Sue Stone is a time traveller in stitch. Using images from beloved family photo albums as inspiration, Sue juxtaposes the past and present to create real and imagined narratives. Not only does working with old photos remind her who she is and where she came from, but her textile art also helps viewers make important connections among people, places and time.

Sue especially enjoys working with photos featuring unknown characters, using them as a device to portray the past in general, as well as key historical events. Those unknown, yet somehow related, friends and family provide rich personalities for Sue’s very human stories of joy, sorrow and everything in between.

The Unknown Statistic is perhaps one of the best examples of Sue’s ability to combine the past and present in a way that bears timeless meaning. Starting with an intimate family connection, this piece expands to expose the challenges and horrific impact of war on families. The piece is rooted in the loss of her great grandfather in the First World War and blossoms into questions about how children and surviving spouses will find their way after such a loss.

History comes knocking

Sue Stone: The dates and events that surrounded this work are integral to its meaning. In 2014, the 62 Group of Textile Artists invited its members to respond to the town of Grimsby by interpreting the theme Ebb and Flow in its widest sense. Not only did 2014 mark the centenary of the beginning of the First World War, but also my great grandfather Harry Conder’s death. I knew he had died during the war, as his name is on the memorial at Tower Hill in London. But this artistic challenge led me to research further into the circumstances surrounding his death, and what I discovered was both moving and remarkable.

Harry Conder was a skipper of the trawler Fittonia that had hit a mine and sank during the war’s first year on 2 September 1914. Harry and six others were lost to the sea. Ironically, in 2014, the ‘Grimsby’s Lost Ships of WWI’ project found the wreckage of his trawler in the Humber estuary.

My great grandfather’s eldest son, Charles, also lost his life in the First World War. He died on 2 November 1918, just before its end. Ironically, he didn’t die from his war wounds, but instead from the Spanish Flu epidemic.

My research also exposed the fact my great grandfather was father to seven children, the youngest of which, George, was five. That made me wonder what happened to his children after his loss? How did his widow, Eliza, go on? And how many more children were left fatherless by the First World War? Sadly, my research at the local and national archives yielded a decided lack of accurate information, which led to my naming the work The Unknown Statistic. Their young lives went on but were changed forever.

An imagined backstory

So how would I tell the stories of these unknown children?

My number one source for inspiration has always been my family album. Every time I study its pages, I’m reminded of the passing of time and the transience of life. My mum, dad, grandparents, sister, husband and children have all been featured in my work.

Working with the family album is a way for me to remember who I am and where I came from. To that end, many of my works juxtapose disparate images from the past with those from the present to make a connection among people, place and time. By presenting two specific points in time, I create the illusion of time travel that asks the viewer to imagine what happened in between.

I’m especially intrigued by photos featuring unknown characters. I think everyone’s family album houses photos of people whom no one seems to know. To that end, I remembered a small image I had seen in my husband’s family album of some unknown children. I had been looking at that image for several years, wondering how I could use it in my work. It had a poignancy to it: the children look like they are watching someone walking away.

I later came across a photograph I had taken in the East End of London featuring simple wall graffiti which said ‘Never Forget’. That’s when it occurred to me to upload and combine the two images in Photoshop to tell the story. The image of the children became a device to represent a group of universal children, whose innocent lives were forever changed by the loss of their fathers.

The children stand in the doorway, watching and listening for their father. He’s a skipper and Grimsby fisherman whose trawler has been commissioned by the government to serve as a minesweeper. The shadow of their mother can be seen in the background, as she couldn’t bear to come and watch.

A fisherman doesn’t turn to wave to children as he leaves, as that was deemed bad luck. And while he might whistle as he left, he’d stop once he boarded the trawler to avoid ‘whistling up a storm’. Sadly, those traditions wouldn’t protect the fisherman and his crew, and his children would never see him again.

Making this piece was an emotional rollercoaster because it made me think long and hard about my great grandmother Eliza’s life and the hardships she endured as a widow. Having lost both her husband and son Charles, she somehow found an inner strength that enabled her to bring up the rest of her family on her own.

Layering stitch and paint 

I used a cotton/linen Japanese Zakka fabric in a natural colour as my base material. I chose that fabric because it has a smooth finish which paints well, and in its natural state, it’s a suitable flesh colour. All the stitchwork is DMC stranded cotton, along with some wool donated by a friend.

I also used a combination of fabric paint and acrylic paint of various makes. I use fabric paint for colours I want to be absorbed by the fabric, and acrylic paints for their ability to sit on the fabric’s surface to create texture.

Once I had my final composition, I made a very simple drawing to use as a guide showing where everything goes. That drawing was then reversed and printed out in A4 tiles. The tiles were then reassembled and transferred to the fabric using free-motion machine stitching from the reverse side of the fabric, making the stitching easier to remove on the front.

After the stitched guide was in place, the background was given a layer of paint. And then the hand stitching began. All of the machine stitching was removed and replaced with hand stitching. 

I used straight stitch, cross stitch, back stitch and needle weaving on the figures.

I then continued to build up the image using layers of hand stitch, machine stitch and paint. There are areas where I paint underneath the stitch to build up texture and some painted layers over the stitching to help knock it back.

My biggest challenge was creating the brick wall background. I had painted it a terracotta red colour, but the colour dominated the figures in the doorway and destroyed the atmosphere of the work. 

Two days before the work was to be submitted for the 62 Group exhibition, I made the brave decision to overpaint the terracotta with a khaki green/brown colour, and it transformed the work. Be assured, it was quite a challenge to paint around the already completed stitched figure of the boy on the left!

I also painted over the ‘Never Forget’ lettering to give it a fading effect, like the children’s memories of their father. I finished the piece by adding more stitching on top of the painted wall in burnt orange and rust.

