Stitching Stories: Inside Delaine Le Bas’ World
Delaine Le Bas. Photo: Keith Hunter.
Delaine Le Bas. Photo: Keith Hunter.
'Why is it that we all know and understand who Mickey Mouse is, but we don't all know about the Universal Declaration of Human Rights?' asks 2024 Turner Prize nominee Delaine Le Bas.
We are speaking about the artist's eponymously titled textile work, in which she handwrote in bold black ink all 30 of the declaration's articles around a crude drawing of Mickey Mouse. Universal Declaration of Human Rights was originally shown as part of the large-scale installation Safe European Home?, made in collaboration with the artist's late husband, Damian Le Bas, and first presented outside Vienna's parliament building in 2011.
When the artist and I meet, the work is on display in Le Bas' expansive solo exhibition, Delainia: 17071965 Unfolding (7 June–13 October 2024), at Tramway in Glasgow. Offering a comprehensive overview of the artist's multifaceted practice, with works spanning from the 1990s to the present day, the show is part of Glasgow International, Scotland's biennial of contemporary art.
Working with textiles, video, sound, sculpture, and performance, Le Bas often explores ideas and motifs around racism, feminism, and untold histories—including her own as a member of the Roma community. Drawing attention to discrimination against and misrepresentation of marginal communities, her practice combines imagery of the English pastoral idyll with documentation of traumatic events that have occurred in her life. To experience Le Bas' work, therefore, is to interact with the materials of her very existence. She tells me that she sees her work as 'a continuous piece, encompassing all [her] interests and concerns.'
Incipit Vita Nova. Here Begins The New Life/A New Life Is Beginning, Le Bas' Turner Prize-nominated exhibition at Secession in Vienna (30 June–3 September 2023), highlighted Roma and Traveller identities through installations that depicted displacement and resilience. It comprised an immersive installation, with hanging textiles of red-painted outlines of figures in dresses forming the entrance architecture, that led into a gallery space with foil-covered walls. In the main gallery space, black fabric horses and scarecrow-like circus figures circled a central projection. The exhibition extended into smaller rooms, with red footprints leading visitors to cave-like spaces reminiscent of fortune-teller booths. Handwritten texts scrawled across installations included statements such as: 'I am a woman alone in this world', 'There is no future/there is a future', 'We are the others', and 'No more witch hunts'.
Delainia: 17071965 Unfolding is a similarly complex installation in which the artist has draped painted, appliquéd, and embroidered fabrics over the walls, steel pillars, and original tramlines of the formerly industrial gallery space. The textiles serve as a backdrop to a maze of stacked hay bales, stuffed rag dolls, shrines, and a miscellany of found objects. Colourful rugs are dispersed about the concrete floor while ribbons in vibrant hues hang suspended from the tented fabrics. Mounted on a post, a sleeveless wine-red garment has been embroidered with a crowned figure on a horse. The sculptural Goddess Temple (2019) evokes the Minoan snake goddess figurines, taming snakes with her bare hands; Le Bas' goddess wears a white dress, sewn together from pieces of fabric and covered in images of ferocious faces and the word 'UNTAMED'. The artist's fascination with fabrics and their potential to carry meaning dates to her years as a textiles student in the 1980s, initially at West Sussex College of Art and Design in Worthing, then at Central Saint Martins in London.
'I want the space to bring people together, so that they can have conversations,' Le Bas tells me. 'That feels like a radical thing these days.' In preparation for a performance at the gallery later that evening, the artist is wearing a long dress with an intricate black-and-white striped pattern. The gown—which is evocative of the witches, goddesses, and prophets that are recurrent figures in her practice—is typical of the garments Le Bas dons to bring her works to life. The performance in Glasgow consisted of Le Bas with collaborators Lincoln Cato and Hera S Santos, moving through the installation and reciting a text. Le Bas explains, 'I don't really like the audience to know when the performance begins and ends.'
Language is another constant for the artist. Delainia: 17071965 Unfolding contains a plethora of handwritten texts addressing issues such as racism, feminism, and the exclusion of Roma and Traveller communities, which Le Bas fears will become further marginalised due to the rise of right-wing politics. Reverberating throughout the space is the distinct hum of a sound piece playing from sentry boxes placed throughout the installation, titled Mary Mary, (2009/2010). Le Bas tells me that she uses audio in her installations to provide another means of engaging with the work, reinforcing Article 27 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights: 'Everyone has the right freely to participate in the cultural life of the community, to enjoy the arts, and to share in scientific advancement and its benefits.'
In the following conversation, Le Bas discusses her unconventional journey into art, revealing how she has employed textiles to challenge societal norms and stereotypes, tackle political issues, and navigate spaces in new ways.
SHYour practice spans various mediums. Can you describe your creative process and how you integrate these diverse elements to convey your artistic vision? What role do each of these mediums play in your storytelling?
DLBI studied art and initially went to art school for fashion. Eventually, I focused on fashion and textiles, with music playing a pivotal role in leading me to art school. My path was unconventional; I was the eldest of my siblings, the only one to finish school and pursue any further education. I ended up at Central Saint Martins, studying fashion and textiles. My fascination lies in fabric and its potential, particularly how textiles convey messages. I was always intrigued by prints and their underlying meanings. Some of the early work used pre-printed textiles with specific imagery and messages on them. Like, what sort of messages do you get from, say, a print with action figures, guys with big knives and guns, as something you put a child to bed in?
I'm interested in what connects us as human beings and what connects us to the planet, or how we should be connected to it.
