By Maarit Kalmakurki

In this blogpost, I discuss how textures and colours are created as digital garments and how beneficial digital animation is for testing different Renaissance fabrics and colours. I joined the Refashioning the Renaissance team in 2019 with the aim to build a digital reconstruction of an early 17^th century male doublet. This practice-led research task was highly interesting to me as it enabled me to combine my knowledge in historical dress, pattern cutting and garment making in general, as well as my theoretical and practical knowledge in digital costume design and animation. The initial aim was to build a digital doublet, present many of its complex inner layers and structures, and make an animation or video of the doublet on an avatar in a virtual environment. The nature of practice-led research allows us to discover new working methods and to make decisions along the way, which was one of the most interesting and exciting parts of this process.

The final rendition of the digital doublet was achieved through a combination of many source materials and decisions along the animation process. One of the inspirational source materials for the digital doublet was a post-mortem inventory of a Florentine water seller Francesco Ristori. The inventory described one garment; a black doublet made out of stamped mockado. The School of Historical Dress in London made a physical version of this doublet and I used the same paper patterns for the digital creation. I also studied other 17^thcentury doublet patterns, sewing techniques and materials in order to make changes that were more appropriate for the digital animation. One inspirational and eye-opening learning experience was the one-week course of doublet making at the School of Historical Dress. This enabled me to understand why certain materials and sewing techniques are implemented in doublets and my task later was to re-create such features digitally.

The starting point of the digital animation is based on patterns. In the case of a doublet which includes several layers of fabric and additional supportive materials sandwiched between the lining and main fabric, I multiplied the patterns to gain the same amount of pattern pieces as there would be in a historical doublet. Once the patterns are multiplied, they literally fly in the digital space (Figure 1) before assembling them on top of the avatar body. The patterns are colour coded according to what material they are made from. Digital material behaviour and texture are interesting as everything can be adjusted in the animation program. Fabric thickness, weight and sheen can all be controlled in quite some detail with a click of a mouse. This aspect proves to be one of the most beneficial aspects of digital animation.

Figure 1. This image shows how digital patterns literally fly in the digital space before they are assembled next to the avatar body and simulated as a garment. Screenshot by Maarit Kalmakurki.

Another beneficial aspect of digital animation is the choice of illustrating material textures. Fabric surfaces in digital garments are actually photographic images of texture, inserted on top of the patterns. This means that it is relatively easy to change material textures and colours in digital animation. My early experiments with material texture show how different garments look depending on what kind of texture image is applied on top of the patterns. The appearance of a historical doublet is achieved with the right kind of texture image and colour. Figures 2-3 illustrate one of my first examples of the doublet and its texture. The doublet material is a photograph of a stamped velvet I made during the doublet tailoring course at the School of Historic Dress. Stamping was made by using a fork heated over a metal hotplate.

Figures 2-3. In one of the first doublet material experiments I used an image of a stamped velvet made by using a fork heated over a metal hotplate.

For the final digital reconstruction of the waterseller’s doublet, I chose to photograph the stamped mockado that was custom woven and dyed for the Refashioning the Renaissance project’s doublet experiment. I adjusted the thickness of the fabric first in Clo3D to resemble the thick, wool material. This also helped to refine the sculpted form of the doublet. The photograph of stamped mockado, however, appeared fairly dark in the digital environment even though it appears dark blue in the material reconstruction. Colour is easy to adjust in digital animation, consequently, I changed the blue tone slightly to make the stamped pattern more visible in the wool (Figure 4).

Figure 4. Refashioning the Renaissance digital animation experiment. Screenshot by Maarit Kalmakurki.

Because Francesco Ristori’s post-mortem inventory was one of the important starting points for the entire doublet experiment, I wanted to further use the benefits of digital animation and decided to make one version of the digital doublet in black (Figure 5). Black colour was difficult to achieve in the early modern period and very often dyed in hues of dark brown, red or green, depending on the dye recipe (see Ortega Saez and Cattersel 2022). The Refashioning doublet made at the School of Historical Dress was dyed in deep blue colour because expensive black was traditionally made by dying cloth with red and blue tones. Before the discovery of logwood, there was no dyestuff that made true black. In the case of the Refashioning doublet, the dyer made a very deep blue. Details, however, are difficult to perceive in any dark colours, so the stamping and ribbons almost disappeared in the black doublet. However, quite effortlessly, it helped us to achieve one of the goals in visualising what Francesco Ristori’s doublet might have looked like.

