Art: Renaissance in Wool

French Artist Jean Lurçat, 68, has more reason than most men to remember the Nazis, but he does not remember them simply because they burned his studio or because he lost his paratrooper son in action. The invaders had an insatiable greed for French tapestries, and when they had exhausted the reserves of traditional hangings in the ancient tapestry-weaving center of Aubusson, 235 miles south of Paris, the local weavers turned for new designs to a small group of former Paris artists turned Resistance fighters who were hiding in the town. Under the Nazis’ noses, Lurçat wove a great crowing cock standing on a blazing ball of sun, which was his way of portraying the inevitable triumph of liberty. That tapestry marked the beginning of Aubusson’s phenomenal postwar renaissance, and Lurçat became its guiding spirit.

Before & After. Aubusson has had hand weavers for at least 500 years. But the mechanical looms of the 19th century reduced them to facile copiers, and World War I, followed by the Depression, all but finished off the industry. Today, the people of Aubusson speak almost out of habit of the time “before Lurçat” and “after Lurçat.” Last week, as evidence of what Lurçat has done for the village, Aubusson had on view the most lavish display of local tapestries ever assembled: 550 brilliantly rich pieces in the full range of designs from representational to abstract by such artists as Gromaire, Dom Robert, Prassinos, Singier, Tourliere and, of course, Lurçat himself.

In years past, there had been 14,500 different tones of wool for the weaver to choose from. Lurçat cut the cumbersome number down to 41 kinds of wool and 13 colors. Unlike most other designers, he does not bother with small preliminary sketches, but attacks the work directly. “Like a surgeon approaching a delicate brain operation,” says he, “I have it all in mind.” It takes a skilled weaver about a month to produce one square yard of tapestry, which may sell for as much as $400—or, in Lurçat’s case, $700.

Walls That Cry. Not only France but Germany, Switzerland and the Scandinavian countries are becoming customers of Aubusson. The U.S., which until last year imposed a 60% duty on modern tapestries, has not yet begun to buy in quantity. Last month a group of U.S. artists, including Stuart Davis, Ben Shahn and Theodores Stamos, formed the Society of American Tapestry Designers in the hope of enticing other Americans to take their place beside the Europeans. Lurçat and his colleagues do not worry about competition: not only are tapestries more in demand; they are also getting bigger.

Last week Bremen had on display a huge (305 square yards) section of Lurçat’s Le Chant du Monde, which will eventually be almost double that in size. “All the monumental arts,” says Lurçat, “are having some kind of renaissance. In Sao Paulo, Tokyo, Caracas, Geneva, it is the same—the architects are making huge new buildings with great nude walls that cry out for tapestries.” Le Chant du Monde may never decorate such a wall, for its most logical destination would be a French museum, where it would hang as an example of the work of probably the greatest tapissier of his time.