The story’s power

Visitors to my exhibitions are really interested in the stories behind my narrative pieces, and this work was no exception. It particularly provokes strong emotions from those whose families share similar stories. Telling the story always provides a connection between the viewer and maker.

The fact I first showed this work in my hometown of Grimsby and the surrounding events being honoured made it all very special. Grimsby, Lincolnshire, is situated on the east coast of England, and the 62 Group of Textile Artists chose two very different venues for the exhibition. 

The first was a beautiful historic building called Grimsby Minster. The building is more than 900 years old, and that’s where my work was exhibited. The other venue was the Muriel Barker Gallery at the Fishing Heritage Centre which was a modern, white walled gallery.

I have shown The Unknown Statistic in many exhibitions since its conception in 2014. It never loses its emotional power for me, and I usually find myself with a tear in my eye when I recount its story. It remains one of my favourite pieces of work.

Key takeaways

Sue Stone is a master storyteller in her textile art. If you’re wanting to share your own stories, consider the following:

• Turn to your family photo album for inspiration, especially older historical photos. Think about the characteristics you want to emphasise in your work.

• You can certainly tell actual lived stories of the people in your work but, like Sue, try to imagine other possible storylines that could be more representational than literal.

• Think about using historical events as a backdrop for your work and then do some research. Sue focused on the First World War, and her research uncovered personal connections to the event.

• Consider adding paint to your work. Sue uses paint both under and over stitching to create different tonal effects.

• It’s never too late to change your mind about your work. Sue changed her whole background two days before submitting her work for exhibition. If something just isn’t working, change it!

Sue Stone is based in the UK, and her work has been exhibited widely across the globe. Most recent exhibits include Shifts and Allusions at The Hub, Sleaford, UK (2023), the 12^th from Lausanne to Beijing International Fibre Art Biennial Exhibition (2022) and the UK 62 Group’s Knitting & Stitching Show (2022). Sue also lectures and teaches worldwide, and she is a member of the 62 Group of Textile Artists and a Fellow of the Society of Designer Craftsmen.

Artist website: womanwithafish.com

Instagram: @womanwithafish

Facebook: facebook.com/suestone.womanwithafish

If you’re interested in other textile artists who take a narrative approach, be sure to check out Ruth Miller’s powerful work in which she examines the stories of African-American life in the deep South.

Artist and lecturer Vanessa Marr thrives on collaborative projects, and plays an active part in the textile art group unFOLD. In a series of pieces created for the Festival of Quilts 2018 exhibition, group members took inspiration from The Button Box, by Lynn Knight, a book about women in the 20th Century, told through the clothes they wore.

The post-war period was a time when women were pushed back into domestic life, after the Second World War. For this project, Vanessa used text and images from real advertisements from around that time, and hand embroidered them onto vintage dressing-table cloths and garments. With a background in graphic design, the illustrations and accompanying absurd text of these adverts really attracted her.

At first she set out to subvert or change the text in some way. But she often found the adverts so ridiculous she didn’t need to change them at all, to make a statement.

Through this work, Vanessa wanted to connect the ‘feminine’ art of embroidery with the declarations of female perfection that was, and still is, presented in the media. Her embroideries highlight how these expectations of the ‘perfect woman’ still exist today, and that little has changed since those vintage adverts were first published.

Each part of Vanessa’s work, the selected objects, the process of hand stitching, and the embroidered outcomes, are intended to reflect both the powerlessness and the pleasure of being a woman, whilst challenging the patriarchal perspectives on the female body.

The perfect woman

TextileArtist.org: How did the idea for the work come about? What was your inspiration?

Vanessa Marr: The inspiration for my work comes from references made to beauty advertising, which were discussed throughout the book, The Button Box.

It struck me that the advertisements positioned a woman as a figure who should apparently always be striving for physical perfection, whilst seeking to get, and then keep, her man. Just as the choice of button displays and presents a variety of visual messages depending on its size, colour and style, so does a woman’s beauty product choices.

The work was made of several different pieces:

As long as you’re beautiful!
This collection of hand-embroidered vintage dressing-table cloths explores the idea that a quilt, in its most basic form, is a collection of different pieces of fabric pieced together to form a whole. By isolating individual words and phrases, taken directly from make-up advertisements from the 1950s, the messages are ‘quilted’ together and the absurdity of the language is highlighted.

Ways to get your man…
These are exact copies of real adverts. I discovered several more with a similar theme. In each narrative the girl is offered a magic potion that will ensure her success in ‘getting her man’. Lipstick or soap solve the problem in these examples, but it’s a small step to the magic potions of fairy tales. These narratives set the tone for expected behaviour, as well as appearance.

Feminine Niceties
Women are expected to do things to their bodies that are contrary to the natural state of things, for the sake of appearing ‘feminine’ and ‘nice’. Advertising has made this so normal that we often don’t question it.

For the Feminine Niceties collection, I chose vintage night dresses or slips. These items of clothing are not actually necessary, yet they perform the purpose of making the woman become more ‘visually appealing’. I selected ‘normal’ changes that we make to our bodies, such as the removal of body hair, wearing underwear that impacts our shape (even the modern bra still does this), and dieting.

The pale pink nightie features the alarming text I found on an advert for Veet hair removal cream with women who had flowers embroidered under their armpits. A flouncy, yellow slip told girls ‘not to be skinny’ (this was an exact quote), whilst the third, slightly more fitted version, extolled the virtues of a ‘sweetheart figure’.

What research did you do before you started to make?

After reading The Button Box, I bought several vintage magazines from eBay. Through these, I explored the work of popular illustrators from this period, like Norman Rockwell.

I also read various academic books about the language and visual meanings of adverts from the 1950s, which provided a deeper understanding.

Subversive messages

Was there any other preparatory work?

Before I started stitching, I practised illustrating the 1950’s style figures that I wanted to embroider.

