He has adorned our walls with wallpaper and our floors with carpets, enhanced our curtains, apparel, and tableware, and even made his way into the British nuclear submarine fleet. Nearly 130 years post his passing, the Victorian designer of arts and crafts, William Morris, has spread his distinctively vibrant floral designs globally, enveloping our environments with elegant motifs of willow, blackthorn, and pimpernel, sprinkled with whimsical strawberry-loving robins. There seems to be no escape from his influence.
“I began to notice Morris everywhere,” recounts Hadrian Garrard, director of the William Morris Gallery in Walthamstow, eastern London, sounding a bit as if he’s trying to evade a persistent admirer. “He shows up on phone cases, umbrellas, walking sticks – and a significant portion of the Victoria and Albert Museum gift shop. I felt it was essential to explore how we arrived at this point – how did William Morris, regarded as Britain’s finest designer, achieve such viral success?”
This query is central to the gallery’s latest exhibition, Morris Mania, which invites attendees on a colorful journey through over a century of floral designs in decor, clothing, and furnishings. It’s an intriguing, albeit at times overwhelming, collection of pattern-filled items and narratives that may lead you to observe Morris prints in your surroundings as well.
His widespread appeal started during his lifetime. A thoughtfully arranged timeline highlights the pivotal events that transformed this self-proclaimed socialist into the ultimate trendsetter for the middle and upper classes. Following the launch of his inaugural Morris & Co showroom on Oxford Street in 1877, and his projects to furnish St James’s Palace and Balmoral Castle, his reputation rapidly proliferated among the elite.
In 1895, Tsar Nicholas II of Russia became aware of the fashionable Brit, commissioning 300 yards (275 meters) of Morris fabric and ample Garden Tulip wallpaper to decorate the quarters of his Winter Palace in St Petersburg. The outcome was less than favorable; a 1917 photograph depicts one of the trashed rooms after the Bolsheviks stormed the palace. Almost everything is destroyed – save for the Morris wallpaper, which stubbornly persists with its charming depiction of idyllic old England.
Once the copyright on his work lapsed in 1966, a flood of mass-produced Morris merchandise was unleashed. Laura Ashley opened its first store in South Kensington, London, in 1968, inundating homes with floral drapes and cushions. During the Thatcher era, Morris saw a resurgence with conservative calls to revive “Victorian values.” This period also saluted an unexpected application of Morris fabric featured in the exhibition: his rose-patterned linen was used in the upholstery of Royal Navy submarines, providing officers with a quaint reminder of pastoral medieval Britain while they contemplated nuclear warfare. Ironically, Morris had designed this pattern in 1883, right when he was becoming increasingly critical of his nation’s imperialistic aims and the futility of war.
The exhibition’s design, orchestrated by Sam Jacob with graphics from Europa, is a visually overwhelming experience, drawing you into a vibrant Morris universe, featuring bold Morris carpets, loud wallpaper, and frilly light shades hanging overhead, all harmonizing in a symphony of grannycore aesthetics. Display cases illuminate a plethora of Morris-patterned objects, spanning everything from quirky knick-knacks and scarves found in museum shops to luxurious Loewe handbags and collaborations with brands like Nike and H&M.
“The designs have long since escaped their original intent,” remarks Jacob, whose work frequently delves into the imitation and evolution of popular culture. “It’s reminiscent of the film Alien – the patterns can latch onto anything and completely transform its host, whether that’s a mug or a submarine.”
One display case, concentrating on the commercial aspects, illustrates how Morris’s designs have crossed the typical divides of high and low style, embraced by both luxury fashion houses and mass-produced trinkets. While Morris is often associated with conventional middle-class sensibilities, even Habitat – which was established by Terence Conran to bring modernism to the general public – partook in the Morris craze. Its 1971 catalogue showcased Chesterfield sofas adorned with Honeysuckle fabric, proudly stating their designs were “based on a Victorian original.”
The exhibition also acknowledges Morris’s appeal in Asia. Featured is a Japanese yukata, or kimono, crafted from the famed Strawberry Thief fabric. If you look closely, you can spot Hello Kitty faces hidden among the foliage. Additionally, there’s a new Morris badminton set from sports brand Yonex, its busy designs likely to distract any opponent attempting to hit the shuttlecock.
Moreover, a stunning duo of wedding jackets adorned with Morris patterns, designed by local designer Zahra Amber for her wedding at the gallery, are displayed, beautifully embroidered in Kashmir. They are showcased alongside a dresser overflowing with various other items contributed by Morris enthusiasts, such as a ceramic toast rack and a deck of cards. An amusing film by Natalie Cubides-Brady, with assistance from US academic Sarah Mead Leonard—who runs the Twitter account Morris on Screen—features clips from over 100 films and television shows showcasing Morris patterns, from University Challenge to Call the Midwife, solidifying Morris’s role in the backdrop of countless lives.
China has emerged as one of the most significant markets for Morris merchandise globally, particularly following the Victoria and Albert Museum’s touring exhibition in 2023, which set box office records. An iPad scrolls through the extensive selection of Morris-themed products available on the Chinese online shopping platform Temu (“Shop like a billionaire!”), much of which is now created through AI. “We picked these up for just £2.99 each,” Garrard says, pointing to a wall filled with Morris exhibition posters produced in China – for shows that never actually took place. “There are countless items for sale online, all generated by AI. We could have plastered the entirety of Walthamstow with them.”
This computer-generated, mass-produced material may seem contrary to the “authentic” Morris items still crafted by skilled artisans, whose meticulous methods (highlighted in a calming video) adorn everything from Brompton bicycles to handmade lampshades by Tinker & Tallulah. However, in a way, this automated future aligns with Morris’s own aspirations. Throughout his career, he grappled with the desire to make his designs accessible for all, while also wishing for his workers to receive fair compensation and lead joyful, fulfilling lives. He ultimately concluded that achieving this was unfeasible without a radical transformation of society.
In a clever twist, Garrard has included a copy of Fully Automated Luxury Communism, Aaron Bastani’s thought-provoking 2018 book, which peeks out from a mannequin’s pockets. The book envisions a future where “society based on waged work becomes as antiquated as feudal peasantry,” a perspective reminiscent of Morris’s novel News from Nowhere. We are edging closer to that reality—if we overlook the claims of intellectual property violations and coercive labor that afflict platforms like Temu, as an AI-generated caption cheekily notes.
At the William Morris Gallery, London, running from April 5 to September 21
