Jaarboek Kostuum 2020

Table of Contents

1. Dorothee Olthof
   From bearskin to nettle skirt
   Stone age textile clothing

   Ask an archaeologist to write something for Kostuum and he/she can be expected to come up with something from many ages ago. This article deals with the oldest costumes of mankind: Stone Age clothing. Obviously people in the Stone Age wore leather and fur, but this article concentrates on evidence of textiles from that period.

   The archaeological record reveals an astonishing diversity of Stone Age textile techniques: twining, weft twining, netting, coiling, looping techniques and, from the Neolithic onwards, also proper weaving (tabby or plain weave) on looms. The raw materials used were all plant fibres: the bast of different trees, nettle, flax, rushes, grasses. Unfortunately, most Stone Age textile finds consist of small fragments only. Complete pieces of clothing are very rare and limited to (queer) hats, shoes, sandals and a grass cape or mat.

   Use/wear analysis of Stone Age tools however indicates that a large part of the tool kit was used for fibre processing and textile-related activities. Obviously, the producing of textiles and basketry took up a large amount of Stone Age peoples’ time and effort. Ethnographic evidence can help us imagine what clothing could have looked like: complete weft-twined plant fibre garments such as tunics, mantles and skirts.

   The study of Stone Age textiles and fibres is a never-ending story. There is still a lot to be learned about techniques, fibres and fibre processing. The possibilities for experimenting and reconstructing are almost endless.

    

2. Gieneke Arnolli
   Inland, foreign and speckled stockings
   Harlingen stocking shops in the 17th century

   The basis for this article are six estate inventories, from between 1637 and 1668, of stocking shops in Harlingen, the most important harbour town of the Dutch province of Friesland. It was the northern gateway of the Republic of the United Netherlands.

   Knitted stockings or ‘hose’ could be bought ready-made in the 17th century, as opposed to other kinds of clothing, which were made to order. This made the stockings an early form of confection, as well as both in- and exported merchandise. That the stockings from that period are still extant is exclusively thanks to archaeological finds, such as the woollen stockings excavated at Spitsbergen, when archaeologists were in search of the clothing of whalers.

   In the Harlingen shops amongst others English, Norwegian and Icelandic stockings were to be found beside inland woollen stockings for men, women and children. Skippers from Harlingen mainly transported stockings from the Netherlands to the Baltic region, as is shown by the registered passages through the Sound Tolls in Denmark.

   The craft of knitting (of stockings) was plied by men as well as by women, who were members of a guild. The names of eight ‘hose knitters’ can be found in 17th-century sources in Harlingen, amongst whom those of two masters, Jan Hendriks and Gerrit Gerrits, son of Gerrit Gerrits, whose stocking shop had been inventarized in 1648. Female knitters remained unnamed most of the time, but in the 1658 inventory of Antie Jans the female knitter of this name is mentioned, because of an outstanding debt which had to be paid to her. The prominent presence of women also becomes clear from the fact that most of the Harlingen stocking shops were held in the name of the (married) woman; and there were always two women involved in the inventarisations, as licenced valuers. The stockings’ prices varied from five stuivers (a stuiver is 1/20 worth of a guilder) to more than three guilders per pair, whereas the average daily wage of a craftsman amounted to one guilder at that time.

   Examination of the Harlingen estate inventories demonstrates how important the role of women was in the economical life of the town. However, from the inventories much may also be deduced about the stockings themselves: for example that stockings traded in the shops were nearly always made of wool. This means that not only knitters, but also woolcombers and spinners were indispensable for the production. The woolcombers took care of preparing the sheepskins for spinning, after which the wool was taken to spinners, mostly women, who would spin knitting yarns of various thicknesses from this.

   Knitting yarn would be available in greater or lesser amounts in all the shops. It isn’t clear whether this was intended for selling or as a private stock for working with. There was a bunch of walvisch bien (whalebones) for making knitting needles in the shop of Isack Pytters Verhagen (1656). Iron wire was present for the same purpose in Jantien Cornelis’ shop ‘D         e Drie Romers’ (1657). Garters, ‘garter ribbon’ or ‘hose ribbon’ were however sold in textile shops of a more general character. The stocking shops were more like workshops, which is also apparent from the presence of formen (moulds) in the shape of a leg, for mounting the knitted stockings. There will also have been apprentices at work there, but no traces of them can be found in the inventories. Other knitted objects in the stocking shops, such as mittens, caps and children’s vests are waiting for further examination.