Also, I explored the use of dissolvable fabric. I decided to use this fabric to support the work when I embroidered the ladies onto the night dresses, as the fine nightwear didn’t take well to my erasable pen and was too slippery to stitch directly into. When I had finished stitching, the dissolvable layer could be simply washed away.

What materials were used in the creation of the piece?

I had great fun finding vintage textiles to work on. I searched eBay purchases for vintage cloths, and found a set of night dresses in a local charity/thrift shop. I purchased some dressing table items from this era, to support my exhibition display.

I chose the cloths based on their size and shape.

For Ways to get your man, the cloths featuring an entire page sized advert, I found some large rectangular cloths with white stitched embellishments that would frame my embroidery work. The set of three cloths were approximately the same size, so I knew they could be exhibited together as a collection.

I used small, circular cloths for As long as you’re beautiful. These were like lace doilies, but with a clear, flat space in the centre that I could embroider. I chose a range of embroidery silks for my stitching, in colours that suited the designs that the cloths already held, with red colours for the lips. The text I chose refers to various makeup or beauty products. I displayed the works together like a ‘quilt’ of messages. I also slipped in a few of my own subversive messages, like ‘Rebel often’.

The night dresses I selected were of different, but complimentary, colours. I also borrowed and bought padded hangers to display them on, to support the feminine theme.

What equipment do you find useful when creating your embroideries?

My favourite tool is my much-loved erasable fabric pen. I use this to trace or draw the text or illustration directly onto the cloth.

For this stage of my work I find a lightbox helpful to trace designs. This approach comes from my background as a graphic designer and illustrator.

Once I’ve traced or drawn my designs, I stretch the fabric into a hoop and ‘draw’ these lines by hand in back stitch using stranded embroidery thread.

In the case of the night dresses, I drew directly onto dissolvable fabric, which was then placed over the night dress fabric, ready to stitch. Sometimes the lines I draw on dissolvable fabric don’t give me enough detail, so I use them as a guide. I stitch freehand over the top of them, to get features like the eyelashes looking just right.

Stitching on the train

When and where do you stitch?

The process of hand embroidery is slow, so I often carry my work around with me. I stitch in spare moments, such as when I am commuting to work on the train. I even stitch while sitting on the beach, sometimes.

I got some funny looks when I took out my nighties and started stitching on them.

Once a man on a train asked me if I couldn’t think of anything better to do with my time! (No, I couldn’t.)

What journey has the work been on since its was created?

These works were exhibited at the Festival of Quilts 2018.

The Veet hair removal cream night dress and the Cashmere Bouquet soap ‘Ways to get your man’ cloth were both selected for an exhibition at the University of Brighton, where I am a lecturer. This exhibition, Imaginative Objects: Reading the Image in Research, explored how practice-based academics, like myself, make work with objects as part of their research.

The works also influenced the embroideries I made after my hysterectomy in 2020, which used the same style cloths to anchor my visual commentary about feminine concerns.

Key takeaways:

• Making use of simple tools and materials like dissolvable support fabric or an erasable fabric pen can be help you to handle your textiles and get the details just right.
• Sometimes the message you want to communicate is staring you right in the face. Many of the 1950s adverts Vanessa used already made a statement, without needing any further subversion.
• It’s good to accept that hand embroidery is slow. Just find those quiet moments to stitch, whenever and wherever you can.

About the artist:

Vanessa Marr is an artist and lecturer, with a background in graphic design. She is a lecturer at the University of Brighton, UK, Fellow of the Royal Society of Arts (RSA), and a member of the unFOLD textile group.

Best known for her embroidered works on yellow duster cloths, Vanessa is also the founder of the ongoing collaborative project, Women & Domesticity – What’s your Perspective?, inviting statements (embroidered on dusters) exploring the theme of domesticity.

Website: https://marrvanessa.wordpress.com

Instagram: @vanemarr

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Sorting through old photographs and collections of memorabilia helps Ailish Henderson to recall memories of her travels and life experiences. And the personal connections she uncovers start to inspire ideas for new work.

Ailish’s ideas grow from a collection of playful sketchbook drawings inspired by her photographs.

Balancing textile art and fine art techniques, she draws, paints, builds collages and stitches. First, she develops her drawings into completed compositions on paper. Then she uses these designs as the basis for her series of mixed media portraits, a favourite being Pistachio Smiles.

Ailish extends the depth and meaning of her work by stitching pieces of clothing, tickets and other treasured items into her pieces.

When the work is finished, she takes the time to scan her finished collage portraits into the computer, to create a digital catalogue of her work. As an added benefit, this process gives Ailish the opportunity to further develop a finished work into digital print designs, so she can share her work with a wider audience.

Creating stitched portraits is part of Ailish’s ongoing research into the connection between emotional repair and making. Through her work, Ailish is able to investigate the effect of past life experiences on her current state. Strong memories formed during childhood, perhaps only coming to light decades later, can take on new meaning and finally be understood.

Memories of the lone traveller

TextileArtist.org: How did the idea for the piece come about? What was your inspiration?

Ailish Henderson: Pistachio Smiles, is one of my favourite pieces from my body of work, Stitched Portrait Collages. These works are all mixed media textile pieces, and I continue to develop this series today.

The portraits grew from recalled memories of my travels and various life events, as well as looking through photographs and collected memorabilia. These were not always happy times, but by using these experiences as inspiration for my work, I began to make sense of the emotions they triggered.

This series of work has become very important to me, as it has led to many opportunities for further development projects, lectures and workshops.

What research did you do before you started to make the work?

I started by looking through my photograph albums. As a lone traveller, I had taken many selfie photographs even before it became a big trend. Mostly, they were images taken at landmarks and in cities like Paris.

In these photographs, I viewed myself as a character within a story. Simply a figure in a landscape, rather than ‘me’, the person.

