Jaarboek Kostuum 2011

Table of Contents

1. Rosalie Sloof, Klaarke Schuiringa and Ingrid Grunnill
   Jacoba de Jonge - Dorine Stijkel - Toos de Klerk
   Three honorary members

   As we celebrate the tenth anniversary of the merger between the Nederlandse Kostuumvereniging voor Mode en Streekdracht (Dutch Costume Society for Fashion and Regional Dress) and the lace society Het Kantsalet this year, the editors found this the ideal moment to interview the three honorary members of the Nederlandse Vereniging voor Kostuum, Kant, Mode en Streekdracht (Dutch Society for Costume, Lace, Fashion and Regional Dress).

   Unfortunately, we could only interview two of them, as the third honorary member, Toos de Klerk, died in May 2011. We did, however, manage to speak with some members who knew her well and had worked with her, which enabled us to write an in memoriam for Toos.

   Jacoba de Jonge and Dorine Stijkel were founder members of the Costume Society in 1980. They both became committee members: Jacoba served the society as chairwoman for fifteen years, and Dorine set up the society's publications, including the yearbook Kostuum. When they left the committee in 1995, they were made honorary members for their merits for the Costume Society

   In 1981 Toos de Klerk became the president of Het Kantsalet, which was founded in 1925. She would hold that position until the Kantsalet’s 75th anniversary in 2000. When she stepped down, she was made an honorary member in appreciation of her work for Het Kantsalet.

    

2. Elizabeth Davis
   In the service of Queen Elizabeth
   Identity and conformity in a 16th-century court dress

   A common strategy for discovering the identity of an unknown sitter in a portrait is to study paintings created by artists working in the same period. These works are examined for particular techniques and styles which might appear in the unknown portrait. With the addition of historical dates and events, this information may lead to the identification of the sitter. Although useful, this approach is limited in its success when the historical record is weak or ambiguous.

   The present research utilises dress and textile history as the primary tool for verifying the identity of a portrait. The subject of this paper is a 1592 painting of a young Elizabethan woman which belongs to the Herbert F. Johnson Museum of Art at Cornell University. It is named as 'Bess Throckmorton (Lady Walter Raleigh)’ and is attributed to the circles of Marcus Gheeraerts the Younger and Jan de Critz, Flemish painters working in London in the late 16th and early 17th centuries. There is no solid documentation which supports the attribution of either sitter or artist.

   Bess Throckmorton was a lady-in-waiting to Queen Elizabeth I. She is best known for her secret marriage to Sir Walter Raleigh, an ambitious courtier and one of the Queen’s favourites. Bess' surviving letters reveal a woman of strong and passionate character, willing to fight to protect her family against political intrigues and jealousies. There is no evidence in the written record of a portrait of Bess Throckmorton being commissioned during her eight years at court (1584-1592), yet many court portraits were painted during this period, especially by Gheeraerts.

   In particular, this research addresses the use of lace as the primary tool with which to compare this work to other portraits. Using extant examples of period lace, as well as lace portrayed in contemporaneous portraits, the lace in this painting is identified as to technique, design, date and country of origin. The result of this approach is a set of traits suggesting the social and economic status of the sitter in the portrait. Elements of lace and dress in the painting are compared with those found in portraits of women who were ladies-in-waiting in Queen Elizabeth I's court during the 1590s. An examination of lace worn in portraits of women who did not actively attend court is also included. Patterns emerge amongst these portraits which establish correlations between a recognizable court ‘uniform’ with a defined conformity, and a style which is free from court restrictions.

   This analysis of the elements of dress portrayed in the portrait is supplemented with an investigation of the painting’s artistic qualities. The combined evidence provides rich sources of information, which notwithstanding a high degree of probability, in the end cannot lead to a definitive identification of this Elizabethan lady of fashion as Bess Throckmorton.

    

3. Vivianne Veenemans
   An English taste for (Dutch) peasant jewellery
   

   The article focuses on the emergence of a taste for peasant jewellery in England during the second half of the 19th century and the effect it had on the production of Dutch peasant jewellery.

   Comparing peasant jewellery from different countries, permanently displayed at the Victoria and Albert Museum, can yield evidence of general similarities. There is the use of filigree gold and silver jewellery, but also of cast and die-pressed silver jewellery. Both techniques are economical in production, the filigree for its low weight (a minimum use of gold for a maximum effect) and the cast and die-pressed silver jewellery for high-volume production. These techniques have a common origin in Greek and Roman jewellery from as early as the 6th century BC.