3. Jacco Hooikammer
   “It will cost you half a cow, but then you’ve got it all sorted”
   A biography of the cap makers in Staphorst and Rouveen, from 1900 to the present day

   In this article the cap makers of the Dutch villages of Staphorst and Rouveen are presented: their craft and the way they learn it, as well as the relations with their customers, suppliers and the other local cap makers.

   The cap is part of the Sunday version of the local traditional costume. It is worn over the silver ‘oorijzer’ (headpiece). The cap makers fabricate new caps, but they will also wash and starch used ones. Apart from being responsible for the Sunday caps they also make, for example, baptismal clothing. Because of the contacts with their clientele they are an important source for mores regarding dress.

   These days (or at least as late as in 2019) there are four cap makers active in the local community. Cap-making is a profession for women, in order to become a cap maker one needs to be a precise and skilful needleworker. It is not a craft which is automatically passed from mother to daughter. Some of these women are self-taught, others learned their skills from their female relations or acquaintances. They would normally not be found amongst the rich farmers’ wives. The profession is mainly one for the middle classes.

   Because the hourly wages were low, the cap makers had to make long working days in order to be able to make a proper living. They often worked under pressure; for example, when one of their clients suddenly had to go into mourning, the cap maker would have to keep working throughout the night.

   As traditional dress is slowly, gradually disappearing from everyday life, so the amount of work decreases. Within decades the cap makers’ craft will have disappeared.

4. Jolanda van den Berg
   Kotomisi, the power of national costume
   

   The literal translation of Kotomisi is ‘lady wearing a skirt’. Kotomisi refers to the lady who is wearing a koto (skirt), yaki (jacket), and angisa (headscarf). This is primarily an Afro-Surinamese costume, which was worn from 1873, ten years after the abolishment of slavery, and which is full of symbolic meanings. It is a combination of costumes from Western-Europe and Central Africa incorporating costume traditions and elements inspired by the European fashion of the 18^th and 19^th centuries. Behind each koto there is a family history. These stories are all linked together in the long, rich tradition of the kotomisi.

   By the late 19th century a kind of social hierarchy was established within the Afro-Surinamese middle class; clothing and the colour of one’s skin began to play an important part. Clothes were seen as a symbol of status and as a confirmation of one’s place in society. The lighter the colour of one’s skin, the more European the clothing. The brightly coloured skirts and shoulder wraps, the artfully folded headscarves and the use of jewellery indicated the difference in status between female slaves, concubines and free women of coloured skin. Wearing a koto costume was not considered ‘refined’ by the upper middle class in these early years. It brought back memories of slavery and was associated with the lower classes.

   In the development of the koto various practices related to the costume have been established. Both its specific shape and the pattern and colour of the fabric, have a lot to say about whether the wearer of the costume is dressed for work, a party, for church, a funeral or mourning.

   The patterned fabrics used for traditional Surinamese clothing and angisas always have a particular name, giving them an additional layer of meaning. The naming of a fabric, however, does not necessarily have any visible relation with the pattern. A fabric with an abstract geometrical print would often get an odo, a wise saying, for a name. An odo is a concise lesson of wisdom, with a high level of imagery and a deep meaning. One example is the red-and-white fabric with the name ‘You carry my story in a wooden box; you hide yours in a closed calabash.’

   The kotomisi should not be seen as a reference to slavery and oppression, but as a tradition which has continuously developed from the time when slaves were freed in 1863. Even though it has now disappeared from the everyday streetscape, this historic Surinamese costume with its African and European roots has made a comeback as a festive costume. As such it has an important role to play in Afro-Surinamese society, and the same applies to the Surinamese community in the Netherlands.