I began to isolate parts of the images, taking them out to study and draw. Along with the visual imagery documenting my travels, I drew on memories, as well as sorting through my assembled collections of travel memorabilia.

Playful drawing and painting

Was there any other preparatory work?

While preparing for this piece, I gravitated towards my fine art skills and my love of watercolours and the drawn line.

Much of my preparatory work begins by making playful drawings in the pages of my sketchbook and enhancing them with watercolour paints.

From these ideas, I began to create finished compositions on paper. Then I used these completed drawings as visual aids for my mixed media and fabric stitched portraits.

How do you use materials to give your work personal meaning?

I control the art I make, rather than categorising my art as Fine Art or Textiles. I see my work simply as a representation of ‘me’.

As part of this philosophy, I love to incorporate fragments of items with personal meaning.

I do not keep and re-use all of my old clothing, only the items I have a particularly deep connection with. I am a sentimental person and if I have an emotional memory associated with an item, then I will keep it. I rifle through my collections and choose items relating to the piece I am making.

I often include paper items, such as receipts and tickets from my travels. These works also feature Irish linen, which refer back to my birthplace.

Adding personal elements

Take us through the creation of the piece, stage by stage.

To create depth of meaning, as well as surface depth, I choose to work with items connected to myself. The mixed media elements of this work include fragments of my own clothing, with paper-based items from my travels and experiences woven through. I connected these together using hand stitch.

The clothing fragments I used in Pistachio Smiles are from old garments that I’ve kept boxed up for many years. These include pieces from my baby dresses. The eye area holds a piece of a top that I wore on the trip that inspired the piece. Other fragments were placed throughout, wherever the colour and pattern worked best. The paper items I used include tickets from the Paris Métro system, museum passes, even chocolate wrappers and the odd croissant/coffee packet, too! They are ripped up and used throughout, again placed according to their colour.

In some areas I drew and painted directly onto the cloth, to build depth in the portrait layers.

I used my needle and thread to ‘draw’, in an intuitive way. Most of Pistachio Smiles is hand embroidered. Sometimes I use a sewing machine briefly, to add specific details. But I much prefer to stitch by hand, and have a direct connection between hand and cloth. This allows me to connect with the piece, and control the stitches better.

I think this comes down to the perfectionist in me. I like to be in control of everything. I feel that hand embroidery gives a true reflection of the maker. Each stitch is fed with emotion.

I backed the finished piece with white Irish linen, to acknowledge my birthplace, and stretched it over a linen box canvas, so that it could be wall-mounted.

At the time it was finished, I did not rate this piece as having any more worth than the other stitched portraits that I had created. But since then, it has become a real favourite, not only for myself, but for others who observe my work.

How have you developed this work further?

I truly treasure the original piece. It has gathered much acclaim at solo exhibitions and other events. But I wanted to find a method of cataloguing my work for posterity. I found that, by using digital formats, my work can be recorded and shared with a larger audience.

In order to develop designs and make repeat patterns for printing onto any surface, I scanned my work into the computer. And I taught myself how to use graphic design software to manipulate the image.

Using these designs, I have developed my own line of interiors and fashion items. This includes a digitally printed scarf which features my original Pistachio Smiles portrait.

In addition, my family treated me to a photoshoot to cover this series of work. This made sure that I had high quality images of the work, to take to clients and galleries.

A professional photoshoot is an investment I would highly recommend. I found that the shoot itself became a form of art, another way of communicating the narrative of my work. Now I have a high quality digital catalogue of my work, should anything happen to the originals.

What journey has the piece been on since its creation?

This piece has been featured in Daphnes’ Diary, Embroidery magazine and Embellish magazine, amongst others.

This work was exhibited by the Society for Embroidered Work, at the Palazzo Velli Expo exhibition space, during Rome Art Week 2021. I was fortunate to be able to visit this exhibition myself. A joyful event, this trip also proved to be a form of emotional repair, as it put to bed memories related to the underlying meaning behind the piece.

Pistachio Smiles and my stitched portrait collages have become the backbone of my career. I hope to continue to guide others how to use their own memories, whether negative or positive, within their art, enabling them to repair and enhance themselves at the same time.

Key takeways:

• Have a look through your collections of photographs and memorabilia. These are a great source of inspiration for your work.
• Creating work inspired by memories can help you make sense of emotional moments in your life.
• Relax and enjoy some time painting and drawing. Make playful drawings and doodles in a sketchbook. These creations can be developed later, into more detailed ideas for your compositions.
• Stitch fragments of treasured items into your work, such as concert tickets, travel documents, or pieces of clothing. These will help to give added depth and meaning to the piece.
• For a fresh approach, try scanning a finished piece and manipulating the resulting images on the computer.

About the artist:

Ailish Henderson’s solo exhibition, Maker: Mended, was shown at the Spring Knitting and Stitching Show, 2019. She is the editor for Mr X Stitch website, and her work has been featured in numerous magazines, including Selvedge, Embroidery, and Embellishment. Ailish is a member of the Society for Embroidered Work.

Website: www.ailishhenderson.com
Instagram: @ailish_h_

Do you like to stitch keepsakes into your work? Let us know by leaving a comment below.

Daffodil leaves and rusty tools are unusual items to make sculptures with. Alice Fox ‘grows’ her tactile vessels using a simple, repeated button-hole stitch, anchored onto a metal base. Sustainability is a major part of Alice’s work. She sources many of her materials from her allotment garden plot.

Her beautiful vessels celebrate the unknown history of these aged garden implements.

Alice uses sampling to figure out how to build these structures, by testing out different plant materials in small scale experiments. This gives her the confidence to begin working at a larger scale.

You might be wondering how Alice is able to stitch daffodil leaves. Read on to find out how she constructed her work Hybrid 2, which she made for the Textile Study Group’s INSIGHTS project.

