Briana McCarthy
Contexts
Knots and Knot Lore
In the journal article from Western Folklore, “Knots and Knot Lore”, author Cyrus L. Day discusses the history and importance of knots in primitive cultures: “...primitive people have always thought that knots possess magical power for good or evil, and therefore in many parts of the world knots have played, and still play, an important role in magic and religion. On the other hand, knots are an indispensable tool in the daily lives of primitive people…” (1950). Practically, knots are used to secure, attach, and decorate. Magically, they served a similar purpose. They were used for protection and malevolence (Day, 1950). As might be expected, knots, and the tying and untying of them, were worked into rituals to control weather, disease, death, love, birth, and many other phenomena of the human condition (Day, 1950).
My particular interest lies in the act of binding a disease or malevolent spirit with a knot. In some rituals, the thing that needs binding is pulled from the body and tied into the knot (Day, 1950). Sometimes that is the end of it, but sometimes the knot must be hung in a tree or disposed of in some way for the undoing of it will release the bound entity or ailment back into the world (Day, 1950).
We bind pieces of ourselves, or thoughts, away everyday. This binding, restricting, and locking away of things is prevalent in western language. When we are distressed or conflicted we may describe it as feeling knotted up or tangled up inside. When we can’t get the words out we are tongue tied. It’s a well understood metaphor, perhaps because knots are as important in present day society as they were in primitive ones.
In Soft and Savage, pictured to the left, I explore the binding qualities of knots. The use of knots to keep something contained, but also the fear of them sliding loose and apart. The repetitive nature of tying so many knots, of braiding and weaving, pushed the process into ritual. It was meditative, and I could imagine my thoughts and feelings being wrapped up in the cotton cords as my hands repeated the patterns. The softness of the cord is in opposition to the wire frame it is wrapped around: the softening and guarding of something hard, cold, and ugly. The practical concern of covering sharp wire ends with the cord, to prevent injury, was prevalent in my mind, which further imbued the sense of protection for the outer world from the inner. As delicate and beautiful as a knot or braid can be, they can be just as savage in their control and binding.
Day, C. L. (1950) "Knots and knot lore", Western Folklore, 9(3), pp. 229–256. Available at: https://doi.org/10.2307/1520741
Some Had Only a Thumb Remaining
A Passage from The Bleeding Tree by Hollie Starling
A passage from Hollie Starling’s book, The Bleeding Tree, discusses the studies of anthropologist James Frazer (2023, p. 136-137). Starling explains, “Frazer notes one case ‘after the death of a king of Fiji [in which] sixty fingers were amputated and being each inserted in a slit reed were stuck along the eaves of the king’s house.’ In a lecture on the topic he recalls some elderly members of the community had only a thumb remaining,” (2023, p. 136-137). Reading this passage, I wondered at the devotion to custom required to remove a finger to mourn a king or help them to the afterlife. I wouldn’t amputate any part of my body in the mourning of a leader or a loved one, but the metaphor this evokes is strong.
Losing someone, for me my mother, who I had never experienced a world without, really does feel like losing a limb. My mind struggled to make sense of the hole in my world. Like a phantom limb, there were moments of forgetting such as walking into the living room and being surprised she wasn’t in her chair.
The loss of an appendage also alters how one physically interacts with the world: simple, everyday tasks become harder. I drop things a lot. I never used to be so clumsy, and now I misjudge the distance to the counter. Beyond that, the effort it takes to put yourself back into the world is herculean. I felt, and often still feel, like a soft, fragile, grotesque thing lurching among the human villagers. I’m still learning this body that looks familiar but feels like a stranger.
This passage had me further considering mourning apparel and how we broadcast our state and experience to the world. This led to the imagery of a necklace of fingers in How Monstrous If I Healed, pictured to the right. There was a time in England when a widow would wear black and a veil for a year (Starling, 2023). In the second year of mourning she would introduce some gray, then later maybe some lavender (Starling, 2023). There is something comforting in not always having to speak to your pain, but the western world has fallen away from such traditions, holding the comfort of society above that of the grieving.
Starling, H. (2023) The bleeding tree: a pathway through grief guided by forests, folk tales and the ritual year. London: Rider, an imprint of Ebury Publishing.
Victoria and Albert Museum Jewellery Collection: Mourning and Memorial
In February 2024, I visited the Jewellery collection at the Victoria and Albert Museum in South Kensington. The volume of artifacts is immense: case after case of rings, necklaces, and tiaras from across the ages. Much of the collection is shining, faceted jewel constructions. Despite the volume of items to sort through, the mourning jewelry wasn’t difficult to find for two reasons: it is organized with the Memento Mori jewelry, the little skulls being easy to spot, and these pieces feel quieter than the greater collection. The collection of mourning and memorial jewelry is modest compared to the purely decorative pieces, taking up only a few cases. They have their own delicacy, different from the curling, lace-like designs of some of the jeweled pieces; these feature delicately written names and soft, painted faces. Many of the pieces are rings or lockets incorporating bits of braided hair. The hair braided pieces were what I came for, but a different piece kept my thoughts.
The 15th ring in the case shows a woman, her chest exposed, holding a dove. I know from the V&A’s online resources that this ring is French, made between 1750 and 1800 (Victoria and Albert Museum, 2023). Rings like this were often made to be distributed to friends and family after one’s death (Victoria and Albert Museum, 2023). Her countenance and her hand on the dove are gentle. It’s the softness in expression, theme, and line that catches me. Isn’t this the way we wish to remember those we’ve lost? This encounter shifted my thoughts about mourning clothing and jewelry. I was primarily considering it as a way to signal loss to the rest of society, hoping they will treat us with more care, but this moved my mind toward memorial: something that signals society and comforts us.
The work that grew from this was How Monstrous If I Healed and a series of glass necklaces, which are still in progress. The use of fingers, and the removal of them, as a symbol came from a tradition of removing a finger at the death of a leader amongst certain cultures in Fiji (Starling, 2023), but the need to keep a softness in the work was born of this ring. In How Monstrous If I Healed, I made sure the hands, though maimed, were relaxed and soft. I wanted the finger stumps and remaining fingers to gently touch those that were severed and draped around the figure’s neck. There is something loving and precious about a slight touch. In the glass works, the softness is expressed in color and translucency: look through and the world may be waved or a warm pink, a cool blue. The use of more pastel or light colors helps to lift the heavy glass.
Jewellery (no date) [Exhibition]. Victoria and Albert Museum South Kensington, London, United Kingdom.
Starling, H. (2023) The bleeding tree: a pathway through grief guided by forests, folk tales and the ritual year. London: Rider, an imprint of Ebury Publishing.
Victoria and Albert Museum (2023) Ring. Available at: https://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O118471/ring-unknown/ (Accessed: 7 May 2024).
