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Author: Marcus Waithe, Professor of Literature and the Applied Arts, University of Cambridge
Original article: https://theconversation.com/william-morris-new-exhibition-reveals-how-britains-greatest-designer-went-viral-254761
Hadrian Garrard, the curator of Morris Mania – an innovative exhibition now showing at the William Morris Gallery in Walthamstow, east London – tells the story of being in King’s Cross Station and spotting someone wheeling a shopping trolley covered in a plasticised Morris pattern. It reminded me of the time when a student thanked me for my teaching with a pair of Morris-themed flip-flops.
Mugs, tea towels, notepads, handbags and all manner of other incongruous objects make up this world of Morris merchandise. Much of it is made in China and remote from the purposes William Morris had in mind. How did this Victorian designer and socialist, known for championing craftsmanship and preferring substance over style, become an icon of consumer culture?
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The exhibition’s tagline – How Britain’s Greatest Designer Went Viral – makes good sense. It’s not just that Morris stages an escape from the Victorian decorative world, but that his art proliferates in uncontrolled ways. The walk from Walthamstow station lays the groundwork in this regard: exhibition posters in shop windows, end-of-terrace murals and even the civic architecture, speak of something leaking from the gallery walls.
The first display in the exhibition tell the story of how we got here. Morris began spreading thanks to the commissions he received from aristocratic and royal clients. They were drawn to the medieval ethos of his work, and its rejection of industrialism in the arts. An important early contract was for the interiors at St James’s Palace.
But these establishment associations soon morphed and mutated, first among the English middle classes, who welcomed Morris’s designs into their suburban villas despite his new fondness for revolution, and then more remotely: one photograph shows Morris-patterned walls at St Peterburg’s Winter Palace, taken shortly after the Bolsheviks stormed the building. The socialism as it were, is turned inside out.
The earliest Morris merchandise was printed for a centenary exhibition at the V&A Museum in 1934. One of its patterned postcards appears in a display case, the souvenir of Morris’s own daughter, May, whose handwriting is on the back. In 1966, Morris’s designs went out of copyright, marking a watershed. Pop Victoriana and Laura Ashley floral dresses depended on it for their reproductive freedoms.
George Harrison’s “golden lily” jacket, from the Chelsea boutique Granny Takes a Trip, stands out as a poignant example of the ways in which Morris was recut and repurposed for the counterculture.
Morris’s “rose” pattern proves a particularly intrepid traveller, as the design chosen for the officers’ cushions on HMS Valliant, an early nuclear-powered submarine. Its onboard domesticity blends curiously with the menace of its mission.
Three turning points prepare us for the newest forms of Morris mania. The V&A’s 1996 exhibition repopularised Morris’s work, and thanks to new digital technology, its merchandise included printed mugs.
Then, in 2001, the British government instructed public collections to open their doors for free. In search of new income streams, museums turned to selling themed objects through their shops. The rise of China as a manufacturing hub complemented this emphasis – less by revolutionising working conditions and democratising design, as Morris had hoped, than with a flood of cheaply produced goods.
Beyond this revealing timeline, what really impresses is the exhibition’s care in preserving distinctions. It’s particularly careful to show that going viral need not mean selling out. From Nanjing – a major centre of Chinese manufacturing – comes a poster for the 2023 exhibition Beyond William Morris at the Nanjing Museum. It attracted over a million visitors, reminding us that behind the merchandise are new wells of love and respect.
Something similar applies at the level of making. For every sweatshop Hello Kitty, the same character appears in a beautifully crafted yukata (a casual kimono) in Liberty fabrics made in Japan.
A Brompton Bike hangs from the wall – manufactured in London, and sporting a handsome “willow bough” livery. Likewise, a neon “strawberry thief” motif, made at Walthamstow’s God’s Own Junk Yard, rekindles the embers of local production. This emphasis extends to the exhibition’s own making. A film documents the weaving of the Axminster carpet that furnishes the main room. Even the labels were dyed by hand with weld, a natural pigment whose use Morris revived.
In these ways, the exhibition champions ethical and bespoke production, while confronting the darker currents that move objects around our world. It also stays curious enough to push further by exploring the kitsch new frontier of “Morris” patterns generated by AI, or by populating a Victorian dresser with “crowdsourced” Morris bric-a-brac.
There might have been more space to consider why the surface effects of pattern travel so readily, and to quote Morris’s writings on the subject. But much of that is implicit and there for audiences to follow up.
Morris Mania excels by nurturing the joy behind all this promiscuous growth. Most pleasingly, that trolley from King’s Cross makes a reappearance, dressed here in an AI-adapted “strawberry thief”, courtesy of Sholley Trolleys, Clacton-on-Sea. Just like Morris himself, it was made in Essex.
Morris Mania: How Britain’s Greatest Designer Went Viral is at the William Morris Gallery until September 21 2025.
Marcus Waithe does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