Perhaps you’ll find yourself viewing your own garden plants in a totally new way – as a potential source of working materials.

Name of piece: Hybrid 2
Year of piece: 2020
Size, techniques and materials used: 32cm x 8cm x 5cm, Drilling, cordage making & looping, Found tool, daffodil leaves

Finding connections

TextileArtist.org: How did the idea for the piece come about? What was your inspiration?

Alice Fox: Found objects often form a starting point for my work. These might be gathered on walks in my local area or further afield.

Found items form a tangible link to the place that they came from. By working with found objects and gathered materials, I’m able to create something that forms a personal record of the place these items are connected to.

My work is intimately linked with my allotment plot. Here, I have been exploring the variety of found, grown and gathered materials for several years. This ongoing exploration was initially the basis of my practice-based research for an MA degree, and it continues to form the focus of my current practice.

The starting point for this piece, Hybrid 2, was a group of old tools found in the shed on my allotment when I first took over the plot.

The tools are rusty and many are broken. I wanted to explore ways of working with these objects, either by working into them or by adding other materials, to create something unique.

Working three dimensionally, these objects became sculptural pieces celebrating the unknown history of the tools and the little piece of land that they have worked.

What research did you do before you started to make?

First, I created a series of small-scale experiments with a number of different materials.

Hand-processed plant material was twisted into cord, which was then brought together with found plastics, metals, ceramics and wood. These different elements were combined by wrapping, binding, stitching, weaving and looping.

As my experience and knowledge of the materials grew, so did confidence in my ability to make resolved pieces on a larger scale.

Rusty trowels and daffodils

Was there any other preparatory work?

This work is part of an ongoing exploration of the materials in my allotment garden.

Lots of different elements and experiences feed into this piece, even if they are not explicitly linked. I experiment all the time with the materials I grow and gather. I test different plants for cord-making and play with different ways to use the threads that I make.

Some of the techniques I use are borrowed from soft basketry, others are more traditionally associated with textiles. If I see a technique in a book or online, rather than using traditional materials, I try it out using the natural materials that are available to me.

What materials were used in the creation of the piece? How did you select them? Where did you source them?

Hybrid 2 is made up of a rusty trowel and interlaced cord that I made from daffodil leaves.

The trowel was found amongst other old tools in the sheds on the allotment.

The daffodil leaves grow under the fruit trees on the plot. I gather the leaves in the spring after the daffodils have flowered. At this stage the leaves have started to dye down, returning their goodness to the bulbs for next year. I dry out the leaves and store them until I need them.

Structural stitching

Take us through the creation process

To attach the cord to the trowel, I need an anchor point. I use a pillar drill to make a row of holes around the edge of the metal trowel. This gives me the starting point for attaching the cordage to the object.

I dampen the leaves using a water spray bottle and wrap them in a cloth for an hour before working with them. This softens the leaves, making them more flexible.

By twisting two strands together in my fingers, I start to make the cord or string. This is essentially a two-ply thread. If a strand of fibre is twisted in one direction it will generally un-twist itself when you let go. So I use a ‘ZS’ twist structure to join the two strands of thread or fibre together. The strands are twisted together in such a way that they pull against each other and won’t unravel.

Then I feed the finished cord through each of the holes in the trowel in turn. Looping the cord through itself, in a version of a detached button-hole stitch or a large-scale version of needle lace, allows me to create the walls of the structure.

I work my way around the edge of the tool, and then continue working in a circular way, ‘stitching’ into each of the loops from the previous row. In this way, the vessel-like structure starts to grow up from the trowel base.

What journey has the piece been on since its creation?

I made Hybrid 2 during the development stages for the Textile Study Group’s INSIGHTS project. The piece featured in the book of the project and was shown in the accompanying exhibition at the Festival of Quilts.

This piece led me to make more work along similar lines. It is now part of an ongoing series, where I have made sculptural vessels using other tools using a variety of allotment-sourced materials.

Key Takeaways:

• Working materials can be sourced anywhere, even from your garden
• If you are wondering how to create a large-scale artwork? Test out some small sample versions first
• Incorporating found items in your work can help to record a link with a particular place
• If you find a technique that interests you, try it out using whatever materials you have available, even they seem like unconventional options

About the artist:

Alice Fox was shortlisted in the Janome Fine Art Textiles Award (2021). She has received funding for several projects from Arts Council England, and completed a residency at Spurn Point Nature Reserve in 2012. She is a member of the Textile Study Group.

Alice has self-published a series of books to accompany her exhibition projects, including ‘Plot 105’ which explains her relationship with the allotment plot. Her website features a short film telling the story of how she works.

Her book Natural Processes in Textile Art (2015, Batsford) is all about working with natural processes such as rusting and eco dyeing, along with using found objects in textile art. Alice’s second book for Batsford will be published in 2022.

For more information visit www.alicefox.co.uk and on Instagram

Have you used any unconventional materials in your artwork? Let us know in the comments below

When you hear the word ‘portrait,’ chances are you picture an image of a person at least from the neck up. And regardless of the person’s smile or gaze, the goal of that portrait is to share information about that subject’s personality.

Now imagine creating a portrait without using a person’s face. In fact, picture creating a portrait using no physical references at all. That’s the dilemma Emily Jo Gibbs faced when a good friend refused Emily’s request to create her portrait. Ironically, that refusal turned into a remarkable creative exercise.

Emily decided to focus on the tools her good friend used in the studio, and that later inspired a series of works showcasing local artisans’ tools. From a glass blower to a shoemaker to a metalsmith, Emily reached out to her favourite local artisans asking to create their ‘portraits’ featuring their tools. And the end result is visually engaging.

Enjoy this insider’s look into Emily’s process and techniques, including how to work with tricky materials such as organza. We promise you’ll be inspired, and you’ll likely never look at your pincushion the same again.

