Knitted Rug 1935 - 1942

Editor: So, here we have Ingrid Selmer-Larsen's "Knitted Rug," created sometime between 1935 and 1942. It appears to be a textile work, maybe even fibre-art, and I find its intricate geometric pattern quite mesmerizing. What’s your take? How do you even begin to unpack something like this? Curator: You know, looking at this "Knitted Rug," I feel a connection to something deeply personal, like a memory unfolding in stitches. It reminds me of my grandmother's needlework. But beyond the personal, consider the time it was made—between 1935 and 1942. A period of turmoil, uncertainty. Could this intricate weaving be a form of quiet resistance, a claiming of domestic space amidst global chaos? What do you make of the abstraction versus the clear functionality that textile is usually associated with? Editor: I hadn't thought of it that way. I was stuck on the repetitive patterns and the medium. So, you’re saying the very act of creating something beautiful and functional during such times becomes an act of defiance? Almost like saying, "Even amidst chaos, I will create order and beauty"? Curator: Exactly! And think of the labour involved. The slow, deliberate process of knitting and weaving. Each stitch a moment of contemplation, a prayer perhaps. Don't you find the imperfection of it – as oppposed to the precision you get with machine-made textiles – to also be a strength, suggesting this human connection to labour? What does "home" mean when the world is at war? Food for thought, isn't it? Editor: Absolutely! I went in seeing just a decorative piece, but now I see layers of meaning—resistance, memory, the power of creation in troubled times. Thank you! Curator: And thank you! It is rewarding to be reminded that art holds up a mirror and teaches us more about ourselves.