When this you see

After being inspired by 19th century memorial needlework, I asked Jessica Marquez of Miniature Rhino to create a special needlepoint. I already have a couple of her needlework constellations, which I adore.

And here's what she did! Don't you agree that the vintage-inspired stitching is absolutely gorgeous? Look at the detail of the flowers:

This piece is so sweet and versatile, with enough space for a special memento between the phrases Remember me/When this you see. Jessica included some thread for sewing on small tokens. Here's the needlepoint with a lock of my grandmother's hair:

And here it is with the Order of the Eastern Star pendant that belonged to my great-grandmother:

And finally, a sprig of lavender that my mother gave to me:

This sentimental needlepoint is handmade, and can be passed on between generations, giving us a lovely opportunity to remember those we love every time we see it. It also would make an awesome gift. Thanks Jessica!

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Modern Hairwork Jewelry

Hair is a funny thing, it's almost imbued with talismanic powers. To keep a lock of someone's hair is to feel their presence close by. The Victorians used to exchange locks of hair as tokens of affection, a ritual that I regret has been lost. But perhaps not for long.

Stella Saves the Day is creating lovely little lockets made from hair. I love them because the hair is discreet, and looks more like delicate needlework. She's also creating needlepoint based on traditional Victorian hair work as seen below. For more information, please visit her lovely new blog.

Mourning Portraits: New Orleans

Hair has a long history in its association with mourning. It's the one part of the body that can be held onto after death. It's both physically intimate, yet as a small piece of that person, it also reminds us how they are truly gone. Hair is both sentimental yet haunting, enticing yet foreboding. The Victorians used the hair of the departed to create mourning jewelry, yet the hairwork is very stylized and loses its sense of physicality. It's almost disguised.

In the series Mourning Portrait sculptor Loren Schwerd has found a way to use human hair in a series of works that evoke the loss of home - in this case, homes in New Orleans that were destroyed in the flood. The use of human hair plays on the persistence yet fragility of these homes - still there, but barely. It's all that's left. In some cases the hair spills out of the frame, refusing to be either contained or forgotten.

Here is the artist's statement:

Mourning Portrait, is a series of memorials to the communities of New Orleans that were devastated by the flooding which followed Hurricane Katrina. These commemorative objects are made from human hair extensions of the type commonly used by African-American women that I found outside the St. Claude Beauty Supply. The portraits draw on the eighteenth and nineteenth-century tradition of hairwork, in which family members or artisans would fashion the hair of the deceased into intricate jewelry and other objects as symbols of death and rebirth. Working from my own photographs I weave the hair into portraits of the vacant houses of the Ninth Ward neighborhood. By documenting private homes, I venerate the city's losses, both individual and collective.

Modern Mourning Jewelry

At first this may seem disturbing. Human hair and ashes used to make jewelry. Although the Victorians popularized hair mourning jewelry, the locks were delicately woven to appear more like fine needlework. They didn't look, well, so hairy.

Design student Anna Schwamborn, who's worked with a couple of my favorite designers (Vivienne Westwood and Alexander McQueen) has created a new vision for hairwork jewelry. Rosary beads, a "tear catcher" watchchain, and other items use human hair as well as ashes embedded in black bone china. Unlike their Victorian predecessors, these pieces don't try to disguise their hairiness - they revel in it.

Of course, there's a certain shock value here, and this concept's not for everyone. In my view, anything that once intimately belonged to someone you loved and lost is inherently beautiful.

Modern Hairwork

One of the most fascinating mourning rituals from the Victorian era was hairwork - creating jewelry, watch fobs, wreaths and other items from a loved one's locks. Hair is the only physical remnant we can hold on to, and for that reason it's incredibly intimate. The loving detail of Victorian hairwork is a kind of alchemy. In the hands of these crafters, hair almost becomes threaded gold, copper or silver - transforming the ephemeral nature of hair into something permanent like jewelry. It's a beautiful way to remember someone, yet honestly, if it's not your loved one, it can come off as a little morbid. I think this is why the tradition hasn't really found its way into modern times.

Artist Jennifer Perry, however, continues to work with hair in a new medium - canvas. She uses hair to sew ethereal images. I love this modern interpretation, the bringing together of needlework and hairwork. Although her work isn't commissioned, perhaps it's the beginning of a new tradition.



Here's more information from her blog:

Many of the women who were skilled in this specialized art came from a small town in Sweden called Våmhus, and they traveled all over Europe to take orders and sell their work to combat the extreme poverty that they were experiencing in the late 18th to early 19th centuries (more here). Hairwork made by the Swedish women and others was called "tablework;" the hair was plaited using a special table with a hole in the center and bobbins to weigh down the strands of hair (similar to bobbin lace and Japanese Kumihimo). The results were gorgeous bracelets, necklaces, rings, earrings, brooches, and wreaths.

In the meantime, if you are interested in having something created out of hair, there are services available. The Victorian Hairwork Society is a great place to start.

Close to My Heart

Alison Nowlin Ward's RELIC collection offers a modern update on mourning jewelry. Her custom pieces, pictured here, can hold a lock of hair, the remnants of a love letter, or even the ashes of a loved one.


The Victorians' use of hair in mourning jewelry was an amazing alchemy, the transformation of hair's wild, organic nature into a stylized, lasting jewelry. It's like a metaphor for the hopes of an everlasting life after death, from the ephemeral to the eternal. Yet I have to be honest - some of the Victorian hair mourning jewelry was kind of creepy.


Or so stylized it seems the very personal nature of the hair was lost, as in this plaited hair brooch from the Metropolitan Museum of Art:


I love Alison Nowlin Ward's work because the hair is not overworked or transformed into something else. Her STORYVILLE collection is a series of lockets that can hide away a secret sentimental treasure.


These lovely pieces of jewelry can be ordered at www.madamefortuna.com.