Portraits without faces

TextileArtist.org: How did the idea for the series come about? What was your inspiration?

Emily Jo Gibbs: At the beginning of 2017, I conceived the idea to make a series of portraits of ‘Makers’ by showcasing the tools they used. The project was called ‘The Value of Making.’ My aim was to celebrate people who make things—a constructive retort to our society’s lack of value placed on making.

I chose seven contemporary Makers across a broad range of disciplines whose work I admire because of their design aesthetic, making skills and materiality.

The notion to focus on a Maker’s tools versus their actual face came about whilst working on a collaborative project with Bridget Bailey. I was keen to make a portrait of her, but Bridget was reluctant. So, I started exploring the idea of depicting her through the tools in her workspace.

I ended up making ‘Pincushion’ portraits of us both. We used quite similar pincushions that are beautifully made in tiny needlepoint.

It was interesting representing stitch with stitch, but it was also intriguing to see how those portraits elevated the already-lovely objects.

What research did you do before you started to make?

There are so many makers in different industries and artistic communities to be celebrated across the country. And they have enormous skill, talent, creativity and knowledge.

I had to somehow narrow down my criteria, so I decided to start with contemporary Makers. I chose mostly local people who were specialists across a range of materials and whose skill and aesthetic I greatly admired.

Specifically, I chose Ane Christensen (metal worker), Maiko Dawson (shoemaker), Sebastian Cox (furniture maker), Michael Ruh (glass blower), Helen Beard (potter), Eleanor Pritchard (weaver) and Sarah Pulvertaft (jeweller).

Everyone was happy to be part of the project. Crafts people have a real connection with their tools, so maybe that made it less intimidating.

Beloved tools

Was there any other preparatory work?

When I visited each Maker to discuss their tools, I looked for striking images. I met them with no preconceived notions about which tools I would choose to feature. We instead just talked, and I took lots of photographs.

I first approached Ane Christensen (metal worker) who makes stunningly beautiful geometric sculptural forms that are pure, yet complex. I visited her at her Hackney studio, and I came away from that interview full of enthusiasm for my project. I appreciated her piercing saw (her go-to tool), but I was beguiled by her magnetic tool rack and simply had to depict that.

Sebastian was very clear he didn’t want his practice romanticized. So, even though he had many beautiful hand tools, he spoke more about his power tools. He also spoke at length about his computer numerical control (CNC) machine and the dynamics among skill, automation, material knowledge and computer programming. It was the perfect tool to feature.

For reasons of scale, when I visited with weaver Eleanor Pritchard, I asked to see her smaller tools that she uses versus her large loom. I had no idea, however, I would come away with pictures of a calculator and beautiful little paper spools that had discoloured in the sun.

Helen Beard’s favourite tools were very modest bits of wire and sponge, but it was the porcelain slip covering that made everything in her studio so beautiful and different from the other works.

Sarah Pulvetaft had a set of scribes that were given to her by a dentist with beautiful machined handles. But they didn’t make as lovely shapes, so I went with the pliers and dividers.

It was fascinating going to each maker’s studio to talk about the tools they use. I learned so much more about their making process.

What materials were used in the creation of the piece? How did you select them? Where did you source them?

The work is made from silk organza in stock colours on a linen base. Then it is hand stitched with fine cotton thread.

The organza is actually a crisp material to work with, so I can cut really accurate shapes that lend themselves to the tool shapes.

I source my organza from several suppliers, including Pongees, Henry Bertrand and The Silk Route.

I based my colours on the actual tools but worked within quite a limited colour palette. I didn’t really colour match to the tool, but instead used the colours of the tool as a guide.

I love the juxtaposition of the soft and sheer fabrics being used to depict hard-working tools. I make my work with a great deal of care, and they take a long time. To that end, I think my techniques and materials reflect the care and respect the tools deserve.

Even Michael Ruh’s buckets used for dunking hot tools gave me the opportunity to turn the ordinary into something lovely.

I wish readers could see them in person.

What equipment did you use in the creation of the piece and how was it used?

I use both a small and large pair of Fiskars scissors to cut the organza pieces. I pin a paper template to the organza, and then I cut the paper and organza together.

I also used a size 7 embroidery needle, dressmaker pins and an HB pencil.

Working with organza

Take us through the creation of the piece stage by stage

I spent a lot of time looking at my photographs and composing in my mind’s eye. I then made paper mockups and fiddled about with the scale and overall composition with scissors and sellotape.

There are often masses of tiny decisions to be made. Sometimes it is really clear to me what the colour palette and construction will be. Other times, particularly with large complex pieces, it takes ages to decide how the colours and pieces will build up and fit together. Sometimes I cut and lay up swathes of organza to get a sense of how it will look.

Once I have the composition in mind, I make a paper template to work from actual size, and then cut a piece of linen to the same size and fray the edges.

I then lay a piece of white silk organza over the template and dot the design with an HB pencil.

Next, I cut out the shapes in the design from pieces of organza, some of which may be a double or triple layer. I then pin and tack those organza pieces to the back of my white organza top layer.

I then lay that pinned/tacked organza layer over the linen base, so the small coloured organza pieces are trapped between the linen and top white organza layer.

Lastly, I pin and tack all layers together, so it is a stable sandwich! And then I stab stitch around the shapes, trapping them in pockets, so they don’t fray.

I pay close attention to my thread colour and use my template for colour and tonal reference.

When all the pieces are attached, I might use more stab stitch to emphasize an area or give it a little colour.

What journey has the piece been on since its creation?

‘The Value of Making’ was first exhibited at Collect Open 2018. Since then, four of the pieces went to Mint Gallery and sold. The three remaining pieces were shown at MAC Birmingham as part of the 62 Group’s ‘Ctrl/Shift’ exhibition. They were then shown alongside work by all seven of the featured Makers at Contemporary Applied Arts.