   The emerging international interest in national folk art during the second half of the 19th century was demonstrated through the many international exhibitions, an important showcase for the contributing countries. Another way of exhibiting the national arts and crafts was through the founding of the first national museums, of which the V&A (originally called the South Kensington Museum) ranks among the first in England.

   The V&A jewellery collection, amassed during the second half of the 19th century, had the collection of national Italian jewellery collected by Alessandro Castellani (1823-1883) at its core. This collection includes Italian peasant jewellery. The collection was initially part of the Circulation Department, which was set up in order to give its collection maximum exposure through travelling exhibitions and through displaying it at several art colleges. Through this exposure of international crafts, which the English held in great esteem, it was hoped English designers would become inspired to produce high-quality art.

   In 1872 an international exhibition was to be held in London. Sir Henry Cole (1808-1882), who was then the director of the South Kensington Museum, asked the English ambassadors abroad to send in the peasant jewellery of the countries they resided in. In this way the museum wanted to acquire the most complete and perfect collection of peasant jewellery, with pieces distinctive of the country they were produced in. The Dutch contribution consisted of an oorijzer (metal cap frame), a pair of forehead ornaments, a pair of oorijzer pendants and a set of hairpins. In the original inventory they are described as made of 18 carat gold and worn by the peasant women of Zeeland.

   The peasant jewellery collection was received with enthusiasm and favourable reviews in the press. The effect on contemporary fashion was enormous: all over England women started collecting peasant jewellery. This also brought on a high demand for Dutch silverware, preferably dating from the 18th century. The result was a commercialisation of the Dutch gold and silver workshops, which responded by producing large quantities of Dutch silverware for export, often with fake 18th-century hallmarks.

4. Hanneke Adriaans
   A jewel with Wedgwood cameos
   Hyke Mulder's necklace

   Museum Martena in the Frisian city of Franeker has, on long term loan, both the 1801 portrait of Hyke Mulder, née Saagmans, and the necklace she wears in this portrait.

   The necklace's three pottery ornaments with white figures in relief on a blue background are reminiscent of the pieces produced in Josiah Wedgwood's manufactory from 1775 onwards. As there are neither marks on the cameos nor on the gold setting, the aim of this article is to try and discover the possible source of the piece. Jewellery with Wedgwood plaques has survived in reasonable numbers, and it has been documented in the Wedgwood archives.

   Josiah Wedgwood and his collaborators responded admirably to the demand from an ever-expanding group of admirers of art from Greek and Roman antiquity. The Wedgwood 'cameos' (actually, they are not cameos, as no cutting is involved, but that is what Wedgwood himself called them at the time) became a great success, partly because of their fairly modest price, which was possible because they were produced in series, with the aid of moulds.

   The physician Johannes Mulder, who was to marry Hyke Saagmans in 1794, had studied in London in 1792. He is sure to have visited the London Wedgwood shop in search of items necessary to medical research, which were supplied by Wedgwood. There his eye may have been drawn by 'cameos mounted very handsomely, in necklaces, bracelets & eardrops', as the 1790 Wedgwood archives say.

   Jewellery with a combination of symbols from antiquity was very popular at that time. On the central cameo of Hyke’s necklace we see Cupid’s quiver and arrows, Hymen’s torch, Venus’ two doves and garlands, a book of music and a trumpet (symbols of harmony in marriage). This might mean that her necklace was a wedding present.

   Two French portraits show us the type of woman who could be expected to wear the fashionable Wedgwood jewellery. They might have been surprised though, had they heard about the Frisian woman who outdid them with her piece of Wedgwood jewellery (or would they have preferred their own modest pieces?). Anyway, Hyke’s necklace has survived…

5. Hanneke Koolen
   Toiling in a cloud of tulle
   The history of the tutu

   The tutu is the iconic costume of the ballet dancer. Its origins can be traced to 18th-century France, when dancer Marie Camargo shortened her dance costumes so the audience could see her virtuoso footwork, and her rival Marie Sallé even appeared on stage in a Greek tunic. Around 1800 dancers wore high-waisted dresses made of light muslin. Until the end of the Romantic period the tutu followed the fashion in well-to-do ladies’ evening dress.

