HONEY I'M HOME
One of several looms now in Matilda Dominique’s Stockholm studio was inherited from her grandmother who, with her twin sister, took correspondence classes in weaving in the 1970s, the two writing regularly to each other about their progress. Memories of her grandmother’s weavings trigger certain emotions for Dominique, and she has noticed that, in much the same way, viewers of her own weavings are often prompted to share recollections of their family stories. “It is never my intention to make pieces that are to be used,” she explains, “but my weavings still seem to bring to mind and evoke memories of functional objects related to the home.”
Portrait of Matilda Dominique by Elin Sylwan. Image above courtesy of Matilda Dominique.
We so often understand textiles through our hands, but Dominique’s weavings relate as much to the spaces we live in as the textiles we hold. She cites movement as important “both physically and mentally” to her creative process, as well as the viewer’s experience: “My work is often made with the intention of letting people take it in from all sides.” What results are creations that she calls “hand woven sculptures that resonate with both architecture and domestic textiles.”
Image courtesy of Simon Blanck & Lotta Törnroth.
Ironically, touch is not particularly welcome. Instead, these are unapologetically optical sculptures, meant to be consumed in the same way: “In the process of planning and weaving, I don’t usually reflect on the surface texture of the piece at hand. Texture becomes more of a consequence of the choices I make in construction. Not as an accident, I wouldn’t take it that far, but not precisely planned either. Texture just isn’t something that I usually emphasise in my works. Perhaps that’s because I don’t make objects to be touched, worn, or used.”
Image courtesy of Simon Blanck & Lotta Törnroth.
The textiles that inspired Dominique’s weavings were certainly designed to be used. Absorbency is a particular quality of the honeycomb structure she often recreates. But where water would normally be expected to meet the honeycomb textile, in its life as a dishcloth or towel, Dominique’s versions invite air. The thickness of wool, and the space between each pick, expose the woven structure to the naked eye. “Layers of material, and the spaces in between, open up, for transparency,” she explains. “What can be seen might change, depending on the light, the air, the space, or a gust of wind that passes by when the door is opened and someone enters the room.”
Image courtesy of Simon Blanck & Lotta Törnroth.
Colour selection primarily brings attention to the structure of the weave. White and black, or grey/black with lemon, for example, help distinguish each thread from the next. They feel like the colours least likely to be found in the home. Instead, colour works in the service of the visual games played out in the expanded three-dimensional structures of the cloth. This results in textiles that offer their viewers ways into understanding the structures of weaving.
Image courtesy of Simon Blanck & Lotta Törnroth.
But these are not lessons given away lightly. Some of Dominique’s recent works are created with long unwoven floats held on either side by woven sections. When suspended, gravity takes over, tugging and elongating the honeycomb grid. These textiles are not unravelling, but when sections of the overall structure are missing, the threads look like they tangle together. In versions made with wool, threads curl and bend back on each other, while in versions made with cord, the warp and weft have less traction, instead slipping and sliding over each other. ‘Soft buildings’ is the description Dominique offers to summarise her work. Beneath what may at first seem to be unruly weaving, the structure is, in fact, very much intact— even if, at times, these delicate textiles seem to be holding on by just a thread.
Image courtesy of Simon Blanck & Lotta Törnroth.
Text by Jessica Hemmings.
Find out more:
matildadominique.com
@matilda_dominique
Portrait of Matilda Dominique by Elin Sylwan. Image above courtesy of Matilda Dominique.
We so often understand textiles through our hands, but Dominique’s weavings relate as much to the spaces we live in as the textiles we hold. She cites movement as important “both physically and mentally” to her creative process, as well as the viewer’s experience: “My work is often made with the intention of letting people take it in from all sides.” What results are creations that she calls “hand woven sculptures that resonate with both architecture and domestic textiles.”
Image courtesy of Simon Blanck & Lotta Törnroth.
Ironically, touch is not particularly welcome. Instead, these are unapologetically optical sculptures, meant to be consumed in the same way: “In the process of planning and weaving, I don’t usually reflect on the surface texture of the piece at hand. Texture becomes more of a consequence of the choices I make in construction. Not as an accident, I wouldn’t take it that far, but not precisely planned either. Texture just isn’t something that I usually emphasise in my works. Perhaps that’s because I don’t make objects to be touched, worn, or used.”
Image courtesy of Simon Blanck & Lotta Törnroth.
The textiles that inspired Dominique’s weavings were certainly designed to be used. Absorbency is a particular quality of the honeycomb structure she often recreates. But where water would normally be expected to meet the honeycomb textile, in its life as a dishcloth or towel, Dominique’s versions invite air. The thickness of wool, and the space between each pick, expose the woven structure to the naked eye. “Layers of material, and the spaces in between, open up, for transparency,” she explains. “What can be seen might change, depending on the light, the air, the space, or a gust of wind that passes by when the door is opened and someone enters the room.”
Image courtesy of Simon Blanck & Lotta Törnroth.
Colour selection primarily brings attention to the structure of the weave. White and black, or grey/black with lemon, for example, help distinguish each thread from the next. They feel like the colours least likely to be found in the home. Instead, colour works in the service of the visual games played out in the expanded three-dimensional structures of the cloth. This results in textiles that offer their viewers ways into understanding the structures of weaving.
Image courtesy of Simon Blanck & Lotta Törnroth.
But these are not lessons given away lightly. Some of Dominique’s recent works are created with long unwoven floats held on either side by woven sections. When suspended, gravity takes over, tugging and elongating the honeycomb grid. These textiles are not unravelling, but when sections of the overall structure are missing, the threads look like they tangle together. In versions made with wool, threads curl and bend back on each other, while in versions made with cord, the warp and weft have less traction, instead slipping and sliding over each other. ‘Soft buildings’ is the description Dominique offers to summarise her work. Beneath what may at first seem to be unruly weaving, the structure is, in fact, very much intact— even if, at times, these delicate textiles seem to be holding on by just a thread.
Image courtesy of Simon Blanck & Lotta Törnroth.
Text by Jessica Hemmings.
Find out more:
matildadominique.com
@matilda_dominique