I carefully planned how the portraits would be displayed, both individually and as a group. I made a tiny scale image of each picture, so I could move them around and figure out the best arrangement.

I also paid careful attention to framing. For Collect, I framed them in glass which was lovely! But after that event, I reframed them behind UV glass, so they could be shown safely in a less invigilated space and not be damaged by light.

Mary Schoeser also interviewed me about this project for Selvedge Magazine, Issue 91.

Since this project, I have made a portrait of an Engineer. And for the British Textile Biennial, I made a Portrait of a Chinese Textile worker who works at one of the mills where I source my organza.

Key Takeaways:

• The tools we use at work or home can tell wonderful life stories
• Using paper templates can help artists cut and work with organza
• Limited colour palettes can still have a big visual impact.

About the artist:

UK artist Emily Jo Gibbs creates hand-stitched portraits and still lifes with a graphic quality. She is a member of The 62 Group of Textile Artists and Fellow of the Royal Society of Arts. Emily teaches and lectures across the globe, including the 2020 Winterthur Textile Conference and The Fashion and Textile Museum. She published a book The Value of Making (2018), and her work is featured in The Victoria and Albert Museum, The Crafts Council Collection and the Museum of Fine Art in Houston, TX (USA).

For more information visit www.emilyjogibbs.co.uk and on Instagram

Emily uses tools as portraits. What tool would you choose for your own self-portrait? Let us know below

Large-scale stitched portraits and thread paintings blend perfectly with the paintings, bronze and porcelain sculptures, and ceiling installations displayed in Nike Schroeder’s exhibitions.

With a particular passion for colour and movement, Nike uses artwork to convey her emotions relating to nature, music or story-telling.

A multi-disciplinary contemporary fibre artist, Nike grew up in Germany and now lives in Los Angeles with her wife, two cats and three chickens. She gained her expertise in an Art Therapy degree, and now works with a wide range of media.

She has been exhibiting in solo and group exhibitions since 2011 in Los Angeles, Hamburg, Hawaii and San Francisco. She has been published in many books, including A Big Important Art Book (Now with Women) by Danielle Krysa, Running Press Adult, Canada (2018). Nike’s many clients include Emily Henderson Design in LA, the Rockwell Group, New York, and Urban Outfitters, Berlin and Hamburg. She has taken part in affiliated projects including Miami Project in Miami and Affordable Art Fair in Hamburg.

When the Walter Maciel Gallery in Los Angeles, where she now lives, offered her a fourth solo exhibition, it gave her the opportunity to use her art to explore her interest in female identity. Her observations of her own small brood of chickens, and womanhood in general, reinforced her desire to study them more deeply. The ‘Take Away’ exhibition was the result.

We asked Nike to tell us more about her abstract thread piece ‘Sequence’ – one part of her ‘Take Away’ exhibition – in which she uses a technique that she’s developed over the last 15 years. This method, using loosely hanging rayon threads, demonstrates the intimacy of Nike’s relationship with her materials and her insights into the tactility, movement and colours of this fibre.

Hanging threads

TextileArtist.org: How did the idea for the piece come about? What was your inspiration?

My abstract thread work is usually a translation of an emotional reaction to something. This could either be a feeling evoked by nature, music or the emotional visualization of a story.

In the case of this particular piece, it’s one part of the exhibition in which it was debuted. The show is called ‘Take Away’ and was exhibited at the Walter Maciel Gallery in Los Angeles in early 2020. It focuses on womanhood: it’s meaning and responsibilities, its vulnerability and strength – it’s something that’s important to me and that I witness in life and in caring for my three chickens.

My interest in female identity stems from my own observations of working as a woman and the questions it provokes about womanhood in our world today. So I chose to portray the qualities of sensuality, nurturing, inclusivity, motherhood and power in the over-sized portraits of chickens in the exhibition. They inspire me with their egg-laying and the natural processes associated with that.

The sculptures that I also included show multiple breasts made of stuffed and dyed canvas joined together and suspended from the ceiling in an orb-like form, with nipples protruding in every direction. There is a wall of nipples which can be taken as a souvenir of the show – hence the title ‘Take Away’ – resulting in a constantly evolving wall painting and a reminder of the overall giving trait of women. I wanted to communicate the comfort and security associated with this and so I linked it to the chickens and the strength and power of the female gender with all its vulnerabilities and expectations.

My rayon thread work is titled ‘Sequence’ and is made in a similar style to the Convex/Concave and Fragments pieces I’ve made for other exhibitions. I love the way the hanging threads move in the air and I was able to correspond the colors with those in the paintings of my chickens to further deepen the connection with fertility and life cycles.

What research did you do before you started to make?

I have been working with this method for almost a decade. It’s taken a lot of practice to get it to this stage, so I consider that my research in the technique. I use rayon thread because, in my experience, it has smoother properties than cotton or silk and works better with gravity, allowing it to fall and move freely. It also has a beautiful shine.

I come from a painting background and during my studies in Germany for an Art Therapy BA I started to make collages with thread. Initially, I used regular cotton thread to outline my figurative work. The more I started introducing detail into the patterns in clothes and started stitching repetitive geometrics, the more I became absorbed with these aspects. The threads were more condensed in those areas and, over time, I eliminated the figurative aspects. By the time I came to do my Sequence piece, my work in this particular series had become purely abstract.

This piece happened really naturally as I researched the general topics of this show. The colors came together quite easily – but there is a difference between this and my previous abstract series called Fragments and Convex/Concave. Each of those pieces are stand-alone works with a beginning and an end. The Sequence piece picks up the idea of an eternal life cycle and repeats its color sequence endlessly across multiple panels; it is ever extendable. The idea for this came to me during the general research of this show.