The method of implementing digital animation in dress history research proved useful in the Refashioning project. It offers new possibilities to test, experiment and illustrate historical garments, their construction, fit and materials. Alongside with hands on making, digital reconstruction helps to test textures and colours with just click of a mouse.  

Image 5. Digital doublet reproduction in black colour. Screenshot by Maarit Kalmakurki.

See the full animation by Maarit Kalmakurki on our You-Tube Channel:
Digital Reconstruction of a Renaissance Doublet

By Liisa Kylmänen

Taking on a challenge

I’ve been knitting since I was a teen and loved all kinds of needlework all my life. I also love historical clothes so when I heard that the Refashioning the Renaissance participatory research project was trying to replicate a really fine, old silk stocking from the 1650s, I enrolled as a volunteer. Challenging myself with anything hand made is always worth a try!

In early spring of 2019 our team of about 35 volunteers met for the first time. We were given the option to make three different kinds of socks, and I volunteered to knit the finest type, a replica of an old pair found in a tomb in the Turku cathedral. Before we got to work on the actual stocking we had to find out how the original pair had been knitted. Our pattern team divided into groups to study the close-up photos of the Turku stockings, counting stitches and trying to work out a logical pattern. It was quite demanding to keep track of what was happening as the socks of the pair had not been made exactly the same way and we only saw one side of the stocking at a time from the photos we had. We ended up with 11 pages of text, photos and charts, plus an excel sheet of all the rows of the stocking and what was happening on each row.

Enlargements of the photographs of the Turku stockings with my markings and the completed pattern

Testing ourselves and the materials 

The next big question was how to achieve the right gauge or stitches per cm. At our group’s first meeting we experimented with fine wool tread. I started knitting a tiny little swatch with 0,7mm needles and the thinnest wool yarn. The smallest needles I had knitted with until then were 1,75 mm, and the difference seemed enormous. The needles (HiyaHiya steel double pointed) felt really flimsy and bendy in my hands, but the result was a fabulously thin and fine piece of knitting with just over 10 stitches per centimeter! I learned to knit the continental way but on the purl rows it was impossible to open up the stitch to catch the yarn. For the first time in my life I tried the English style of knitting which I’ve always considered very cumbersome. With the tiny stitches and reduced strength of the needles, the English method was the way to go for the purl side.

             The start of my mini sock with 60 stitches and the first finest swatch with 30 stitches

For my next swatch I decided to knit in the round – like we would for the actual stocking. I used some slightly thicker yarn left over from an Estonian shawl and the same 0,7 mm needles. I ended up knitting a miniature stocking using the directions of an old Danish sock that was introduced to our team as one of the socks to be knitted by the volunteers. I often fell into trouble with a slipped stitch, a mistake to correct or just the furry yarn going into an unidentifiable mess. I had to dig out a loop to pick up the stitches from the heel flap for the gusset.

Here’s the mini sock modeled by an old action man doll. It has all the features of the 16^th-century stocking: the garter, shaping by increases and decreases, a purl decoration in the back seam, a clock decoration at the ankle, a folded heel and a long gusset

In the summer we finally got to try out some silk. It was in fact much easier to knit than I had expected. Unlike the wool, any silk strands left out from the needle were easy to spot as they formed a visible loop on the outgoing yarn. We tried different kinds of silk, some still containing  their natural sericin and other softer yarns from which it had been washed out. Both had pros and cons: the sericin was harder on the hands, stiffer and hence stayed together better, whereas the washed silk was easier on the hands, more supple and also split much more. I made little swatches of many different yarns, practicing increases, decreases, purl decorations and picking up stitches at the same time. The gauge we were aiming for was around 8 to 9 stitches per centimeter, and with most yarns I achieved that with 1 mm needles.

Here is a swatch with single silk yarn where I tried out some twisted stitches, picking up from
the side, different types of increases and decreases

Getting to work on the actual stocking 

The silk we eventually received for our project was a bit of a compromise and so after all my experiments aiming for the same quality as the original, I ended up starting my sock with a double thickness of yarn.  The needles I used were HiyaHiya 1 mm steel needles and I was VERY happy that I didn’t have to take up the project with the thinner 0.7 mm ones!

Casting on and knitting the first row was very slow.

