The knots that bind us: Modern macramé and contemporary tapestry, between legacy and rebellion

This is no mere trend. Behind these creations lies a broader quest—for art that breathes, that narrates, that resists. Macramé, once relegated to the shelves of 1970s bohemian boutiques, and tapestry, long confined to the walls of medieval castles, are now being reinvented by a new generation of artists. They see in them a way to reconcile craft and avant-garde, sustainability and luxury, intimacy and monumentality. But how have these practices, born millennia ago, endured through the ages to assert themselves in our contemporary interiors? And what do they reveal about us—our relationship to time, to matter, to history?

01When sailors knotted the future

To understand this renaissance, we must look far beyond the hippie era. Imagine an 18th-century ship tossed by Atlantic waves. On board, sailors pass their long hours of leisure tying ropes, crafting intricate patterns to adorn their hammocks or decorate officers’ cabins. These knots, born of necessity, would later become the macramé we know today. The Arabs were the first to transform this utilitarian technique into decorative art, using knotted fringes to embellish horse harnesses and palace hangings. The word itself, macramé, comes from the Arabic migramah, meaning "fringe."

But it was in Europe, during the Victorian era, that macramé experienced its first golden age. Young women of good families learned to knot doilies and curtains, while sailors brought back exotic motifs from their travels. In bourgeois salons, these creations became symbols of refinement and patience. Yet beneath this apparent innocence lay a darker history: that of a craft often associated with women, and thus systematically undervalued. As art historian Rozsika Parker noted in The Subversive Stitch, textiles have always been a battleground for artistic recognition.

Tapestry, meanwhile, has an even older history. The earliest traces date back to ancient Egypt, where fragments of woven linen were found in the tomb of Thutmose IV, from 1480 BCE. But it was in the Middle Ages that this art reached its peak, with works like the famous Bayeux Tapestry—a 70-meter-long masterpiece recounting William the Conqueror’s invasion of England. At the time, these pieces were worth more than paintings by old masters; a single panel could cost the equivalent of a castle. Yet despite their value, they were often dismissed as decorative objects rather than art in their own right.

02Art that resists oblivion

If macramé and tapestry have had their ups and downs, their resurgence today is no accident. It coincides with a broader awakening: the need to slow down, to create with one’s hands, to give materials a second life. In a world dominated by disposability and the digital, these practices offer a form of resistance. As artist Sheila Hicks, a pioneer of contemporary textile art, put it: "Thread is the perfect metaphor for human connection. It links, it supports, it tells stories."

Take Allyson Rousseau, a Canadian artist who has redefined macramé by incorporating fractal-inspired geometric patterns. Her works, like the Fractal series, play with scale and perspective, creating optical illusions that make the knots appear to float in space. For her, each piece is a meditation: "When I knot, I breathe. Every loop is a pause, a moment of presence." Her work, exhibited in contemporary art galleries, has helped elevate macramé beyond bohemian clichés.

Across the Atlantic, British artist Natalie Miller pushes the experiment even further. Her installations, like The Hanging Gardens presented at the London Design Festival, transform macramé into organic, almost living landscapes. Using recycled materials—old saris, worn-out boat ropes—she gives new life to forgotten objects. "I want my works to tell a story, that of the hands that made them and the lives they’ve touched," she explains. Her approach, both poetic and political, reflects a broader trend: art that doesn’t just aim to be beautiful but also questions our relationship to the world.

03Tapestry, or the art of weaving narratives

While macramé charms with its lightness and modernity, tapestry fascinates with its ability to tell stories. And no one does it better than Grayson Perry, the British artist who has restored this medium’s prestige by infusing it with humor, satire, and autobiography. His tapestries, like The Vanity of Small Differences, draw inspiration from Hogarth’s works to critique British society’s flaws. In one, a wealthy family dines at a marble table while a child sits on the floor, playing with a plastic toy. The message is clear: behind the veneer of success often lie glaring inequalities.

