It's an Acquired Taste

I know that I cater to a very niche market through Brass Tacks, but sometimes I worry that within that niche my personal favourites probably cater to just a handful. This isn’t to say I don’t like everything I design; it just means that I’m aware of my taste and my tendency to choose fabrics that are not necessarily popular.

I’ve known this for a while, especially with my love for checks and stripes. I have used these fabrics before, but I’m always hesitant and I carefully pick the ones that I think will have universal appeal.

Recently I’ve been feeling a lot more strongly about my passion for traditional checks. Why should I choose only the checks that cater to a wide audience- isn’t part of creating a brand image having a distinct point of view and taking a few risks? A conversation I had with one of my customers the other day made me realize that if I spend too much energy focusing on what will sell really well, I might lose touch with my inspiration, thereby losing the point of view I set out to show. This customer (she’s a textile designer) was there to talk to the host of a show on NDTV-Hindu* about my store, and she told me that while she loves the fact that I use soft, thin cotton that crushes, she probably shouldn’t say that on TV because most people dislike that about cotton. Hearing her say that reminded me of a look that I too love. Sometimes I get so wrapped up trying to change the associations people have of traditional textiles in order to create something that is cosmopolitan, urban and marketable, that I forget (or push aside) what I love. Soft, thin cotton that crushes at your elbows and knees has a certain old world charm to it that I love. It’s natural in a very honest way unlike stiff, starched cotton or poly-cotton blends. Those may not crinkle, but they lack soul.

A huge focus at Brass Tacks is to take handloom fabric, and re-articulate them as modern silhouettes. It’s not enough to think about how a fabric may feel, or how a style may look. The final combination of fabric, silhouette, drape and tailoring forms a product that will trigger certain associations for customers. It’s my personal opinion that there are many women in India who feel that khadi, crushed cotton, and other traditional textiles are frumpy or old-school in a very unfashionable way. Especially when it comes to woven textiles, the traditional checks are not popular because ...well, I really don’t know why. Maybe not enough high-end designers make it look glamorous in the way that they make embroidery and sequins on chiffon silk look glamorous? A lot of textile magazines and books that I read lead me to believe that our traditional checks would be really popular in Europe and the pockets of the US and Japan, and maybe that’s because their associations of that fabric are different.

Recently I went through my mother’s collection of old Kanjeevaram sarees and I’m in love with them. The stripes and checks are amazing; with colour combinations I would never have imagined would look so stunning. I’m determined to use textiles inspired by these designs, but apparently no weaver in Kanjeevaram will weave cotton yardage anymore. That’s not my main problem though: the toughest challenge at hand is to design styles with these textiles, while staying true to the design aesthetic of these stripes and checks. Below are a few photos from my mother’s collection.






*The shoot at my store was for a show on NDTV-Hindu, and will air in about a month. I am so thankful to everyone who came over that day and spent so much time helping out. Really, I was touched to see how many people came and patiently waited for camera time.

Research and Documentation

A friend of mine once told me that Indians haven’t done a good job of documenting our history and our knowledge. She was referring in particular to the field of traditional medicine and healing techniques. In the last few weeks, while I’ve been gathering research material for a section on textile crafts that I plan to have in the new Brass Tacks website (that’s right- coming up very soon), I realized that even in the area of textiles where so much has been written, it is still hard to find books that explain the crafts in a language that is easy to comprehend. Many of the essays are detailed analyses related to economics and the textile sector, and many of the coffee table books are more for visual appeal with just a paragraph of information on the origin of the craft or details of the technique.

There is one visual guide on world textiles by John Gillow that provides, albeit only for famous or popular textiles, clear explanations on craft techniques from different parts of the world. Since the book is a visual guide however, it does not go into the details of different designs or variations within a craft, and it does not provide much insight into the origin of the crafts either. For example, I am not sure why the world famous Varanasi sarees that use an extra weft technique in gold and silver are referred to by the Bengali word for extra weft: Jamdani. The Craft Revival Trust, as I’ve mentioned before, has documented many crafts and classified them in a way that makes them easy to find on their website, however a lot of those descriptions seem as if they are meant for people who already know the basics (or are some basics like the origin of Varanasi Jamdani omitted due to lack of information)?

This post was first motivated by a piece I found on the Craft Revival Trust website, and then more recently while writing information on textile crafts for the Brass Tacks website I became more appreciative of this clear and concise piece on the loom. Written by a textile designer, this definition-essay is a simple but thorough explanation of the way a handloom works. For many readers the details on the intricacies of the loom might be a little too much, but if you are interested in studying the basics of fabric construction, then this is it: easy to read, easy to comprehend, and easily accessible - Ayeshe Sadr’s Demystifying the Loom.

An Ode to Thick Sarees

When I was small, I remember cuddling up to my mother’s cotton sarees for comfort (they smelled of her) whenever she traveled out of town on work. Perhaps that’s when I acquired my taste for the weight, fall, and texture of cotton. My mother’s cotton sarees were thick, and I could spend hours staring at the coarse khadi yarn, the supplementary weft patterns, and the designs on the pallu. The Kanjeevaram sarees were simple- wide borders and the familiar stripes in shades of parrot green, kungumam red and turmeric yellow. Then there were Bengal cottons with Jamdani work, beautiful red/terracotta sarees from Koraput, and, some of my favourites, the Orissa Ikat sarees with animals, snails, and flowers in Ikat all over the sari.

My taste is very simple and traditional when I shop for sarees. I go blind when I walk into a store with more georgette and crepe than any other fabric, and seeing thin, transparent sarees studded with jewels brings back bad memories of how students at my school used to decorate the covers of their history projects! I long for the thick cotton sarees that make me feel excited just being in them, the sophistication of an old craft in vibrant colours, and the subtle beauty of the traditional designs. However, the market is flooded with the thin, sheer kind, in fabrics that cling to your body, weighed down by heavy embroidery and stones. It is ironic, now come to think of it, that students decorated their history project covers that way. Were we giving a shout out to the visually stimulating Moghul era? Were we, at some subconscious level, more proud of that kind of aesthetic sense and stimulus than any other, or have we been conditioned from a young age to think of “rich Indian culture” in terms of what royalty did?

The other day a group of young adults (just out of college) came to my store. They were there to pick a top for one of the girls. I was trying to assess her taste as I went through each rack picking out suggestions. When I suggested Fort Greene, a very feminine (okay, maybe girly) pleated top from handwoven cotton and silk, her guy friend said “Oh no, that looks too much like Khadi”. I wasn’t surprised. I know that for many people khadi = old = frumpy = unglamourous. The top was actually made from Chinese silk and mercerized cotton, but there were lines of random tie-dye ikat throughout the fabric that gave it the “khadi look”. I fought hard to not feel defensive (“it is clearly not khadi- can’t you see the polished yarn?”), but I felt sad because his taste is reflective of how many must feel about thick sarees.

I have wanted to write about my love for thick sarees for a while, and when I learned about the Dastkar Andhra exhibition in town, I thought this would be a good time. If you live in Chennai, please go! They have a great range of khadi as well as mill yarn cotton sarees, including some that are dyed from natural ingredients. On display are photographs documenting the entire process of khadi, right from the cotton plucking to the woven sari, and the photographs are printing on handwoven cotton.

Exhibition and Sale of by Dastkar Andhra Marketing Association at
Lalit Kala Academy (#4, Greams Road, Chennai 600006)
From 6th to 10th August, 10:30am to 8pm.

Also, in an attempt to keep up with the times and get in better touch with my customers I've started a group on Facebook. So if you're interested in hearing about Brass Tacks events and getting in touch with me, click here to join the group.