The beginning was – as always – the hardest part! It took me nearly three hours to cast on the 288 stitches and to knit the first row. I used a cast on method where the stitches were crocheted with one thread (in my case double) around the knitting needle. The knit was quite dense due to the double thickness and hence quite cumbersome to knit. I needed to tighten each stitch, especially the first couple stitches of each needle. After a couple of rows I made good use of a thimble to push the needle along! Also because of the double yarn thickness, the needles were so “full” that I managed to push only a couple of stitches forward at a time, making the process even slower.

Taking notes of time spent on each row

The stocking starts with a garter of 8 stitches knitted and 8 purled. After that it continues with a plain stocking stitch and an additional zigzag decoration on both sides of the center back. With the 1 mm needles I was near the 8 mm/cm gauge. The stocking continued with decreases down to the knee and then increasing again to make room for the calf. On both sides of the ankle there was a decorative clock which was made with purl stitches. At that point I noticed my knitting was getting looser because the purls were so hard to tighten. Compared to the rest of the stocking, the ankle remained a little looser even after washing and blocking, which was a bit disappointing…

Trying to keep the purl stitches of the clock tight enough was challenging

The heel flap was knitted down in one continuous piece with some decoration on the side. This was a very common way to make the heel. The flap was then folded in half and closed with a three needle bind off. The most tedious part of the whole knitting process was picking up the stitches from the side of the heel flap! The knit was so tight that I really had to fight with every loop picked up, using my 0,75mm crochet hook to help with every stitch, not just the extra ones picked up after every three loops. The next row was the second toughest part of the whole knitting. Not only were the stitches extremely tight but also the silk was totally split up from being worked so hard. Luckily, each row was easier and shorter after that!

The heel flap before it was folded and knitted together

Picking up the stitches from the heel flap was the toughest part of the knitting process

For the first 120 rows my pace was roughly 30 minutes per row. As the stocking progressed, slowly but surely, I managed to pick up a little speed. Normally I’m a fairly fast knitter, but with the bendy needles and tiny stitches it was impossible to knit without concentrating all the time. No “flow” like with a normal sock, just toiling away focusing on the knitting. My progress was spurred on by milestones like reaching the knee, starting the clock, and casting off the heel.

Decreases at the gusset. The last part of the stocking and each row easier from here to the end

Fortunately, I didn’t make many mistakes because unraveling the double thickness of thread was a real headache! We had noticed that the knitters back in the 17^th century had not been too fussy either, so we decided with our volunteer group to accept minor mistakes, such as a decrease one row later instead of backing a whole row. Moreover, I imagine no one would have noticed anyway!

The agony of picking up a dropped stitch! Often, I had to go down several rows and with the thread being worked on many times, it ended up in an indistinguishable mess

Finally getting to the end after 260 hours 

The stocking has over 900 rows, 733 from the top to the bottom of the heel flap, plus 177 rows on the foot part. It measures 61 cm from the garter to the end of the heel. The clock or decoration on both sides of the ankle is 101 rows high. The weight of the stocking before being washed was 96 grams.

260 hours later, getting there!

The total time it took me to knit the one silk stocking was about 260 hours. I knitted on 105 days which makes an average of 2,5 hours per day. The longest I knitted on one single day was just over six hours. I have no idea what the working hours were in the 17^th century, but certainly longer than that! Good lighting is imperative, so summer time would have been optimal. (Unfortunately, the silk arrived in the autumn, so I started my stocking in November and finished in April.) Other questions that came to mind: How many people would have had access to glasses, which at my age are essential? What kind of needles would the knitters have used? I knitted with what I imagine are the best quality modern steel needles and even they had a hard time keeping up with the task. I also tried a swatch with modern carbon needles, but they produced a gray stripe where I had used them and the ends of the needles seemed to disintegrate, as that was where the strain was the biggest. As a result, the tips were “frayed” and started to resemble a paint brush!

I used two sets of needles. One broke in two on row 160 and for the rest of the way, I kept rotating them. Here are the survivors 

After it was finished my stocking was handed over to the project, well over a year ago. Since then it has been washed to get rid of the sericin and dyed by the Refashioning team with fustic, which produced a beautifully deep yellow.  The stocking was exhibited at the Aalto University campus in Stitching History! Making and Wearing Early Modern Knitted Stockings, along with all the beautiful things that the research group has discovered, documented and reconstructed during the past five years.