Perry is not alone in using tapestry as a medium of protest. Vietnamese-American artist Dinh Q. Lê blends photography and weaving to explore the traumas of war. In From Vietnam to Hollywood, he interlaces images from Hollywood films about the Vietnam War with archival photographs, creating a work that is both beautiful and heartbreaking. "I want to show how history is often rewritten, how narratives overlap and contradict each other," he explains. His work, exhibited in museums like MoMA, proves that tapestry can be far more than mere decoration—it can be a tool for memory, resistance, and reconciliation.

04Hands that speak

What strikes one most about these contemporary works is their tactile dimension. In an age of all things digital, where screens dominate our lives, macramé and tapestry offer a rare sensory experience. Cotton, linen, or silk threads invite touch, caress, immersion in living matter. As American artist Faith Ringgold, whose story quilts blend painting, fabric, and text, once said: "When I work, I feel the texture of the fabric under my fingers. It’s a conversation between hand and mind."

This tactile quality is all the more important as it aligns with a broader quest for well-being and reconnection with oneself. Macramé, in particular, is often presented as a therapeutic, almost meditative activity. Workshops like those of French artist María Lafuente, who teaches macramé as a spiritual practice, attract crowds seeking calm and creativity. "Knot, breathe, let go," she advises her students. In a world where stress and anxiety are pervasive, these practices offer a form of refuge.

But beyond their therapeutic aspect, these works also raise a fundamental question: that of the value of manual labor. In a society that prizes productivity and speed, macramé and tapestry remind us that some things take time. A large macramé piece can require weeks, even months of work. A tapestry, years. And it is precisely this slowness that gives them their worth.

05When art defies categories

One of the most fascinating aspects of this renaissance is how it blurs the boundaries between art, craft, and design. Long dismissed as mere "decoration," macramé and tapestry are now exhibited in contemporary art galleries, integrated into luxury collections, and even used in architecture. Take architect Zaha Hadid, who experimented with knotted fiber structures to create organic, lightweight forms. Or fashion designer Iris van Herpen, who combined 3D printing with macramé for her runway shows.

This permeability between disciplines reflects a broader evolution in our relationship to art. As art critic Glenn Adamson noted in The Invention of Craft, we are witnessing a revaluation of traditional know-how—not as relics of the past, but as tools for contemporary creation. "Macramé isn’t a step backward; it’s a step forward," he asserts. "It’s a way to rethink our relationship to matter, to time, to sustainability."

And perhaps that is where the true revolution lies. By rehabilitating these ancient techniques, contemporary artists are not merely modernizing them—they are transforming them into acts of resistance. Resistance against overconsumption, against uniformity, against oblivion. As artist Anni Albers, one of the first to elevate textiles to the status of art, put it: "We must rediscover the sense of touch, of the hand that creates. It’s a matter of survival."

06The knots of the future

So what will the macramé of tomorrow look like? And tapestry? The answers are as varied as the artists who embrace these mediums. Some, like Turkish artist Refik Anadol, explore the possibilities of artificial intelligence to create digital tapestries projected onto building facades. Others, like Dutch designer Christien Meindertsma, use innovative materials—biodegradable fibers, conductive threads—to craft interactive works.

But beyond technological innovations, it may be in their human dimension that these practices find their true future. In an increasingly virtual world, macramé and tapestry remind us that art is, above all, a matter of hands, patience, and stories. As Sheila Hicks said: "Thread is a metaphor for life. It stretches, relaxes, knots, unknots. And sometimes, it breaks. But it is in these imperfections that its beauty lies."

So the next time you encounter a macramé piece hanging in a New York loft or a contemporary tapestry in a museum, take a moment to draw near. Touch the threads, study the patterns, let their story unfold. For these works are more than mere decorations—they are witnesses to an era in search of meaning, slowness, and connection. And perhaps, in the end, they are a little bit ours too.