New Work by Ruth Issett for UNmaking

Ruth Issett introduces her new work for UNmaking. For some time, she has been fascinated by fine transparent and translucent fabrics woven with cobweb-thin threads of silk or cotton. Drawing inspiration from dried flowers and seedheads, she gathers and pleats these delicate materials to create density and opacity, while unraveling, fraying, and withdrawing threads allows ethereal surfaces to emerge.

Structural Disintegration I and II   

For many years, I have worked with natural fibres and fabrics, becoming increasingly fascinated by the particular qualities of the very fine threads woven into delicate, ethereal fabrics such as silk organza, chiffon, crepeline, and georgette, as well as cotton organdie. Undyed, they create subtle layers of translucency that enable me to layer imagery and achieve quiet effects. Once folded, gathered, or pleated, the fabrics become less transparent, yet they can be used to create a huge variety of three-dimensional structures. Being closely and densely woven, the fabric possesses a stability and structure that can be manipulated in numerous simple, sculptural ways.

The opportunity to explore folded, pleated, or gathered white fabrics came at a perfect moment. A recent relocation provided the opportunity to reconsider my working practice. Downsizing was liberating; I selected what I wanted and needed, and parted with the rest. That helped me focus and refine my process—spending time quietly fraying and gathering delicate fabrics until they became little pieces of ethereal 'seed heads,' ready to be caught or blown away. Gradually, a collection emerged, to be trapped and encased in a clear, rigid specimen box that keeps the work contained and safe.

However, to be starved of colour for too long was not good for the soul, nor could my fingers or eyesight continue with hours of fine thread-withdrawing or pleat-gathering. So, Structural Disintegration II was born. Initially working with delicate layers of yellow and red organza, I found the fibres spiky and sharp; I wanted something softer and blousier for contrast. Spun rayon was introduced to provide a completely different quality. Additional colours were dyed, fraying into generous, tangled bundles of luscious threads that cascade down the wall in a barely controllable manner.

Looking now at the two finished pieces, there is no heavy intellectual story to them—just the continuation of years of creative practice, the constant question of 'what if?', and an endless desire to combine colour (or sometimes the lack of it) alongside different qualities of fabric and paper in an imaginative way. No doubt there will be more to come!

In Conversation with Ruth Issett

In Structural Disintegration I, you spent hours carefully folding, fraying, and gathering fine white fabrics. What drew you to working with such delicate materials, and how did that slow process feel?

These fine fabrics are superb to work with. Crepeline is the most transparent silk, meaning I can dye it if I wish—although I chose not to in this case. The slow process was welcome; it helped me adjust from a much busier period when I was balancing teaching alongside my own practice. Now, I do very little teaching and focus almost entirely on my own work.

You mentioned that being starved of colour was 'not good for the soul.' How did moving from the quiet white forms to this joyful burst of colour change your mood and energy in the studio?

Although I am not averse to working in neutrals, all my life I have been fascinated by colour and how I respond to it. Colour is so good for you: you can indulge in it, wallow in it, or use it to calm yourself. It feeds you, and while it can be addictive, it really won't harm you! I know I am primarily recognised for bright, strong colours, but I do occasionally work with subtle tones. Colour can be applied to so many different surfaces.

There is a lovely contrast between the neatly boxed white forms on the plinth and the bright threads tumbling down the wall. How do you decide when a piece needs to be contained versus when it should flow freely?

In the first piece, the fine fabrics needed to be contained—trapped so they wouldn't blow away. A transparent box felt like a specimen case in a museum. By contrast, the second, colourful piece felt like a rampant garden in late summer: straggly, with unplanned flowers appearing in unexpected places.

You mentioned that your eyes and fingers needed a break from the fine thread work. How often do physical demands or fatigue guide the direction of your work?

I have to accept that I have certain visual limitations and simply adapt. Inevitably, my fingers aren't quite as nimble as they once were, so I work differently to accommodate that or build in extra time. That’s life! I just feel lucky to be part of such an interesting, varied exhibition.

You mentioned there is no intellectual story behind these pieces—just a desire to ask 'what if?' How important is it for you to keep that sense of play and curiosity at the heart of your work?

It is essential. I would hate my work to look repetitive or predictable. Every project, exhibition, or commission presents a fresh challenge. I enjoy those challenges, as well as discussing them with family and valued friends who often encourage me to explore different methods of presentation. Occasionally, I create work intended to deteriorate outdoors in all kinds of weather—I photograph it, and once it becomes weathered and worn, I let it go, knowing it has fulfilled its purpose.

Exhibition Details

Experience the full Unmaking exhibition at Stroud's Museum in the Park, featuring a series of workshops led by our featured artists.

• Exhibition: UNmaking
• Dates: 12 September – 8 November 2026
• Location: Museum in the Park, Stroud
• Admission: Free