5. Aaf Steur-Sombroek
   The changing silhouette of the Volendam regional costume
   A photo-essay

   (no summary)

6. Ileen Montijn
   A life in jewels
   A portrait of Martijn Akkerman

   This article is a portrait of Martijn Akkerman, the best-known jewellery historian in the Netherlands, based on conversations with the author. Akkerman, who was born in the Dutch provincial town of Alkmaar, tells us how he became interested in jewels from an early age on, and how he was supported in this interest by his aunt, a specialist in the regional costumes of the province of Northern-Holland.

   Akkerman was trained as a goldsmith, however he sought his own way in a period when the cultural climate in the Netherlands wasn’t very ‘jewel-friendly’. He reflects on a number of prominent Dutch jewellers and collectors whom he got to know and who have stimulated him. Akkerman stresses the importance of the historical context when looking at jewels: history, fashion, even literature - they are all part of it.

   He reminisces about the years 1977-2008 during which he, together with Wim Vredevoogd, ran a shop in Amsterdam’s P.C. Hooftstraat, and how he got in touch with many well-known figures from the Dutch fashion world there.

   His many business trips brought him to several European capitals. Akkerman’s relations with the museal world are also looked at, for example those with the Hessisches Landesmuseum in Darmstadt and the Schmuckmuseum in Pforzheim. For the big jewel exhibition at the Amsterdam location of the Russian Hermitage Museum in 2019-2020, Akkerman gave advice, developed an audio tour and acted as an intermediary for loans.

   The article demonstrates to which great extent Akkerman’s love of jewels is intertwined with a more general love of historical anecdotes, as well as with the story of his own life.

7. Charlotte Somerville
   Art and crafts in ‘the pattern of your life’
   A new view on the phenomenon of the ‘Nationale Feestrok’

   The Nationale Feestrok was an initiative that took place in the Netherlands following the end of World War II. The feestrokken are patchwork skirts, made of scraps of old fabric. The initiative was founded by Adrienne Minette Boissevain-van Lennep, as part of her position on the National Committee for the Establishing of Regulations for Celebrating National Holidays.

   As part of the initiative, the skirts were supposed to be worn every year on May 5th (Liberation Day) and Queen’s Day. Building off of the critical scholarship of Jolande Withuis, Els de Baan, and Egge Knol, this article explores the phenomenon of the Nationale Feestrok from an individual object level. As opposed to analyzing the socio-political importance, merits, or shortcomings of the initiative as a whole, the goal instead is to show how four examples of feestrokken have both historic and artistic importance.

   The feestrokken discussed in this article are as follows: a child's skirt in the Vrijheidsmuseum in Groesbeek; then a, rather non-traditionally decorated, skirt made by Mrs. C.E. de Visser in the Rijksmuseum, and finally a mother-daughter pair (along with a doll’s skirt) housed in the Rijksmuseum as well. My goal is to further the discussion and scholarship on the feestrokken by proposing that we should view them as individual objects - some of which have the potential to earn the label of 'art'; and abandon any preconceptions we might have about textile or practical objects, made by women who are not trained in art.

   The scope of the article goes only so far as to compare and contrast these case study skirts with three case studies of American quilts. So, the goal is not to definitively decide whether or not the feestrokken ought to be canonized within art history, rather, the author argues that we should look at the feestrokken within the context of a larger, long-standing history - including that of art and crafts. Ultimately, the author suggests that the feestrokken deserve the same re-examination that textile arts in the United States have received since the feminist movement of the 1970s, spawned by scholar-artists such as Miriam Shapiro and Melissa Meyer.

8. Dorothée Wortelboer
   With head held high and a straight back
   A hommage to Ans van den Bosch-van Dillen

   Ans van den Bosch-van Dillen devoted 47 years of her life to the restoration and preservation of the headdress belonging to the regional costume of the Dutch province of Brabant: the cap consisting of a ‘bol’ (crown) with its pleated strip along the front and a veil hanging down the back, as well as the poffer, the richly ornamented headdress which was worn over the cap.

