Emma Morgan, Felt at Home, 2003, wool and silk

Felt is intriguing. It possesses many remarkable qualities: a rich historical background; natural properties of warmth, absorption and insulation; and the emotional response it elicits from those who touch it. These aspects are the basis for its dexterous use in industry, art and design. Felt has acquired significant symbolic value over centuries of use that remains relevant to the way we use felt today. Hand-made felt in Central Asia has been associated with cultural aspects such as ceremonies, religion, rites of passage and everyday living, and retains the strong references to primitive and nomadic living. The mythical origins and traditional uses of felt are ingrained into the fabric that is now becoming so prevalent within contemporary Australian design.

One of the first man-made fabrics, felt predates woven or knitted textiles. Historically, felt-making predominantly existed in Central Asia among the nomadic tribes. Inch-thick felt provided floor coverings (shyrdaks), blankets, bedding mats and the coverings of portable tents (ger). In the West, felt has been used in the millinery industry since the 14th century. More recently felt has played an important role in various industries including carpet, automotive, millinery, construction, electrical, hygiene, marine, aerospace and medicine for its unique physical properties.

Felt has been explored by Western artists and designers since the 1960s. The 1960s revival of traditional hand-made felt in the West is attributed to Mary Burkett, who travelled through Iran and returned with examples of felt that were exhibited throughout Britain. Burkett's research was influential to textile artists, including the German artist Joseph Beuys, who further promoted the materials use in art through gallery exhibitions in the 1960s and 70s. Felt has also more recently had popularity in the Western fashion world since the 1980s, evident in the collections of Comme des Garçons, Issey Miyake and Christine Birkle.

As a designer-maker I am interested in revaluating the application of felt. I cringe at how easily felt slips into the world of hobbies. Simon Lloyd, the 2003 winner of the Gifu World Design Competition, has provided a significant impetus in questioning the application of felt and has influenced my interest in transcending the conventional use of felt by applying the material in new ways. Lloyd is well known for his unique exploration and application of materials, including clay, metal, composite ceramics and most recently, felt. His interest in interpreting everyday objects by applying traditional techniques and materials in unusual ways is evident in his award-winning felt dishes. This contemporary application of industrial felt challenges the functional value of a domestic object, and asks the viewer to consider how a familiar object can now be used.

My own work, Felt at Home, engages hand-made felting techniques to explore the concept of home as an environment of refuge, familiarity and memory. A series of small vessels chronicle experiments in texture, structure, colour, surface and scale. These elements are used to encourage tactile connection and emulate the physical contact experienced within the home. Our homes act as containers for the things most precious to us: our families, our memories and mementos. These concepts of home are explored in my studio practice by taking inspiration from the protective and nurturing environments of seed-pods, cocoons and the nest.

The process of felting allows the fibres to be moulded into shape allowing for the creation of hollow or solid three-dimensional structures that gives felt further areas of application in the home. Joan Livingstone, an American textile practitioner, has been particularly influential in the techniques explored for this collection of vessels. Her vesicular pieces use substrates, such as resin and rubber to structure, stretch, deform and harden her work. Within my own practice, resin, varnish and fabric stiffener was experimented with and while being successful in maintaining the shape of the vessel, ultimately negated the textural quality of the material. Finally, the substrates were abandoned in favour of building up thick layers of fleece to generate the required structure.

Felt is believed to have symbolic, as well as physical, properties of protection in Central Asia. Leonardo Olshki in The Myth of Felt describes a Mongolian custom that used the material as a protector of the weak, where a spear wrapped in black felt was placed outside the tent of a dying man to avert strangers and evil spirits from entering. In Uzbekistan and Turkestan, felt is believed to have properties that ward away dangerous animals, such as scorpions, tarantulas and snakes from the sleeping areas of the ger. This sense of protection is harnessed in my Felt at Home series to convey a feeling of stafety and security within the vessels. The scale and the interior space is intimate and protective to generate a feeling of homeliness and familiarity.

Merino wool is fused with silk, stained and stitched to create vessels inherently Australian - memories of feltex under-carpet and childhood toys are nostalgically recalled as the vessels are viewed and held. While working with raw and carded wool, memories of summers spent on my grandparent's property in Central NSW transpire. The scent and greasy touch of freshly shorn wool in the shearing sheds connects me to a time of certainty, security and belonging. These sensorial memories link me to a place I recall as home.

The vessels find their meaning in their interactive relationship with the user. The textural quality of felt is an arousing trait. Even the word 'felt' implies the act of touching, inviting the viewer to grasp, stroke, caress, nuzzle and feel. Texture encourages a sensorial examination of the material, eliciting a strong emotional response.

Felt-making has become an addiction. As a designer-maker I am rewarded by the labour intensive process of fulling and felting: beginning with only the raw ingredients of oily sheeps wool, soapy water and a bamboo mat, and ending with a finished textile piece. It is incredibly satisfying. The variation and faults of the hand-made felt are valued for the uniqueness they give each object. To guide the unruly wool fibres and see them bond together, and to continue the process by dip-dying and stitching creates quite an emotional attachment to the work. The act of nurturing and steering the course of the fibres relates to an innate natural mothering-instict, perhaps this is why feltmaking is particularly embraced by women around the world. (This is not to say that felt is exclusively female - my feltmaking classes often include one or two eager boys ready to see what felt can do!) Felt has travelled a great distance to arrive at my textile studio (known also as "kitchen table"). The journey of this ancient technique has embued the fabric with a sense of history, survival, warmth and protection.