A to Z of Modern Living: textile designer Eleanor Pritchard shares her five design principles and tips for using pattern at home
Eleanor’s work takes the form of blankets, cushions and upholstery fabrics that render 20th-century references such as early television technology, radio waves and Art Deco design into colourful, often graphic patterns formed of geometric shapes, orthogonal lines and textural flourishes. All of Eleanor’s designs first take shape on her peg-and-lag dobby loom in her Deptford studio, before going into production at mills in west Wales, Lancashire or the west coast of Scotland – “I think craft can survive when it meets industry,” Eleanor says.
As well as her seasonal collections of textiles, Eleanor also takes on projects for clients that have included long-term collaborator Margret Howell, Tate, Isokon Plus and, most recently, Frank Lloyd Wright’s iconic Fallingwater, to which she was given free roam in order to come up with two designs for the estate, one of which was on the loom during our visit.
“No, not when you get your head around it! The thing with weaving is you have to think about it in a three-dimensional way. Although we think of fabric as being flat, actually in terms of the threads, one group is always travelling over or under another group. Once you’ve grasped that idea, then it starts to make sense.
“It’s actually the thing I love most about weaving: that the pattern and the structure are the same thing. It’s not like printing or something where you apply the pattern afterwards; with weaving, it’s all the same.”
How do you come up with new designs?“Generally I try and be quite instinctive, so that I’m not following trends. We have some designs that we’ve sold for more than ten years and they’re still really popular, which hopefully means our work doesn’t date too quickly.
“I just make what I like, which is the real pleasure of having such a small business – I’m not really answerable to anybody.
“At the moment I’m thinking about the early 20th century, especially a show at the Royal Academy a couple of years ago about Russian art between 1917-1932, which I absolutely loved. So, I just follow my interests, and it’s kind of self-indulgent. Maybe one day nothing will sell and I’ll have to be more strategic!”
“Well, you might think, why are blankets relevant to modern living? Why does anybody need one if we have thick duvets and central heating? But there’s something very primaeval about getting out a blanket and wrapping yourself with it or putting it on your bed – there are nurturing, homely connotations associated with blankets.
“The reason I particularly like making blankets is partly the scale – they’re like a big canvas to design for. I also really like the functional quality – the idea that our pieces will be used; that they’re not simply decorative.”
“In a broader cultural sense blankets also feel both timeless and yet very ancient to me – they seem to hold a lot of cultural and emotional symbolism. I recently inherited a blanket which has been handed down in my family from a forebear’s wedding trousseau from 1842 – a beautiful double-cloth pattern in indigo blue and white. It is 178 years old now and still feels completely relevant.”
How do you use pattern at home?“It’s funny because at home we don’t have many textiles around. Although, obviously, I really love them in interiors, I like them used quite sparingly. So, I don’t think I would ever have a tablecloth and napkins. I like napkins on a wooden table, for that soft against hard contrast, or curtains against concrete, maybe.
“For furniture, I really like pieces where, if it’s made of wood, you see that structure somehow, rather than the whole thing being upholstered, so you’ve always got that juxtaposition. Our old house on Ezra Street, which we sold via The Modern House last year, gives a good idea of what I like.”
How should people consider colour when using textiles at home?“I make pieces that I would like to live with, so although they might make use of quite strong colours, they’re not crazy busy. In my mind they’re providing that element of softness, pattern and colour into quite a neutral space, not going on top of a stripy duvet with a floral carpet or something.
“But of course, people use them in all sorts of different ways. I remember the ceramicist Edmund De Waal wrote an article imagining the biography of a piece that he makes. He said his ceramics begin with a gestation period in the studio, and then are sent out into the world, where they have another life with the people who love and cherish them. I love that idea, and I wouldn’t want to be too dogmatic about how things are used. I think if they’re used, that’s great.”
“I’ll start with a quick anecdote. When we wind a new sample warp on, we use sheets of paper between the different layers of yarn to keep them separated on the beam. We always re-use old copies of the FT for this as they are big broadsheets and the ink is really fast, so it doesn’t smudge at all.
“We’ve got old copies dating back years and every so often I come across the same article about Dieter Rams and his famous design principles. Each time I use it to wind on I think that I really ought to pull it out and save it, but I never do. I hadn’t seen it for a while and then today, when you arrived, I noticed it had unwound from the beam – a happy piece of synchronicity!”
1. Stand Back
“I was taught a trick in college, which is brilliant, by a tutor. She told me to look at a pattern in the mirror. It’s really interesting to see it reversed, as you can see it for real, in a way.
“It’s about giving yourself a bit of creative distance. But it’s also about physically standing back and looking because our work will be seen up close, but it will also be seen across the room, in real people’s homes. So, standing back allows me to think about the design beyond the textile itself, and about its potential contexts.”
2. Lean in
“The counterpoint to the last one. I think it’s important to pay attention to the minute details, which you won’t see across the room but reward a closer look.
“We make upholstery collections as well and for those all the backgrounds are mixed. So, what you might read as green from afar is actually a mix of threads: a turquoise colour, petrol and a black. The closer you get, the more there is, like a gift for paying attention.”
3. Parameters are paramount
“I love the CC41 fabrics that were made in the Second World War. There was this whole thing around saving materials, so there were very strict rules around how many colours were used and how big the repeat could be, which resulted in very simple patterns in a limited number of colours, but which I think are really beautiful.
“For me, the fact that the production mill might only have 16 shafts or that I’m working within a certain repeat size is something I really value, and I don’t find limiting at all.
“I don’t want to suggest weaving is like poetry, but it’s a bit like trying to write within a very specific form, like a sonnet or haiku. There’s a kind of economy around that which I think means you have to be quite disciplined about your decisions.”
4. Follow your instinct.
“I think it would make me miserable if I made something I didn’t like – I just wouldn’t want it out there in the world. Life’s too short to make stuff that you are not really happy with.
“I think having a specific starting point helps, and you certainly can’t just pull a design out of the air. There has to be a process that means the end result bears your unique signature, otherwise what you create will just be derivative of what’s out already there. There isn’t a shortcut really, I don’t think. You have to sort of internalise your inspiration and process it in some way, and then it comes out.”
5. The proof is in the pudding
“I would never just draw something up and send it off. Things always change on the loom, even afer the third weave. I need to see the design in the right yarn and on the right scale – it’s really important for me.”
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