Back in 2019, the sole surviving fragment of clothing belonging to Elizabeth I was rediscovered in a small church in the village of Bacton in Herefordshire. It had lived there for centuries, remade into an altar cloth, its origins obscured by the passing of time. The Tudor monarch was keenly alert to the power of symbolism, which is why this piece of cloth-of-silver skirt is so fascinating. Peacocks perch alongside pigeons, swallows swoop beside what appear to be wrens, in a joyful medley of birds, plants, insects and flowers. It’s a rare coming together of different species, a universal burgeoning of nature. The implication is, of course, that the Queen was monarch of everything in her realm, from the proud peacock to the humble wren, with everything, quite literally, clinging to her skirts. It’s remarkable because it’s so unusual – for the most part, there’s a distinct pecking order in terms of what birds are featured in interiors fabrics, and different types have fallen in and out of fashion over the centuries.
A quick glimpse at the tapestries of the Medieval period reveals that falcons and hawks were considered to be the top birds of their day – little wonder, given that they were prized hunting companions, worth more than their weight in gold. Falconry reached its pinnacle of popularity during the late Medieval and early Tudor eras, with the long-winged breeds such as peregrine falcons and gyrfalcons being reserved as status symbols for the aristocracy, while commoners kept sparrowhawks and goshawks. Doves, too, were often depicted in the textiles of that time, as a universal symbol of peace, as well as a common Christian emblem.
There was also a preponderance of mythological birds. Phoenixes remain the best-known by modern standards – as signifiers of resurrection and rebirth – along with griffins, which had the body, back legs, and tail of a lion combined with the front legs, wings and head of an eagle. Peculiar hybrids of birds and beasts were a particularly beloved trope of the Medieval artist, and there’s a rich and wonderfully strange seam of these to explore. While it’s often hard to ascertain the exact mix of these fantastical creatures, they provide a fascinating insight into the collective imagination of the period.
From the Elizabethan era onwards, international influences became increasingly popular in textiles, as the Age of Exploration saw European sailors encounter new lands and new cultures, and international trade routes became established. By the 18th century, non-native bird species had trumped native varieties in the decorative arts, with the showier, more colourful birds favoured for the fabrics made to decorate the new town houses and country estates that were being built at a rapid pace across the UK.
Chinoiserie wallcoverings were considered to be the height of fashion by the wealthiest clients, depicting trees in full blossom, with birds perched upon the boughs or stalking beneath the canopies. Cranes held an important place in Chinese mythology, regarded as divine creatures that could travel between the mortal world and heaven. Often (although not entirely accurately) seen as the Chinese equivalent of the phoenix, the fenghuang, was another commonly depicted mythological bird, shown with elaborate plumage in an assortment of jewel-toned hues. Other common ornithological species found in 18th-century wallcoverings include parrots, parakeets, peacocks and pheasants – all clearly prized for their decorative appeal.
Peacocks have always been held in particularly high regard because of their shimmering colours and elaborate tail feathers. Introduced to Britain in Roman times, they’ve perpetually been considered a high-status bird – possibly because their large size and intractable temperaments have meant that only those with large estates can comfortably accommodate them. Pheasants, too, were held in great esteem during the Georgian period. They were kept principally as game birds, although smaller flocks of ornamental varieties were also popular at this time, such as Lady Amherst’s pheasant, with its patchwork of colourful markings, and the golden pheasant, daubed in paintbox hues of crimson, indigo, orange and egg-yolk yellow. These breeds were also shown in the chintz fabrics of the day, with native species swept aside in favour of their showier international cousins.
This trend continued for a surprisingly long time in Britain, until the balance finally shifted during the latter part of the Victorian era. As mechanised production techniques meant that patterned fabric became cheaper and available to all, the proportion of native birds in textiles started to rise – perhaps reflecting the different tastes of this new category of consumers. This shift was also informed by the Arts and Crafts movement, which celebrated a simpler way of living. Designers such as William Morris retreated to the countryside and their bucolic surroundings influenced their work.
Morris’s most iconic design, ‘Strawberry Thief’, was inspired by the sight of thrushes pilfering fruit from his garden, while other common native species also started to come back into fashion. Owls were popular at this time, appearing in numerous patterns such as CFA Voysey’s ‘The Owl’, in which the birds are closely intertwined with stems, leaves and twigs. It’s not the only example of an owl motif being composed out of other natural forms – around the same time, Old Hall Pottery in Staffordshire made a china collection decorated with shapes that could either be viewed as owls or as flowers, depending on the perspective of the viewer. These plates would go on to inspire the author Alan Garner to write his 1967 classic The Owl Service – an example of how cultural trends can resurface at different moments in time.
It’s certainly the case for many of today’s fabrics – just look at Cole & Son’s most recent collection. ‘Selection of Hummingbirds’ plays with a pattern that was originally designed in the 1780s and has been reworked in new colourways and materials, from crisp cotton poplins to embroidered silks. Although approximately 240 years have elapsed since it first appeared, the effect of the tiny, jewel-like birds is probably much the same, conjuring up a fantasy of a verdant tropical paradise.
Certain birds fly in and out of fashion: hawks may not be as coveted today as they were in the Medieval period; parakeets may not seem quite so exotic, given that you can spot them flying wild in Kensington Gardens; and native birds hold more status and respect now that one in four of them are listed as endangered species. And yet, birds remain a constant motif in textile design. The popularity of individual types inevitably rises and falls, yet our feathered friends still soar across a broad range of fabrics, celebrated for their ability to add colour, movement and life.
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