museum

Victoria and Albert Museum

Notes from Fashion: Dress in Detail from Around the World

Gold thread is a precious commodity and one of the few materials that dressmakers could not make themselves. Instead, they bought it from specialist producers. They then had to create intricate patterned effects without wasting a single fibre. They often did this by using the ‘couching’ technique, in which the valuable gold thread was secured with tiny coloured stitches, instead of being passed through to the underside. (This note with Eastern European velvet garments with gold trim, 19th century.)

The primary function of pleats and gathers is to control the volume and fullness of fabric, while at the same time producing a garment that is comfortable to wear. But pleating and gathering can also be decorative, or used to create different shapes and silhouettes.

1000 Patterns by Drusilla Cole (that's probably the book that the above quotes are from--I know I didn't write this stuff myself.)

The combination of contrasting fabrics in one garment is common to many cultures, though its purpose may vary. It may be used for a decorative effect, or to make a garment hardier or more comfortable. In some cases, it may be due to a shortage of fabric. In others, it is for religious or symbolic purposes, perhaps to protect the wearer from perceived evil forces or to emphasize a certain area of the body.


I lucked out—the Buddhist and Hindu art happened to be just outside of the Fashion exhibit. I particularly wanted to not only see the Fashion exhibit, but also Eastern art.

Tibet
Dakinis, whose name in Tibetan means ‘skywalker,’ are female deities of the air who initiated or instructed Tibetan yogis on the Buddhist spiritual path toward enlightenment.
[Luke, I am your fairy godmother.]

Vajradhara (a Bodhisattva) is the embodiment of ‘emptiness’ or ‘void,’ the ultimate Buddhist goal, symbolized by the Vajra held in his right hand. The bell (Ghanta), held in the left hand, symbolizes wisdom (Prajna), its sound penetrating the world.’

Indonesia/ Japan

Vasudhara—(means ‘holding the treasure’) the Buddhist Goddess of Abundance—holds vase of gems (Kamandolu), an allusion to the jewel of knowledge, a manuscript (Pustaka) of Buddhist teachings and a stem of grain, indicating both fertility and prosperity. (Four arms)
Earth Goddess
Her attribute: grain of rice. This goddess is associated with Sri Kasmi, with whom she shares a capacity to engage prosperity. The rice attribute of this earth goddess firmly stabilizes the central part agriculture played in the generation of wealth in ancient Java.

Sri Lanka
This country=mainly Hinayana Buddhism (original form)

Nepal
Hindu and Buddhist art
The cultural heart of Nepal is the Kathmandu Valley. This small but prosperous valley drew much of its wealth from the trade which flowed north to Tibetan and south to the plains of India. Its cultural tradition is intimately linked to those of eastern India, as reflected in the Gupta, post-Gupta and Pali styles (4th-12th centuries CE). The production of Nepalese art was largely confined to the Newars, an ethnic group with Tibetan linguistic links. Although mainly Vajrayana Buddhists, the Newars were responsible for the art of all communities, Hindu and Buddhist alike. A consequence of this concentration of art production in one community was a remarkable degree of religious syncretism not seen elsewhere in south Asia, in which motifs and images were appropriated freely to solve common religious ends.

Pakistan: Buddhist Art
Images of the Buddha are often, in Gandharan art, flanked by two attendant Bodhisattvas, Maitreya and Avalokisvara. Bodhisattvas also appear to begin to be worshipped as separate entities. They are distinguished from the Buddha by their princely attire.

India
The protector Mahakala, a violent and vengeful aspect of Siva absorbed by Buddhism as a guardian of the faith (Pharmapala)…Images such as this Mahakala became, in turn, the source for many of the fierce deities of Himalayan Buddhism, the elaborate pantheon of Tibetan Buddhism drawing heavily on the imagery of eastern India.

Nehru Gallery of Indian Art:

The fashion for costume made up from Indian printed cotton began in England, France and Holland in the 1660s. It was especially popular at that time for men’s morning-gowns, and Samuel Pepys records buying one for himself in 1661. By the end of the 17th century, chintz had become fashionable for ladies’ garments, as well, especially in Holland. The accession of William and Mary to the British throne in 1690 gave a boost to Dutch fashions in Britain, and soon all ladies of fashion were wearing chintz material that had previously been favored by their maids.
Even after the introduction of lawn in 1700 and 1720 to stop the massive import of chintzes and other Indian fabrics, they continued to be smuggled into Britain and made up into garments throughout the 18th century. Chintz was imported both in yardage in repeating floral patterns, and as pieces on which the pattern was designed to be made up into specific types of garments, such as dresses, petticoats, banyans (men’s robes), jackets and hat-brims.
Photo—Indian woman’s court costume 1830-40.

Mughal Costume
Men’s costume at the Mughal court was based on the Jama, a tailored gown tied at the side, and the Paijama, tapering trousers which were loose at the top and close-fitting at the lower leg (hey, you can get the pattern from Folkwear!). An elaborate turban (Pagri) was always worn at court, as well as a long decorative waist sash (Patka). Fine Kashmir wool shawls were often draped over the shoulder, sometimes in pairs: a fashion started by the Emperor Akbar.
Mughal women’s dress was also tailored, unlike the basic Hindu garment, the Sari, and also consisted of a long-sleeved gown over trousers. Fine muslin was the most favoured material, often embroidered with silk or gold thread.

