Moral Fibres explores the topics of war, protection and morality within the scope of the textile works in the Nickle Arts Museum collection. The exhibition mixes pieces from the 17th century to present day, in an exhibition with a stark contrast of techniques and meanings, not to mention geographical origins and political climates. These include the politicization of motherhood in contemporary North American feminism, 20th century and present-day conflicts in Afghanistan and Korean women forced into prostitution by Japanese troops during the Second World War.

Suzanne Franks’s kid-sized protective suits in her installations Bugsuits and Swarm were a highlight of her 2007 solo exhibition at the Nickle. A few of the black outdoor-mesh suits (complete with blue buttons, zippers and fleece ears) hover from the ceiling in one corner of the upstairs gallery, alluding to the fragile bodies that might be clothed inside. Thankfully, Franks’s work is given its full due in a larger installation in the Nickle’s main space as well. The impressive tornado of unzipped jumpers are hung by their feet by the hundreds. The suits are at once a symbol of protection and militarization, as they become a mini-army of babies out to hunt bugs under the cover of night. This inversion adds a creepy aura to the already dimly lit room and contributes to the interpretation of Swarm as a piece of violent science fiction.

From the front of the gallery, Dominque Blain’s Japan Apologizes simply appears to be a gorgeous kimono draped open. However, she wraps a bold statement on Japan’s history during the Second World War into two words, printed on the inside lining of the lush raw silk kimono. “JAPAN APOLOGIZES” is stamped in bold, red capital letters with a sans serif font that becomes a rotating pattern swirling inside the garment. The apology refers to the use of rape and forced prostitution as a weapon against Korea, and Blain’s statement reminds us that rape in war is still a pervasive issue today. If the garment was being worn, this message of silent shame and reconciliation would be concealed in the folds of the kimono.

Bill Morton’s Turbulence is a long woven piece constructed with naturally dyed silk, processes the much-revered artist also teaches at the Alberta College of Art and Design. The pure physical labour that goes into dyeing and weaving cloth is displayed in a subtle range of colours that undulates from brown, to blue, purple, red and green. The pattern effect is like camouflage, a dense forest and a heavily worn surface. Morton’s pattern can also be interpreted as brush strokes, deep scrapes and the industrial impressions of a car tread or footprint. This is one of the exhibition’s two references to modernist painting. The other is Alan Dunning’s large hanging “carpet” of leaves. That Turbulence so effortlessly conjures the natural origins of the materials and the technology involved in making it, is a testament to Morton’s mastery of the media.

The oldest works in the show are drawn from the Nickle’s extensive Jean and Marie Erikson Rug Collection. Considering that rugs mass-produced for North American consumers now ape similar patterns, a little education on the symbolic meanings within these ancient works is a good thing. Of great interest here is how these patterns and colours also reoccur in the contemporary Afghani “war rug,” that pictures a grenade and a semi-automatic weapon using an otherwise traditional design.

Landmine Awareness Posters from Afghanistan is a series of posters printed on thin white cotton fabric that look like tea towels. Designed to be public service announcements, they’re quickly printed and easily distributed — not art objects per se. Each banner pairs text with images that are punctuated by large explosions. A framed translation beside the fragile (and wrinkled) cloths reads “In Afghanistan, there are different mines in different areas” and “Dead animals can be a sign of landmines in the area.” Perhaps most chilling is the statement “some mines can look like children’s toys,” which accompanies stark, mechanical diagrams of these deadly weapons.

While Moral Fibres alludes to the longstanding tradition of war imagery in Afghani textiles, it also hints at exciting possibilities for a broader cross-cultural survey of traditional works paired with contemporary ones gathered from outside of the Nickle’s collection. Much of the recent textile work coming out of artistic and activist communities in Europe and the United States is made as a political response to current wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. The Nickle show deepens the dialogue of how this most humble material can be the carrier of great political and spiritual meaning.