I saw the original pair of the historic stockings at the exhibition in the Turku Castle just before starting to knit my version and remember well how daunting it seemed to try to achieve something so refined. I considered it an honor to be a part of this participatory research project and strove to make my stocking as uniform and as beautiful as the original ones. The perfectionist in me is not completely satisfied, but I am quite happy with the result. After this experience, I totally understand why a pair of stockings was such a luxury item that it might have cost you a horse!

Photos of the finished stocking

You can clearly see the needle change running through the middle of the stocking despite my efforts to minimize it. The ankle is quite wide and so is the foot part

The sole is also very short and will need a lot of stretching to fit a normal foot

The sole also has shaping to compensate for the decreases on the top side

The clock decoration at the ankle was made with purl stitches

By Victoria Bartels

In early modern Europe, one could argue that all types of dress and apparel offered protection. Clothing acted as a barrier between the physical body and the outside world, shielding it from over exposure and external threats. The link between protection and fashion was most pronounced, however, in the Renaissance male wardrobe. Men’s dress often included literal objects of defence, such as swords, daggers, and protective garments. Notions of masculinity in this period stemmed from medieval chivalric ideals, thus, protecting oneself and one’s household became traits associated with male honour. Violence on the street or in the market, workshop, or tavern were common occurrences in early modern Italian life. Thus, weapons became both fashionable and functional, and were understood as symbols of one’s masculinity.

Image 1. Giovanni Battista Moroni, A Knight with his Jousting Helmet (‘Il Cavaliere dal Piede Ferito’, Conte Faustino Avogadro (?)), ca. 1554-58, 202.3 cm x 106.5 cm, National Gallery, London.

Since citizens were legally permitted to carry arms, weapons were considered a crucial part of the upper-class man’s wardrobe. However, the practice of owning arms was not restricted to the elite. Many of the Refashioning inventories collected from Florence, Siena, and Venice include weapons, and the men who owned these items cut across different social classes. We know from the data, for instance, that swords were owned by men working in a variety of occupations. Some examples include a smith, silk merchant, painter, greengrocer, potter, barrel-maker, barber, trumpet-player, and linen weaver. Bladed weapons, such as swords and daggers, were the most common objects owned, but knives, crossbows, pole arms, and firearms were also recorded. Protective clothing was also present in the documents. These were typically garments fashioned from mail armour or sleeveless vests of thick leather worn underneath clothing to protect the body from would-be attackers.

Swords were undoubtedly the most popular weapon owned by men in this period. In his colourful autobiography, the Florentine goldsmith and sculptor Benvenuto Cellini used the word “sword” a total of seventy-eight times.^[1] Documentary sources often describe them quite vaguely, solely listing the word “sword” (spada), but they occasionally also recorded a weapon’s adornments, especially if they were noteworthy or valuable. An example of this can be found in the inventory of a Florentine linen merchant by the name of Filippo di Sforzo Guerrieri, who owned “a half sword with a silver hilt” (una mezza spada con manica d’argento), while an apothecary from Siena possessed “a sword with rather modern finishes” (una spada con finimenti assai moderni).

Although described quite generally, various models of swords existed, thus, affecting how they were worn and used. Early swords from the medieval period possessed double-edged blades, making their primary function to cut and hack.^[2] By about 1530, however, most swords worn by civilians were prized for their pointed blades, and although they could still cut, thrusting was considered their primary objective.^[3] These “thrusting” swords were lighter to wield than previous bladed weapons and had hilts with bars and loops meant to protect the wearer’s hand.^[4] The catch-all term for this type of side sword was the “rapier,” although no standardized form existed until the mid-sixteenth century.^[5] Other models of swords were also prevalent in society. For instance, in 1612, a Venetian innkeeper’s inventory boasted “two scimitars in the Turkish style with their [accompanying] large sword belts (due samitere alla turchesca con suoi centuroni).”

Image 2. Venetian, Scimitar, 1550, steel, gold, silver, copper alloy, enamel, Wallace Collection, London.

Coming in a close second to swords, daggers were also widespread in this period. Given their smaller size, daggers were easier to wield than swords and therefore, required less training to use. The dagger derived from the scramasax, a versatile short knife used by the Saxons for a variety of jobs.^[6] Like swords, dagger styles evolved over time to accommodate changing needs in battle. In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, knights carried daggers with double-edged blades and by the fifteenth century, the typical model was replaced by the rondel dagger, taking its name from the circular pommel adorning its grip.^[7] Left-handed daggers for parrying became the go-to short-bladed weapon in the sixteenth century, as the interest in fencing peaked. Other types of short-bladed weapons, such as the stiletto and the notoriously dangerous sfondagiaco, were also popular options.

