This tapestry was inspired by the medieval tapestries I saw during my travels as a Winston Churchill Fellow and the medieval frescos I saw in Bulgaria. Many I saw depicted various Marys weeping over Christ but it occurred to me one would not be caught weeping in front of the murderers of one’s loved one, but as an accuser one would look back with dignity and a spine of oak. The idea had a personal resonance with me and this is the result, I as the weaver, and also a Mary (my middle name) gets to look out through them. The medieval images are known as the Lamentation of Christ, and I have called this The Lamentation as a nod to the original source.
This tapestry was inspired by the medieval tapestries I saw during my travels as a Winston Churchill Fellow and the medieval frescos I saw in Bulgaria. Many I saw depicted various Marys weeping over Christ but it occurred to me one would not be caught weeping in front of the murderers of one’s loved one, but as an accuser one would look back with dignity and a spine of oak. The idea had a personal resonance with me and this is the result, I as the weaver, and also a Mary (my middle name) gets to look out through them. The medieval images are known as the Lamentation of Christ, and I have called this The Lamentation as a nod to the original source.
This tapestry was inspired by the medieval tapestries I saw during my travels as a Winston Churchill Fellow and the medieval frescos I saw in Bulgaria. Many I saw depicted various Marys weeping over Christ but it occurred to me one would not be caught weeping in front of the murderers of one’s loved one, but as an accuser one would look back with dignity and a spine of oak. The idea had a personal resonance with me and this is the result, I as the weaver, and also a Mary (my middle name) gets to look out through them. The medieval images are known as the Lamentation of Christ, and I have called this The Lamentation as a nod to the original source.
Chrissie Freeth
Delia Jo
2016
Cotton warp, hand-dyed woollen weft
1.29 m x 1.62 m​
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My great-great-great grandmother’s suicide in 1862 left a dreadful legacy for several generations of women in my family. Two of her three daughters, and her only grand-daughter, were incarcerated in lunatic asylums. The latter, Delia Jo, was a resident in a workhouse until 1923 when she wiped her nose on her sleeve and became ‘uncooperative’. She was put in the same asylum as her mother and died there forty years later in 1963 having never left. Delia Jo, finished in 2016 was an attempt to use the techniques developed for No Longer Mourn on a larger scale.