The Antiquarian’s House, 2020
Early in 2019 I was thinking about a new series of beaded works, which I had titled Beaded Baroque. The original concept was to bring contemporary beading into conversation with the Baroque period of art history. I’m interested in this period as a time when European nations were accumulating great wealth from the colonial project, which fuelled artistic production. I was thinking a lot about how the Métis fit into this, but are absent from the visual record of the time. Living close Venice, where beads prized by the Métis originated, when I thought about what my Grandmothers and Aunties would want me to bring back from this place, the answer was beads, lots of beads, and my stories. These where the first thoughts about this series of work, which evolved considerably after its inception.
As the first stage in the project, the final months of 2019 where spent conducting artistic research in the private collection Claudio Leoni, an entomologist from Brescia, Italy. During this phase, I photographed specimens and worked on preliminary sketches that would inform the works to be created.
My next task was to find a studio space in which to complete the project. There are areas of Italy that are under recession, becoming depopulated as the youth leave for the cities and other countries in search of work. I was looking for a studio space for this project in such an area when I stumbled upon an old country house that had been closed for over a decade. The house was inspiring to me from an artistic perspective in that its last inhabitant was an antiquarian who had amassed an amazing collection of objects. The house had remained as he left it for many years following his passing, slowing undergoing the natural process of decay, reclamation by the land, and occupation by thousands of insects. I lived and worked in the house while I created this series of beaded works, allowing the objects, history and insects it contains to fuel my artistic practise. While working, I began to see parallels between the process of beading and various activities undertaken by insects. The project became more about relationship to the the site, the insects, the objects, and the process of beading and less about the Baroque period, so I now refer to the project as The Antiquarian’s House. Some of the objects I worked with can be considered instruments of violence, others are related to loss. Some of the objects have been encased in beads while others provide the support material onto which I’ve beaded. Can encasing an instrument of violence in beads change its nature? Will the destructive history of such objects contaminate my hands as I work? These were questions I asked myself as I was completing the works.
Of interest, a ceremonial mask was found in the house, they have been sent home to the Oneida Nation.
All of the works in The Antiquarian’s House series were completed in Northern Italy between late 2019 and early March 2020. The works were in transit to Montreal, Canada for BACA 2020 when the Covid-19 shutdown took place. The video below documents the guiding ideas, the site, and the evolution of the project.
The works included in this series include:
This work features a beaded dragonfly portrait in the upper compartment and a found wing encased in resin fills the lower compartment. The dragonfly is an expert hunter and a symbol of protection.
This was a difficult object to work with and I sat with it a long time before deciding how I would proceed. I was washing the floors here at the antiquarian’s house when I chose the beads. My thoughts at the time were: I wash these red floors with the knowledge that generations of women before me have done this work. On their knees, as in prayer, drops of sweat mixing with soapy water. Comforting and smooth, cool and warm all at once, pulled from the red mountain, ground to dust, reformed and baked in the fire. Used to make a home, a hearth, a place to rest in the arms of the great Mother, an ownership claim to a piece of her. A tiny portion, something that can be stolen, to be protected, to die and spill blood for. These are the beads I’ve chosen for these floors, these walls and this object.
A beaded work on birch veneer depicting cicadas in various stages of life along with ripe and rotting pears has been inlaid over the original image.
Can encasing an object of violence in beads change its nature? The Antiquarian’s House was a collaborative project with some of our kin from the Insect Nation. While working I began to see parallels between the process of beading and various activities undertaken by insects. I’m interested in the role the insects play in transforming objects, encasing them, eating them, moving them, and inhabiting them. Working to take them back into the land.
Webs of metal netting surround the wooden balls and spike beads rise above the worn iron knobs. I brought this object up to the beading table in November of 2019 and began working on it in December. I usually work by instinct, choosing objects that somehow seem to belong together, and then let the pieces inform the work
This was one of the first objects I started working with late in 2019 here in the antiquarian’s house. It is exquisitely made with lovely details. Time has erased the identity of the seamstress, all that remains is their unique stitches and way of working. Also lost to time is the name of the wearer and their stories. Insects have added their contribution by chewing away pieces from the felt collar. After spending some time with this object, I had a very clear vision of what my contribution would be. What I didn’t know is that it would soon come to represent so much more.
Beaded silk worms and mulberries overlying the original pattern of dragons and roses. When I first moved into the antiquarian’s house, the wardrobes were full of vintage clothing, a sort of insect buffet. Most of the garments had been eaten, in varying degrees, some almost completely. While washing the items, I became interested in the patterns that had been formed by the work of the insects, as well as the textile patterns themselves. I selected two of the garments to work with, an Italian suit and this Chinese silk shirt. In September of 2019, I began working with this object, laying down the first line of beads. By the end of November I had outlined the entire composition. I wanted to capture the lifespan of the silk worms, using varying thicknesses of beads to suggest movement. Now I’m thinking about shared pain and strength, kinship between nations.
Feathers as light as whispers, harvested from our first teaching about hunting on this land have been braided into the thong using leather cording. The shafts of the feathers are encased in small beads while larger beads have been inserted into the structure of the braiding. The fall and popper have been strung with beads.
When I was selecting the beads for this object, I was thinking about horses and fireflies and remembering exploring the mountains of Umbria on horseback some years ago. On the final day of this two week experience, we did an all day ride, stopped for a campfire dinner, and then rode back in the pitch dark. The only thing we could see were fireflies, so we had to have absolute trust in our horses. My horse was named Innocente(Innocent) and I loved them.
A beaded work on birch veneer featuring a duel portrait of a scarab beetle (Potosia cuprea metallica), common to the Italian peninsula, overlies the original image and occupies its frame. This past year my partner and I spent some time in the private collection of a entomologist from Brescia, paying respects to some of our six-legged relations. The first ones we photographed were these, and another greeted us when we arrived at the antiquarian’s house. Both works honour my partner’s ancestral homeland and lineage (Brescia, Italy)
I was working with some difficult objects in this series of work, and this was perhaps the hardest. While I was working I cleansed my space often, worried the the history and violence of the objects would somehow contaminate my hands. While beading, one works intimately with the beading surface and imparts a great deal of personal energy into that surface, also taking something away from it. The pistol has gone through two stages of deactivation, the first being a legal process where essential components of the gun are removed and moving parts are welded to be immobile. After that process was complete, I filled the barrel with resin and worked a beaded design on the surface which incorporates the parts that were removed. The deactivation marks and other identifying features remain visible through the transparent resin coating. The trigger space is filled with large artisan beads, and another plugs the barrel exit. While the other works in the series are in pairs, this piece is by itself. It has no counterpoint.
This work features a beaded allegorical/historical work in the upper compartment. The remains of a stag beetle encased in resin fill the lower compartment. While completing this work, I was thinking about the story of Heracles and Antaeus, the idea of drawing up energy from the earth, and the possibility that the story could be read in reverse and revised for our modern times. Could Antaeus be recast as the hero? What would the outcome have been if Anteaus had reached the earth and drawn up a wondrous strength from her?
Corinna Wollf 