The modern thread of Ariadne: when macramé and tapestry reinvent space
Imagine a room bathed in golden light, where the air seems woven from invisible threads. On the wall, a monumental wool canvas unfolds landscapes where the reflections of a silver river mingle with the shadows of an endangered forest. Nearby, a knotted cord sculpture sways in the breeze, its geometr
By Artedusa
••10 min read
The modern thread of Ariadne: when macramé and tapestry reinvent space
Imagine a room bathed in golden light, where the air seems woven from invisible threads. On the wall, a monumental wool canvas unfolds landscapes where the reflections of a silver river mingle with the shadows of an endangered forest. Nearby, a knotted cord sculpture sways in the breeze, its geometric patterns casting shifting shadows across the floorboards. This is not a contemporary art gallery, but a Parisian apartment where macramé and tapestry have ceased to be relics of the past to become the new languages of decoration.
Their return is not just a passing trend, but a silent revolution. After decades of sterile interiors, where Scandinavian minimalism reigned supreme, walls are once again adorned with textures, colors, and stories. Macramé, once confined to grandmothers’ shelves or hippie festivals, now graces New York lofts and Tuscan villas. Tapestry, once a symbol of medieval power, has transformed into a political manifesto or an intimate confession. These fiber arts, long dismissed as mere "crafts," are now celebrated by major museums and luxury houses.
To understand this renaissance, we must trace the winding paths of cords and wools, and discover how contemporary artists have turned these ancestral techniques into tools of subversion, beauty, and resistance.
The knots of history: when macramé sailed with the gods
The first macramé knot was not tied by human hands, but by the wind. In the 13th century, in the souks of Baghdad, Arab weavers used knotted fringes to prevent their fabrics from fraying. These migramah—"fringes" in Arabic—already traveled with caravans, crossing deserts to Mediterranean ports. Sailors, those nomads of the sea, adopted the technique to repair their sails and adorn their hammocks. Thus was born a tradition where each knot told of a crossing, a storm, a port of call.
In the 16th century, Spanish conquistadors brought these techniques to Europe, where they merged with local traditions. In Italy, the nuns of Palermo created knotted lace for church altars. In England, Royal Navy sailors decorated their belts with intricate patterns, signs of rank and experience. But it was in the 19th century, under Victoria’s reign, that macramé became a domestic art. Bourgeois women, confined to their parlors, saw it as a respectable, almost moral, occupation. Magazines like Godey’s Lady’s Book published patterns for "elegant knots" to adorn lampshades and mirror frames.
Yet behind this apparent docility, macramé concealed a rebellion. The motifs, often inspired by nature, defied the emerging industrialization. A simple macramé plant hanging in a Victorian interior was an act of resistance—a reminder that beauty was born of patience, of repeated gestures, of the hand guiding the thread.
Tapestry, or the art of weaving time
If macramé is a dance of knots, tapestry is a symphony of interwoven threads. Its history begins long before writing, in the deserts of Peru and the tombs of ancient Egypt. The Paracas, a pre-Columbian civilization, buried their dead wrapped in alpaca wool shrouds, where each motif told a cosmogony. Later, in medieval Europe, tapestries became the "movable walls" of the aristocracy. The Lady and the Unicorn, a 15th-century masterpiece, was not just a work of art—it was a political manifesto, a symbol of power, and sometimes even a currency.
Yet in the 20th century, tapestry nearly disappeared, crushed by abstract art and industrial design. Who could have predicted its rebirth, carried by artists who turned it into a medium of protest? In the 1960s, Sheila Hicks, an American trained at Yale, began creating "tapestry-sculptures" from raw wool, blurring the lines between art and craft. Her Bas Reliefs hung from ceilings like colored clouds, inviting viewers to touch, to immerse themselves. At the same time, in Poland, Magdalena Abakanowicz transformed fiber into a political weapon. Her Abakans, massive structures of sisal and jute, evoked tortured bodies, devastated forests—a silent response to communist censorship.
Today, tapestry is no longer mere decoration. It has become a mirror of our time, reflecting our obsessions, fears, and desires. And perhaps that is the secret of its return: in a world saturated with fleeting images, it offers a tangible beauty, a story you can touch with your fingertips.
Fanny Zedenius and the alchemy of cords: when macramé becomes sculpture
In her Stockholm studio, bathed in pale Nordic light, Fanny Zedenius handles skeins of cotton with the precision of an architect. A former graphic designer, she traded screens for cords and pixels for knots. Her approach to macramé is radical: she doesn’t seek to reproduce traditional motifs but to explore the infinite possibilities of fiber.
Her creations, like The Wave, defy gravity. A cascade of knotted cords seems to float in the air, its geometric patterns evoking both the waves of the Baltic Sea and the crystalline structures of snowflakes. To achieve this, Fanny developed a unique technique, blending the traditional square knot with diagonal half-knots to create three-dimensional forms. "Macramé isn’t a static art," she explains. "It’s a dialogue between the cord, space, and light."
What fascinates about Fanny is her ability to marry minimalism and complexity. Her often monochrome pieces play with shadows and transparencies. A simple plant hanger becomes a wall sculpture, where leaves seem to dance between the threads. Her work has captivated Scandinavian design enthusiasts and contemporary art collectors alike. In 2021, IKEA even collaborated with her on a limited collection, proving that macramé was no longer a mere hobby but a universal language.
