This Shows the Police Throwing Me Out: The Magnificent Textural Visions of Elizabeth Allen | Art and design

eLizabeth Allen lived at the end of a steep, muddy road in a rickety shack with a note on the door that said: “Knock very loud.” One winter day in 1965, artist Patrick Heron did just that — and overnight Allen, then in her eighties, became famous in the art world. There were exhibitions all over Britain, not to mention New York, Los Angeles and Barcelona. The Guardian described her as a “brilliant colorist”, adding that “Klee and Matisse would no doubt have been impressed.”

One of Allen’s compositions, 1966’s great swan song, reflects the surprise she felt at this wave of fame after a life lived in complete obscurity. This textile work shows a black bird sewn into a cobalt blue pond surrounded by trees with brown leaves. The bird’s red eyes stare into the crimson sky, while the bright green striped cloth seems to represent Allen’s hut.

Allen died in 1967 and her work was swallowed up in twilight as quickly as she came on the scene. But they have now been rediscovered, this time through a display at Compton Verney in Warwickshire that includes items that had been buried in storage or hidden in private homes for almost half a century. There is also the first ever public showing of a textile work titled Autobiraggraphy. Scenes in the film include the day in 1934 when two helmeted police officers arrived to evict her – “illegally,” she wrote on the back – from the Suffolk cottage where she had lived until then. In this brightly colored photo, we see red felt furniture, stitched against an olive green lawn outside a pink house. A policeman leans out of one of his windows. Aline, known to her family as the Queen, stares forlornly, wearing a pink skirt with large black shoes peeking out from the bottom. She was born with one leg shorter than the other, and many of her works feature her orthopedic shoes.

Autobiraggraphy also depicts Allen’s birth: the image shows an angel atop a postcard hut, and an elegantly dressed woman in a bonnet arriving with a bunch of flowers. It’s a romantic view of the truth: she was born above a baker’s shop in Tottenham, London, in 1883, one of 17 children of a German father and an Irish mother, both tailors. She learned to sew from them, and perhaps because she was unable to participate in dances, she devoted herself to embroidery. Her parents’ workshop, filled with scraps of fabric and clothing-making tools, was the source of her inspiration and color palette. “The picture appears as soon as I see a beautiful piece of fabric,” she said late in life.

Much of her life story is unknown, but she would have been 51 when she lost her home in Suffolk, and later moved to a cottage outside Biggin Hill in Bromley, where she lived alone, taking patchwork photographs using old clothes. I used a tailor’s thimble without a top, which allows for faster sewing. When she read in the newspaper about a bankrupt textile company emptying its inventory, she quickly sent for ribbons, braids and trimmings.

Despite her reclusive lifestyle, Allen kept up to date with current affairs. In addition to reading the newspaper, I listened to the radio. With the income from her sudden fame, in 1966 she bought a television, which she returned two days later because she preferred radio – perhaps easier to sew while listening. Her work is a testament to her connection to the outside world: the comically titled 1965 work Lunar-Ticks Picnic refers to the space race between the United States and the then-Soviet Union. It shows a group of gentle-looking creatures gathered around a campfire and seemingly minding their own business, suggesting that the peaceful heavens above were not a place for the spillover of earthly conflict.

One of her most striking and visually powerful works is The Black Feet Are Kicking, which was produced in response to the independence of African countries from imperial powers such as Britain in the 1950s and 1960s. A procession of ornate black figures, adorned with sequins, march, or perhaps dance, against a cream satin backdrop dotted with lacy hills. However, the scene is dominated by a giant pair of black feet, while an eye peeking out from a golden box in the sky above seems to indicate that a transfer of power is imminent.

Allen had a strange relationship with religion. Late in her life, she recalled how she asked her mother why she was born with a disability, and was told that it was the sins of the fathers that fell on their children. From that moment on, she decided that she did not want God in her life. Later, her mother kicked her out of the family home for being an atheist. However, the Bible provides inspiration for many of her images, including one of Jonah being swallowed by a whale, and another depicting the “fallen woman of Babylon” riding a many-headed beast.

“She seemed to be criticizing the church as an institution,” says Ella Colley, curator of folk art at Compton Verney. “But it definitely has a connection to the Bible and that informs its work. One Piece, Beetles Come and Go But Christ Remains Forever, is a reflection of celebrity.” It shows insects crawling on an altar cloth and is inspired by John Lennon’s statement that the Beatles were more popular than Jesus. “She was very suspicious of fame,” Cooley says. On one occasion after her “discovery,” she became angry when the film crew turned off the stove light while she was making tea.

It was the presence of Allen’s work in Compton Verney’s folk art collection that led to the exhibition. “A lot of artists, like Allen, have been marginalized,” Cooley says. “And we want to see art in a more holistic way.” Allen was a working-class woman who lived outside the norms of the art world. She was not traditionally trained and had probably never been to an exhibition. She is therefore hardly regarded as an artist in art history. “Allen has also lived with a disability,” Cooley says. “That’s a big part of what you make art about.”

Allen’s works would have been lost had it not been for Bridget, a young art student who lived near her in Biggin Hill. Her mother encouraged her to visit elderly neighbors. When she goes to see Allen, she becomes fascinated with her work and life, and eventually comes to live with her and help her. Bridget’s teachers went to visit, curious about these events, and later returned with Patrick Heron. Bridget, whose identity Compton Verney protects, is now in her eighties: her letters from that time helped Colley put the show together.

Cooley hopes the show will lead to the discovery of more of Allen’s work, and perhaps a better understanding of her life. “It’s an investigative project,” says Cooley. “We hope to have another exhibition of her art – but bigger.”