   When MarieTaglioni danced the title role in her father’s ballet La Sylphide in Paris, 1834, she was a sensation. As the ethereal sprite, in a white costume with bell-shaped skirt of transparent netting, a close-fitting bodice with its waist at the natural place and short sleeves, Marie amazed the audience with her high jumps and her graceful dancing en pointe. Taglioni became a veritable style icon.

   During the Romantic period the tutu was worn in every ballet. It became broader and broader, in line with the crinoline of contemporary fashion. The tutu’s ornaments and the hair decorations made clear which role the ballerina was interpreting.

   Towards the end of the 19th century Saint Petersburg became the centre of classical ballet. The tutus became shorter and stiffer, emphasising the pointe technique the Italian ballerinas dancing the principal parts were absolute masters of. During the 20th century the tutu gradually got even shorter, till far above the knee. The image of Anna Pavlova in the white-feathered tutu for her solo The Dying Swan (1905) is famous.

   These days we distinguish the long, romantic tutu and the flat, short tutu, sometimes called the pancake tutu. Modern tutus are usually made abroad, as there is insufficient expertise in this field in the Netherlands. The romantic tutus consist of three layers of soft tulle, gathered at the waist. The short tutus are made of stiff ballet net and consist of about ten layers, which gradually become narrower towards the bottom layer, making the top layer stand out flat. The layers are sewn onto briefs which are attached to the hip piece, which in turn is then stitched to the bodice. The bodice is boned with spiral wires that bend in all directions. Even so it has to be broken in, which is a painful process: in ballet costumes there is always a friction between beauty and comfort.

   Until the beginning of the 20th century dancers wore corsets as part of their costumes, which must have restricted their movements. Beside the often discussed relationship between fashion and the tutu, it would be interesting to study the relationship between dancing costumes and technique as well. This might give us more insight into the development of ballet technique through the ages.

    

6. Saskia Kuus
   Weeping behind the veil
   Mourning dress 1865-1900

   Death was much more visible during the 19th century than it is now. The wearing of mourning dress was an important factor in this. Official regulations concerning the wearing of mourning were issued by the Lord Chamberlain at the order of the King. They were published in the State Almanac and in several newspapers, and so it was clear to everyone how things were done at court. When someone died, his/her whole family went into mourning, even though there was no official obligation to do so.

   The rules were described at length in etiquette books, and in all social classes these rules were followed as much as possible. Mourning knew three stages: deep mourning, half mourning and light mourning. How long mourning lasted depended on the degree of relationship.

   The fashion magazines for well-to-do middle class women, which were published all over Europe from the second half of the 19th century, often featured mourning dress. The fashion magazine De Gracieuse for instance, appeared in the Netherlands from 1862 onwards and it reported extensively on fashionable mourning dress. The mourning frocks were shown from all angles in the fashion plates. Many readers employed a dressmaker who copied dresses for them after the French models. Mourning frocks conformed to the current fashion: in the 1860s they were worn with a crinoline, during the first half of the 1870s with a bustle, and after 1883 with a bustle again. The colour black was the most important characteristic of mourning dress, together with the type of fabric. In deep mourning this should have no shine at all. After that stage clothes remained black, but the range of fabrics allowed became wider. It was only during half mourning that, beside black, white, grey and violet were used.

   Several Dutch fashion shops advertised that they supplied mourning dress. Many fashion and hat shops made sure to keep mourning hats in stock. Those who could not afford to buy mourning clothes, had the option of dying their clothes black.

   A few obituaries in the papers show that not everyone complied with the trend of wearing mourning dress. Some of them state explicitly that ’no outer signs of mourning will be adopted'. The wearing of mourning might be restricted to the next of kin of the deceased, just the widow and children for instance. That this was a departure from the rule, was emphasized by mentioning that it was ‘at the express desire of the deceased’ or words to that effect. Apparently this was necessary to protect the bereaved against too much disapproval from their personal environment.

   The First World War caused a turning point in people’s attitude towards mourning dress. Many women had neither the money nor the time to bother with mourning dress. The strict mourning etiquette that had held most 19th-century ladies in its grip, came to an end in the Netherlands as well as elsewhere in Europe.

    

7. Ad Timmermans
   The swaddling clothes of Bunschoten-Spakenburg
   

   In the past, when a child was born it was dressed in so-called swaddling clothes, consisting of a good many layers. Bunschoten-Spakenburg, Dutch twin villages on the shore of the former Zuiderzee, knew a long tradition of swaddling, with several of the pieces used being specific to the villages. Most of them originate from the early 17th century.