Grayson Perry: tapestry as a satirical weapon
When Grayson Perry, the British artist and Turner Prize winner, turned to tapestry, it wasn’t out of nostalgia but provocation. His works, like The Vanity of Small Differences, are monumental frescoes blending dark humor, social critique, and references to art history. Perry depicts the foibles of British society with biting irony, drawing on medieval tapestries only to subvert them.
Take The Adoration of the Cage Fighters, one of the six pieces in the series. It shows a working-class couple in tracksuits, surrounded by objects betraying their aspirations: a luxury car, a purebred dog, a giant television. Perry plays with inverted codes: the "cage fighters" aren’t athletes but parents seeking social recognition. The background, woven with motifs reminiscent of Renaissance tapestries, contrasts with the triviality of the characters. "I wanted to show that social class is a fiction," Perry explains. "A tapestry is like a novel: you tell stories, you create myths."
His approach is resolutely modern. Perry uses technology to design his works: he first sketches his motifs on a computer, then has them woven on Jacquard looms before hand-finishing them. The result is a fascinating blend of tradition and innovation, where every thread tells a story.
Erin M. Riley: intimacy exposed in wool
In her Brooklyn studio, Erin M. Riley weaves confessions. Her tapestries, often small in size, depict screenshots of sexts, intimate selfies, or scenes of female masturbation. At first glance, they might pass for digital images—so precise are the details. But up close, the magic of wool reveals itself: each pixel is a thread, each color nuance a blend of hand-dyed strands.
Riley, who describes herself as a "feminist artist," uses tapestry to explore female sexuality in the digital age. Her works, like Selfie or Sexting, are both testimonies and acts of resistance. "Tapestry has always been a domestic medium, associated with women," she explains. "By using it to depict intimate scenes, I reclaim this medium for women, pulling it from the private sphere into a public statement."
Her work is often censored on social media, where algorithms confuse art with pornography. Yet it’s precisely this ambiguity that gives her tapestries their power. By transforming ephemeral images into tangible objects, Riley questions our relationship with intimacy, memory, and technology. One of her pieces, Sexting, was even bought by a collector who recognized himself in the image—a man who had sent the original message.
Alexandra Kehayoglou: when wool becomes landscape
In Argentina, Alexandra Kehayoglou carries on a four-generation family tradition. Her great-grandfather, a Greek immigrant, founded El Espartano, a carpet factory that supplied the palaces of Buenos Aires. But Alexandra has given this legacy a new dimension: she transforms wool into landscapes, ecosystems, ecological manifestos.
Her tapestries, like Santa Cruz River, are monumental works where every strand of wool is hand-tufted to reproduce the textures of grass, water, or rock. The result is both realistic and dreamlike—you feel as if you’re walking on a meadow, smelling damp earth. "I want people to become aware of nature’s fragile beauty," she explains. "By recreating these landscapes in wool, I immortalize them, but I also show their vulnerability."
Her work has captivated luxury houses. In 2019, Dior commissioned a carpet from her for a Buenos Aires runway show, depicting the Argentine plains. But Alexandra doesn’t just create sumptuous backdrops: she also uses her art to sound the alarm on deforestation. In 2021, she exhibited a series of tapestries representing vanished forests, inviting visitors to literally walk in the footsteps of a lost ecosystem.
Macramé and tapestry in the digital age: a tactile revolt
In a world where everything is instant, where images flash by at the speed of light, macramé and tapestry offer resistance. Their beauty is born of slowness, repetition, the gesture passed from hand to hand. Perhaps that’s why they appeal so much today: in a society saturated with screens, they remind us of the pleasure of touch, the magic of manual creation.
Macramé workshops are multiplying, from Parisian salons to New York lofts. In London, The New Craftsmen offers classes on knotting geometric hangings. In Tokyo, designers like Nendo incorporate macramé into their creations, blending Japanese tradition with modernity. Even luxury brands are getting on board: in 2020, Dior presented an entire collection inspired by knots, with macramé dresses and fringe-adorned bags.
Tapestry, meanwhile, is experiencing a resurgence in contemporary art galleries. Artists like El Anatsui, who creates tapestries from recycled bottle caps, or Tau Lewis, who uses salvaged fabrics to explore identity, are pushing the medium’s boundaries. In 2023, the Museum of Arts and Design in New York devoted an entire exhibition to contemporary tapestry, proving that this ancient art still has much to say.
The future of threads: between tradition and innovation
So, are macramé and tapestry just passing trends, or the beginning of a new era? Everything suggests their renaissance is more than a fleeting phenomenon. In a world searching for meaning, they offer an answer: a return to the essential, to beauty born of hand and time.
Contemporary artists continue to innovate. Some explore digital possibilities, like Refik Anadol, who creates AI-generated tapestries. Others, like Natalie Miller, push macramé’s limits with monumental installations where cords become ephemeral architecture. And then there are those, like Alexandra Kehayoglou, who use these techniques to sound the alarm on climate urgency, turning wool into an ecological manifesto.
One thing is certain: the thread hasn’t finished surprising us. Whether it’s a patiently tied knot or a tapestry woven with confessions, it continues to tell our stories, our dreams, our revolts. And in a world that moves too fast, that may be its greatest magic: reminding us that beauty is sometimes born of slowness.
The modern thread of Ariadne: when macramé and tapestry reinvent space | Decoration
