Yesterday afternoon, I was on a mission. Accompanied by one of my closest and dearest friends (Eva!), we headed to the 18th arrondissement, on the hunt for a very specific item.
As the project draws to a close, Archivorum will host an event in its newly established library in Turin, during the first weekend of November. The aim is to bring the Archivorum Ark project to a close and share with the public the outcome of two years of work. As part of the event, the physical databases will be stored and presented through a series of small object and displays, we were asked to make for this final chapter.
Although the archive will be accessible online, Christianna, Stephen, and I each have a physical copy of the hard drive containing all the files. That drive will be made available to the public during the event and after for on-site consultation. A few months ago, during a meeting with Mia, she floated a simple idea: what if we made a container to house and protect the hard drive? As usual, she gave us total creative freedom. Pure “carte blanche”. That’s when an idea started forming in my head.
It felt important to me that this container somehow echoed Nil. Not just her work, but her presence in the project. A box made by Nil herself? That would’ve been amazing, obviously. But knowing how little time she has, it didn’t seem right to ask for that kind of commitment. I started thinking back to one of our recent meetings, in mid-April, on the 13th, to be precise. (I even wrote a blog post about that day: here.)
That afternoon, Nil had kindly shown me a beautiful archive she’s kept, with great care, for decades. It’s a handmade guestbook she created during the contemporary music soirées/concerts she go see to host with her late husband. But it wasn’t the book itself that really caught my attention. It was the pouch that held it: a handmade sleeve, sewn by Nil. Made of fabric, rough to the touch, simple, functional, unadorned. It spoke to me, because it reflected so much of what I admire in her work. And of course, it made me think of the many pieces in which Nil uses textiles, especially Paris, Ville Lumière (1974) and Topak Ev.
That’s when the idea really crystallized. I would create a pouch — inspired by Nil’s — to house our hard drive. Something humble and handmade. But I didn’t want to use just any fabric. I remembered something Nil had once told me: that for Paris, Ville Lumière, the monumental textile installation composed of 20 fabric panels (each one a critical homage to a Paris arrondissement), she (and Judy Blum?) had gone to Marché Saint-Pierre to buy their material.Marché Saint-Pierre is famously known as the largest fabric market in the world – at least, that’s what you can read on their website. It’s a Parisian institution, a true landmark.
My mission was now clearer: I wanted to follow in Nil’s footsteps — literally — and visit the market to find, based on my photographs, a fabric as close as possible to the one she had used for the guestbook pouch.
So that’s how, last Thursday, I found myself with Eva at the foot of Marché Saint-Pierre. The weather was grey and rainy, honestly a bit depressing for a July afternoon, but it didn’t really matter. We were both excited about our sudden mission. After a lavish meal at our favorite Korean fast food spot, we took the metro to Barbès-Rochechouart and walked a few minutes to the market. Neither of us had ever been inside before, this was a first.
As I mentioned, my only reference was a photo I’d taken on April 13. Once inside the shop – which really does feel like a “caverne d’Alibaba” of the fabrics – I showed the picture to one of the sales assistants. Of course, I wasn’t expecting to find the exact same fabric, but I was hoping for something similar. Something that would evoke the same texture, the same raw, sturdy feel. The assistant took a good look at my phone. At first he hesitated, but then suggested we head to the third floor, where they keep the heavier upholstery fabrics. It made sense, and we didn’t waste any time.
Once upstairs, we dove in. I searched, Eva searched, we both searched. It obviously felt like a treasure hunt, and I loved every second. Touching, feeling the fabrics, discovering new patterns, new textures and styles.
And after a while, we found the perfect match. A slightly textured, straw-coloured fabric. Thick, a bit coarse, sitting somewhere between raffia and carpet. It was tucked away in the discount remnants section – even better. I only needed about a third of a metre, but it couldn’t be cut. So now I have over two metres of it. Which, honestly, is great, because it gives me plenty of room for tests, mistakes, and do-overs.
Now comes the real challenge: making the pouch. And here’s the truth — my sewing skills are very basic. But that’s okay. The beauty of this piece, I think, will come from its imperfections. From the fact that it’s handmade, like Nil’s. From the fact that it’s rough, humble, and personal. I leave for Montreal on Tuesday, and the fabric is far too heavy to carry with me. So I’ll start sewing in October, and hand-deliver the final piece to Turin in early November.
I’d like to stitch, by hand and with a thicker thread, the words Livre d’archives – Nil Yalter onto the front. A small tribute to Nil’s own golden embroidery on her Livre d’or pouch. A nod, both literal and symbolic, to her practice and her presence in the archive.
So there it is, I just really wanted to share this with you. This little mission felt some way meaningful, and I wanted to take the time to explain where the idea came from and why the process matters. The use of raw material, the handmade dimension, and the fabric’s provenance all echo Nil’s work but also the central concept of materiality, which is such a key thread (pun intended) running through our upcoming book.
And speaking of the book…I’ll have, hopefully, some very exciting news to share with you soon.
Eva
A magical place in Paris