   The swaddling components were the same for all babies in Bunschoten and Spakenburg, whereas the quantity and the materials used would depend on the family's circumstances.

   Often the grandmother would act as a nurse and she would swaddle the baby. First the infant's belly button was covered by a small flannelette square kept in place by a navel bandage. Next came a napkin and a vest, always made of flannelette. Then the baby's lower body was tightly wrapped in a special nappy to impede the movement of the legs. Over the flannelette vest came a white linen shirt, sleeves and neck of which were edged with lace. In winter a nigh-jacket was put over this as an extra protection against the cold.

   All items mentioned so far were underwear. The first of the outer clothes was a jacket of flowered cotton or chintz. Over this went a bib, with an insertion of bobbin lace under which a piece of red fabric was pinned, making the lace stand out all the better. On weekdays the child would wear a fairly ordinary cap, but on Sundays, or when visitors came to see the baby, it would wear a prettier cap of darned net, decorated with lace frills and silk ribbons. An undercap was worn to protect this from getting dirty.

   Now the child was dressed, but its outfit was not yet complete. The swaddled child was put on the pakdeken (literally: package blanket), which was pinned tightly around the lower body with large pins. The top part of the blanket, on which the head rested, remained open. The final item was a white linen or damask cloth with the mother’s initials embroidered on it in red cross-stitches. This cloth was pinned tightly, again around the lower body.

   In Bunschoten-Spakenburg as well as elsewhere mourning rules for dress applied straight from birth. A newborn might be put into mourning dress immediately, notwithstanding birth being a happy occasion. In swaddling-clothes mourning was mainly expressed by a different use of colour.

   The tradition of swaddling was kept alive for a long time in Bunschoten-Spakenburg. In February 1945 Wimpje Blokhuis-Poort was the last baby to be swaddled by her grandmother. New medical and hygienic insights finally made this deep-rooted tradition obsolete. Or did they? Some ten years ago swaddling was rediscovered and it is gaining ground. There are even several sites on the Internet promoting swaddling.

8. Tina Hammer-Stroeve
   The rise of the social status of the profession of seamstress (ca. 1900-1970) and the importance of Mrs. Six's Studio de Coupe
   

   Notwithstanding the emancipation movement of the late 19th century, the profession of seamstress was not an acceptable one for women of the upper classes. The thousands of women labouring in the emerging ready-to-wear industry were invisible to them. Seamstresses only came into view in the context of the 'education of the masses', which gained momentum in the second half of the 19th century and aimed at improving the lot of the working classes.

   Between WW I and II the economic importance of the fashion industry increased. So did the demand for experienced seamstresses, causing the status of the profession to rise. The lower class women’s skill of sewing developed into an honourable employment for women from the higher classes. What the housewife and mother did at home, gradually came to be considered as important as the breadwinner's work. The education in domestic sciences for girls, initially aimed at the lower classes, was embedded in Dutch educational structure by law in 1921. Sewing instruction was part of the curriculum: all future housewives should be able to sew. Private schools of dress design attracted pupils from the lower and middle classes.

   Successful craftswomen could go far in the fashion trade. Some achieved success as the owners of ‘closed’ fashion houses, such as Catharine Kruysveldt-de Mare in Amsterdam, who dressed women from the highest echelons. Others found good jobs as owners/teachers of schools of dress design, or as seamstresses/supervisors in the alteration workrooms of big fashion stores, etc. On the whole, all this sewing was still performed by women from the lower middle classes for the benefit of upper-class women.

   After World War Il this too changed. Class-consciousness began to fade, girls began to decide for themselves. Dutch couturiers made a name for themselves in the post-war fashion world, and the profession of dressmaking was reassessed positively.

   During the 1950s and ‘60s the Ecole de Couture Charles Montaigne in Amsterdam was popular with young women from the upper classes. Final proof of the rise of the social status of dressmaking is Mrs. M.A. Six's Studio de Coupe. Mrs. Six (1895-1988) belonged to the gentry, and had trained in Paris as a modéliste. She established her studio in The Hague in the late 1930s. Her apprentices were taught to model patterns in toile on tailor's dummies. Two of Mrs. Six’s former students provided much information about her, about her curriculum and the tricks of the trade of modelling. Both women became professional dressmakers, working for clients from their own upper echelon of society which all Mrs. Six's apprentices belonged to. They were living proof of the fact that dressmaking had become a desirable and 'decent' occupation for them too.