   In this article, based on Ans’ own writings, lectures and intensive conversations with the author, the focus is on the poffer, that amazing headdress which enjoyed only a short life. In Brabant Roman Catholic peasant women started ornamenting their simple, white caps with small flowers from 1850, for church and festive occasions. This ornamentation developed into the ‘paske’ (little bridge), a separate gauze band with flowers and small branches which fitted along the pleated band at the cap’s front. This paske then developed into the full-blown poffer, ornamented with silk flowers and little silk and cotton branches imported, amongst others, from Czecho-Slovakia, and silk ribbons (the ‘tail ribbons’) imported from Lyon. In the course of time women started using nylon tulle and ornaments made of synthetic materials to make their poffer even more impressive. This however caused the poffer to gain so much weight that it could hardly be carried on the head anymore. Also the beautiful ‘matured’ white of the original poffer made place for a hard, optical white colour which, ironically enough, was much appreciated by people who had no knowledge at all of the authentic materials and colours.

   The poffer survived until World War II, but by 1960 it had disappeared completely. Ans van den Bosch became a passionate advocate of meticulous restoration of original poffers, which mostly got into her hands in an appalling state: dirty, yellowed, dusty, torn. She studied, photographed and archived, and she visited many former makers and wearers of poffers, who told her all they knew. With utmost care and patience she began to restore those ‘filthy old things’, as the old ladies called them.

   Ans gave series of lectures all over the Netherlands and incited people to get interested in the Brabant headdress. She also made miniature ‘character dolls’, dressed in regional costume with the headdress, to give her audience an idea about the life the poor, peasant part of the population led from the end of the nineteenth until halfway the twentieth century.

   In 2008 she donated her entire collection of Brabant headdresses and regional costumes, as well as the character dolls and her precious archive, to Museum Vekemans in Boxtel, which opened a special department for this, called ‘Brabant Goedgemutst’ (Brabant Well-capped), Ans’ former trademark.

   The article includes a number of anecdotes and important milestones from her interesting life and activities. Last but not least her husband, Huub van den Bosch, is mentioned: her life-long and devoted partner, who would always lend a helping hand and who archived and digitalized Ans’ life’s work.

9. Marijke de Bruijne
   The risk of water
   Treatment of historical costumes damaged by water at the Huis van Gijn in Dordrecht

   Textile and water are friends as well as enemies. Water often is the cause of problems textile restorers are faced with, on the other hand water as often is the solution of those problems.

   Three historical costumes in the Huis van Gijn/Dordrechts Museum became damaged by water. The solution to the problem was that same element: water! The costumes were treated by self-employed textile restorers Floor van der Plas and Marijke de Bruijne.

   Two dresses and a shawl from the collection of the Huis van Gijn, which is part of the Dordrechts Museum, were damaged by leakage from a ceiling during the exhibition Slow Fashion, which was held from December 7th, 2019 until September 13th, 2020. The Dordrechts Museum exhibited objects from its own collection for the first time in many years. The costumes described in this article are also owned by the Huis van Gijn/Dordrechts Museum. The costumes in question were a silk one from the 18th century, another one made of silk and cotton from the 19th century, and a silken shawl, also from the 19th century. The water had crept into the objects from the bottom up and dirt had accumulated along the lines where the fabric had dried up. These accumulations of dirt had become very hard and eventually would have damaged the fabric irreversibly. Not treating them would have meant that the costumes would be lost forever.

   Damage had been done to such an extent that local treatment was not possible. After performing tests, it was decided to treat the costumes by immersing them in a bath containing water only, without the addition of soap. However, the washing of historical costumes is not without risk. Colours may bleed, the material may shrink, expand or change its structure, historical information such as traces of making or use may disappear. Even after the testing unexpected problems may arise. A calculated risk was taken by washing these objects, because it was a matter of ‘all or nothing’.

   During the treatment of these costumes it became clear once more how great the risk of washing is. For each individual object an unexpected situation arose during the washing, which made immediate intervention necessary. Thanks to the careful preparation of the whole process the risks could be managed and the results turned out to be above expectation. The lines made by water and the accumulations of dirt had completely disappeared, and both condition and appearance of the costumes had improved to such an extent that they could take their place in the exhibition again. Also the objects are now well-preserved for the future.

   As can be seen once more from these cases, the washing of historical dress always represents a considerable risk. This is something amateurs should never do, it should be left to a professional textile restorer. She or he can make sure