Clothing and what it signifies—how it's perceived based on what you're wearing—intrigues me. I'm interested in using textiles to create structures. For me, it was about constructing structures that might not typically exist within certain structures and about communities that are often demonised. It's like navigating space in a different way.
My performances are often spontaneous. They're about being in space, listening, paying attention, and interacting with what's happening. The performances don't have set start and end times, so they blend into the environment. Tonight, it will be me, my partner Lincoln Cato, long-term collaborator Hera S Santos, and a soundscape by Justin Langlands. We've all worked together for some time, and my partner does the scenography with me. It's a collaborative, evolving process.
SHYour work often explores the intersection of personal experience and broader political and social issues. How do you navigate this intersection within the exhibition?
DLBI think it's in all the work. I wouldn't say there's just one piece that captures it. I'm interested in what connects us as human beings and what connects us to the planet, or how we should be connected to it. The political upheavals, how we don't learn from anything.
[Rituals and social interactions] are about sharing, and that can be turned into something more significant.
If you listen to the sound piece in the confessional boxes; it's not a new piece, we did that around 2009 or 2010. It's from a conversation with my son. If you listen to that, it tells you everything you need to know. It makes historical references that were current at the time but are still relevant today.
SHIn the exhibition, there's the use of text, personal and archival materials, and symbols from classical mythology and popular culture. Can you elaborate on how these elements contribute to the social and psychological commentary in the work?
DLBFor example, I've got a handwritten Declaration of Human Rights with Mickey Mouse in the middle. Most people know Mickey Mouse universally, but they wouldn't know a single article in the Declaration of Human Rights, which is sad because it was created after World War II. It seems we don't learn from history. Politicians often act like it doesn't exist, and some even wish it wasn't there. Mickey Mouse could be anything, but it's universally recognised, while important things like the Declaration are not. I'm not trying to preach, but I think it's important for people to know these things. We live in paradoxical times, where apparent freedom masks the limited freedom many people experience.
SHThrough a feminist lens, how do you tackle narratives of emancipation and domination in your work? Specifically, how do you portray mythological figures like goddesses and witches, and what historical and contemporary themes do they represent in your installations?
DLBHistorically, there wasn't the divide we see now [between goddess and witches]. The witch hunts were pivotal because they were tied to capitalism. If we look back, the idea of the goddess and different historical aspects—like the Oracle of Delphi—which were women, who were there for a thousand years. There are hidden aspects of history that are still relevant today. People don't realise the intricacies, like how women during the witch hunts, if they had money they paid for their own torture and execution, and how others divided up their assets. Similar dynamics still exist. It's a complicated history, but one I've always been interested in. I manifest it in art to encourage people to ask questions and look deeper.
SHYour work aims to activate and reclaim space for new rituals and ideas of resistance against historical and contemporary hostility. How do you approach this theme in your work? Can you give examples?
DLBIt's about reclaiming space. Creating different types of structures and environments with different materials. Going back to witch hunts and land enclosures, everyone had more access to land. Now, there's a lot of land, but what's being done with it? We don't grow enough food to support the country. Enclosures, who owns the land, and trespass laws are issues.
It's about sharing how it feels to be involved and giving people different entry points into the work.
Coming from my community, we face demonisation within the landscape. There's romanticisation and demonisation of land ownership. I use imagery and juxtapose different elements to question truths and positions within these myths. For example straw, a harmless material from the land, has been used by French farmers in protests. It's a strong statement from a simple material.
Rituals in many places are part of everyday life, not something extra or special in an extravagant way. They help people feel grounded and connected. Simple actions, like eating together, are rituals that are eroding from daily life. Sharing food and time with others is important, and its loss affects social interactions. For me, rituals can be complex or simple, like a conversation that changes someone's day. These small interactions can have a significant impact.
Protests are a form of gathering and being together. There's a push to break down social interactions and prevent people from gathering. Rituals and social interactions are complex and multifaceted, depending on where you are and who you're with. They're about sharing, and that can be turned into something more significant.
SHYour background seems to deeply inform your artistic practice, particularly regarding themes of gender and discrimination. In what ways do you address and challenge stereotypes through your art?
DLBI try to be honest about it. Stereotypes exist, and I don't shy away from that. My work includes many threads about various things. My grandmother features a lot; she was strong, taught herself to read and write, and wanted us to have opportunities she didn't have. She created a safe space for us to learn and grow. My story is mine, not someone else's, and I don't shy away from harsh realities. My experiences inform my work, providing doorways for others to access it. It's about sharing how it feels to be involved and giving people different entry points into the work.
SHWhat do you hope audiences will take away from seeing your exhibition? Are there specific emotions or thoughts you wish to evoke?
DLBI hope it sparks conversations and reflections. Some might find it angry, but others might feel it gives them space to recognise their own feelings. It's about providing a space to think, to sit, and to reflect. There are soundscapes and areas to sit and contemplate. It's a gathering place for discussions, whether positive or negative. Sometimes good things come from starting difficult conversations.
SHCould you share any upcoming projects that you are working on?
DLBToo many! I have a show coming up at John Marchant Gallery in Brighton about clothing and costumes. We are doing a publication to go with this show. I recently did a residency at a place called Paradise in France, which will be part of an exhibition in London in October at Yamamoto Keiko Rochaix. I have another residency with Create London and will be painting a wall at Glastonbury with the Unfairground. My son will also be there, at the Atchin Tan/Stopping Place. —[O]