Traditional Textiles
The main types of textile decoration in Western India are embroidery, tie-dying, and block-printing. Fine embroidery was, and still is, done by village women for their own families, hangings and covers in the house. The bold and abstract embroidery designs of the desert region often incorporate fragments of mirror-glass to add sparkle.
The dying is carried out by professional dyers in towns, although the tying of the cloth is often done by women and girls in villages. Simple spotted designs are used for women’s’ head-covers, but more complex patterns were also produced in Rajasthan and Gujarat. Zigzag patterns were also formed by folding the cloth before tie-dying are still used for turbans in Rajasthan. Block-printing is done commercially in several centres, and used on many types of costume, such as the full skirts which take the place of the sari in Rajasthan, or as a background for embroidery.

China
Dragon robes, 1700s and 1800s
A special shade of yellow was reserved for use on certain of the Emperors’ clothes. Other members of his household seem to have worn yellow as well. A group of 12 small motifs almost hidden among the patterning on some of the robes might mean that the garments belonged to an emperor. Female members of the imperial family, however, also used them on their gowns. Many more Imperial robes were made than were ever worn, and embroider lengths of robe silk were stored away. After the fall of the Empire in 1911, those lengths were made up into garments and sold. [So basically, we don’t know whether any of the dragon robes in the V&A were ever worn by an emperor.]
Round silver buttons that resemble knots—I have a cheap plastic version that I got on clearance at Joanne Fabrics—glad I got a bunch of them. Same color and size.

Books (I jotted down titles in the museum shop):

Georgian Country House: Architecture, Landscape and Society

Arts of Mughal India: Studies in Honor of Robert Skelton Gail Strongetopsfield

400 Years of Fashion

Followers of Fashion: Graphic Satires from the Georgian Period

European Fashion & Costume: 1490-1790 (Dover Publications)

Lace from the Victoria and Albert Museum

Chinese Silk: a Cultural History

The Corset: a Cultural History Valerie Steele

Buddhist Art and Architecture Robert E. Fisher

Indian Embroidery Rosemary Crill

World of Buddhism edited by Heinz Bechert & Richard Gornbrich

I was ready to leave the shop fifteen minutes before the scheduled time to meet there with my sister, so I darted over to the Chinese exhibit and to the Japanese exhibit. I saw an incredible collection of netsukes.


This evening the weather is, for the first time since we got here, stereotypical London weather: it’s been raining for a few hours, and I can hear a shhh shhh sound of the rain coming down. There’s even thunder and lightning now. I’m really impressed.

AT THE TUBE STATIONS
When you put your Travelcard through the machine that lets you pass through, the doors open with a slam, and they shut with a slam. When there’s a crowd, this makes for a lot of crashing, slamming noise, almost to the point that you don’t hear anything else. But you also hear disembodied, echoing voices telling you things like “Please have your cards ready,” and talking about any delays or keeping track of your possessions. And “Mind the Gap” is indeed important when you get to the platform. Sometimes the voice says, “Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”


NOISE-- Sometimes there’s little point of trying to converse because of the noise in London. If we’re walking on the sidewalk, our voices are drowned out by the traffic (except at, say, one in the morning). If we’re walking along a subway tunnel, the many clopping feet and the disembodied and echoing voices drown our voices out. If we’re standing or sitting on an underground train, it is rattling away loudly, rattle, rattle, and rattle, not to mention shaking.

Standing on the platform and waiting for the subway train, we’ll hear it roaring before we can see it. I like to look at the entrance of the tunnel, and soon I see two lights, from the two glowing white/yellow lights at the front of the train—they’re like eyes. And the train approaches, with those glowing eyes, roaring away, moving swiftly like a dragon emerging from its cave. It gradually slows down, as many riders and many passengers go past, and when it stops, there’s a half second when it just sits there and you anxiously wait for the doors to open, then finally the doors open and you step on at the closest door, no matter how crowded the car is, no matter how many people are already standing in that particular car.

Sweating bodies are pressed against each other … that’s rush hour on a London Underground train.

I’ve noticed that my evil stepsister has this deadpan look on her face while riding the Tube trains, like she thinks she’s so sophisticated, even though in fact she has the emotional maturity of a two year old. If you’re going to be childlike, it should be the more pleasant aspect of being childlike. Apparently the concept of acting blissful and carefree while being a tourist in a foreign country hasn’t occurred to her. I tend to get euphoric like that—whether I’m lost or what, I want to enjoy the scenery and the ambiance and all, enjoy the moment, but when she’s having her temper tantrums or insulting me, this becomes impossible. Or I’ll get blissful, and she bites my head off, waking me up from bliss to resentment. This is, of course, in general, not just on the subway.

One day, my sister commented, “I love stepping out of a Tube station. You don’t know what you’ll see—you’re in a completely different place.” She said this after we stepped out of a Tube station and I saw a very gothic-looking building right in front of us and for a couple seconds thought it was Westminster Abbey, because that was why we went to that station, but then as I stepped through the big entrance and out from the Tube station, Big Ben hovered overhead, right there before me. It was very surreal. Indeed, you really don’t know what to expect, what fascinating architecture or what kind of neighborhood you’ll be in when you step out of a Tube station. You’ve come off a different planet, in effect.