Image 3. Italian, Parrying Dagger, ca. 1550-75, Steel, gold, brass, wood, Length 40.3 cm, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

As both swords and daggers became more regular fixtures in men’s dress, they were commonly fashioned in sets. Accessories for weapons could also be customized. Sword belts, scabbards, and hilts, along with their fabrics and metal workings could be tailored to complement existing outfits. If a patron had the financial means, they could also adorn their weapons with etchings, precious metals, or even jewels. In 1601, for instance, Medici goldsmith Giacomo Biliverti created a matching set of sword and dagger hilts adorned with 680 diamonds.^[8] Even with a more modest income, one could add a touch of luxury, as a Sienese candle maker is recorded to have owned “two swords with silver handles” and “a dagger with a silver handle” in 1595. English moralist Philip Stubbes railed against this new practice in his 1583 Anatomie of Abuses saying

 “their Rapiers, Swordes and Daggers, gilte, twise or thrise over the hiltes with good Angell golde, or els argented over with silver…” are “a great shew of pride … an infallible token of vaine glorie, and a grievous offence to God.”^[9]

Image 4. An imperial example of a lavish sword. Antonio Piccinino, Rapier of the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian II, 1550-70, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.

Garments made of mail armour were also present in some of the inventories examined. The Venetian baker Foresto Foresti, for example, pawned a jacket of mail and received a hefty sum of sixty lire in exchange for the garment. A colleague of Foresti working in Venice also pawned a pair of mail sleeves. Mail could be easily hidden under clothing or added to the lining of a jacket or vest. In the 1492 inventory of the Medici guardaroba, for instance, Lorenzo de’ Medici (1449–1492) had several mail garments, as well as a doublet “full of mail.”^[10] Having been utilized for centuries, mail was invented toward the end of the Iron Age.^[11] Modern efforts to reconstruct mail determined that a typical iron shirt contained anywhere from 28,000–50,000 links, depending on its size and length.^[12] As a result of the intricate and time-consuming method of construction, mail garments were often reused and recycled, causing pieces to contain sections of mail from disparate periods.

Image 5. German, Sleeve of Mail, 16th century, Steel, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

Image 6. Giovanni Battista Moroni, Portrait of a Gentleman with His Helmet on a Column, ca. 1555-56, Oil on canvas, 186.2 cm x 99.9 cm, National Gallery, London.

As discussed above, male dress practices were heavily influenced by contemporary notions of gender. Although they served as status symbols for upper-class gentlemen, numerous inventories demonstrate that weapons were also sought out by working-class men. By investigating weapons and defensive-wear further, much light can be shed on the social and cultural norms responsible for shaping male fashion in early modern Italy.

[1] Cellini, The Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini (Star Publishing, 2012).

[2] Robert Wilkinson-Latham, Phaidon Guide to Antique Weapons and Armour (New Jersey: Prentice Hall, 1981), 105.

[3] Sydney Anglo, The Martial Arts of Renaissance Europe (New Haven; London: Yale University Press, 2000), 99. Wilkinson-Latham, Phaidon Guide to Antique Weapons, 110.

[4] Wilkinson-Latham, Phaidon Guide to Antique Weapons, 110.

[5] Tobias Capwell and Sydney Anglo, The Noble Art of the Sword: Fashion and Fencing in Renaissance Europe 1520-1630(London: The Wallace Collection, 2012), 33.

[6] Wilkinson-Latham, Phaidon Guide to Antique Weapons, 140.

[7] Wilkinson-Latham, Phaidon Guide to Antique Weapons, 140.

[8] Angus Patterson, Fashion and Armour in Renaissance Europe: Proud Lookes and Brave Attire (London: V&A Pub., 2009), 60.

[9] Philip Stubbes, The Anatomie of Abuses, ed. by Margaret Jane Kidnie (Tempe, Ariz: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies in conjunction with Renaissance English Text Society, 2002), 105.

[10] Timothy McCall, “Brilliant Bodies: Material Culture and the Adornment of Men in North Italy’s Quattrocento Courts,” I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance, 16, no. 1/2 (Fall 2013), 471.

[11] Alan R. Williams, The Knight and the Blast Furnace: A History of the Metallurgy of Armour in the Middle Ages & the Early Modern Period (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 29.

[12] Alan R. Williams, The Knight and the Blast Furnace, 30.