What's in a Name?
- Fiona Wyse
- 3 days ago
- 3 min read
Yesterday I attended the London opening of Picking Up the Thread: The Past, Present and Future of Tapestry, the British Tapestry Group's touring exhibition, which has now arrived at Morley Gallery, just a short walk from Waterloo Station.
This was actually my second visit to the exhibition. I first saw it in Dumfries last August, and it was interesting to experience it in such a different setting. Morley Gallery's bright, airy upstairs spaces and carefully directed lighting downstairs have really elevated the work. Pieces such as Anna White's Seed of Hope and Louise Morris' Consolation Shrine seemed to gain a new presence, with their shadows playing beautifully across the whitewashed brick walls and exposed pipework.
Most of the exhibition felt familiar from my first visit, but one tapestry I hadn't seen before was Bender by the late Mary Farmer, included from her estate in recognition of her important contribution as both a tapestry artist and teacher.
It stopped me in my tracks—not only because of the work itself, but because of its title.
Visually, Bender is a densely woven black tapestry interrupted by two bold yellow triangles pointing towards one another. It's beautifully controlled, balanced and precise.
Yet for me, the word "bender" conjures up something altogether different: chaos, excess, and perhaps the hazy memories that follow a three-day celebration!
What was Mary's intention? Were the two triangles figures, with the dense black space between them representing forgotten memories? Or was I reading something entirely different into the work?
I'll probably never know.
And that's exactly why titles matter.
As artists, we spend hours, weeks or even months creating a piece, yet often leave naming it until the very end. I know I do. But a title can completely change how a viewer approaches the work. It offers a clue, asks a question, or gently nudges us towards a particular way of seeing. Sometimes it opens a door; sometimes it sends us happily off in the wrong direction.
During the private view I also caught up with the talented tapestry weaver Margaret Jones, whose work 700 is included in the exhibition. (Margaret, if you're reading this—I still need to ask why it's called 700!) I asked her which works had caught her eye, and she chose two very different pieces that both challenge our expectations of tapestry: Lindsey Marshall's Beyond Darkness: Indefinite and Alastair Duncan's Collapsing Perspective.
My husband, meanwhile, was drawn to Soon Yul Kang's Inner & Outer Mind, appreciating its calm presence and beautifully hand-dyed knotted form. It's always interesting to compare notes afterwards—different people inevitably find themselves standing in front of different works.
This exhibition celebrates 20 years of the British Tapestry Group, bringing together artists whose practices range from beautifully executed traditional tapestry to works that stretch the boundaries of what tapestry can be. For me, it perhaps leans a little more towards the past than the future, but that feels entirely appropriate for an anniversary exhibition reflecting on two decades of achievement while hinting at what may come next.
One final thought: the exhibition was originally due to run for two weeks but is now at Morley Gallery for just four days. That's a real shame. Tapestry exhibitions in London are still relatively rare, and opportunities to see such a broad range of contemporary woven work don't come along often enough.
If you're interested in contemporary textiles, it's well worth making the journey before it closes.
Picking Up the Thread: The Past, Present and Future of TapestryMorley Gallery61 Westminster Bridge Road, London SE1 7HT
22–25 July 2026
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