Emphasis on colour

Was there any other preparatory work?

For the past 15 years, I have primarily worked with textiles as a medium. The preparation of each piece is initially focusing in on the color, the size, and the emotion I want to transport.

By stripping the idea of the purpose of stitches being to hold something together, but letting the excess hanging thread become the actual piece of art, this abstract body of work gained a contemporary aspect. It brings to mind Robert Irwin’s statement “Thus achieving an immediate integration of painting and environment”. He was a Californian painter and sculptor known for pioneering the light and space movement; minimalist art that was concerned with the visual impact of light on geometric forms and on the viewer’s sensory experience of the work.

I explored the material in a new ‘useless’ way and combined that with the investigation of color theory – how colors interact amongst themselves and with the viewer. Through the increasing refinement of perception and understanding of these relationships, I desired to create a direct physical and sensory experience of “painting” through the sheer size and emphasis on color. The colors move through warm, light and earthy tones to stronger and darker anchor points.

These pieces are as much inspired by light as they are by air. A light breeze, or a person moving by, causes the threads to sway, evoking an almost ethereal quality.

With this body of work, I wish to inspire an act of daydreaming or indulging in absentmindedness.

What materials were used in the creation of the piece? How did you select them? Where did you source them?

The materials I used are simply rayon and canvas, both of which I purchased directly from the manufacturer.

What equipment did you use in the creation of the piece and how was it used?

For my textile work, I mainly stick to the use of my sewing machine. I switch around between a Singer, a Brother and a Janome – and, of course, lots of different scissors!

Sensuous and tranquil

Take us through the creation of the piece stage by stage

After putting together a color sequence of threads, I then started sewing a grid on a piece of canvas. After each line, I pulled the thread and let it hang. Just imagine repeating this process literally thousands of times until the surface is filled with stitches!

Once that was done, I stretched the canvas onto a custom-made wooden panel, hung it on the wall, and then untangled all the threads to create a smooth color transition.

The process and the result are both sensuous and tranquil and almost command the viewer to exhale.

What journey has the piece been on since its creation?

The show opened in March 2020 at Walter Maciel Gallery in Los Angeles but ended up hanging in a closed gallery until August of that same year.

However, I am excited to say that the show will be traveling to the Museum of Art and History in Lancaster, California in 2024 and – who knows if something might come up in between.

For more information visit www.nikeschroeder.com and on Instagram

Have Nike’s ideas about colour and movement inspired you? Let us know in the comments below.

Ali Ferguson’s inspiration comes from heirloom objects, everyday events, or even chance conversations with neighbours. As an artist, embroiderer and collector of stories, Ali has particular fascination for the stories of ordinary people. Snippets of daily life get her imagination going, perhaps a random observation or the discovery of a well-worn treasure. Her ‘threads of thought’ begin to grow, like a network of connected roots feeling their way into the world.

Intrigued by Locard’s exchange principle, the forensics concept whereby every contact results in a physical exchange, Ali explores the idea that each human contact will leave a trace of your emotional self, and collect a trace of the other individual’s emotions. She represents these emotional connections using delicately pieced and hand stitched fragments of old garments, handwritten letters, haberdashery items and other vintage elements.

Ali’s studio is the Purple Thread Shed, found in the garden of her home near Edinburgh, Scotland. Her work has been featured in magazines and books including Embroidery magazine, Textile Travels by Anne Kelly (Batsford, 2020), and Textiles Transformed by Mandy Pattullo (Batsford, 2020). Ali has taught throughout the UK, in France, Australia & New Zealand, where she indulges her passion for inspiring others to stitch their own stories.

In this interview we take a look at Ali’s work (Hi)Stories Uncovered, where the imagined stories of her subjects become interwoven with the histories of her source materials. Ali shares the thought process from initial spark of inspiration to how she developed her ideas and sourced her materials. These exquisite works give a glimpse into the lives of characters found in her collection of old letters dating from the early 1900s: Gillie the school master, Dorothy the teacher, and a mother writing to her child.

Name of piece: (Hi)Stories Uncovered
Year of piece: 2016
Techniques and materials used: 126cm x 92cm, Deconstructed garments, silk organza, inkjet printing, abaca tissue paper, hand stitch

Traces of emotion

TextileArtist.org: How did the idea for the piece come about? What was your inspiration?

Ali Ferguson: The original inspiration came quite by chance. I was half-listening to the radio and something sparked my interest. I took note of the phrase ‘Locard’s Exchange Principle’. Months later, I came across a little note that I’d made on my mobile phone and looked it up.

According to the website forensichandbook.com:
“Locard’s exchange principle is a concept that was developed by Dr. Edmond Locard (1877-1966). Locard speculated that every time you make contact with another person, place, or thing, it results in an exchange of physical materials. He believed that no matter where a criminal goes or what a criminal does, by coming into contact with things, a criminal can leave all sorts of evidence, including DNA, fingerprints, footprints, hair, skin cells, blood, bodily fluids, pieces of clothing, fibers and more. At the same time, they will also take something away from the scene with them.”

Of course, this is a familiar concept to anyone who has ever watched crime drama on television! But seeing it written down in this way got me thinking. If we accept that there is an exchange of physical traces, then there must also be an exchange of emotional traces. In my mind I read it as, “Every time you make contact with another person, place or thing, it results in an exchange of emotional materials.” Each contact will leave a trace of your emotional self behind and also carry forward a trace of another individual’s emotions.

I went on to consider that if this evidence of contact was actually visible, what mark or evidence would emotions leave behind, and how could I symbolise this?

What research did you do before you started to make?

I didn’t do any research as such. However, once a concept like this starts to form in my mind, I explore my thoughts by mind mapping. During this process I capture my thoughts by writing them down, and ideas start to form of how I could take some of these concepts forward into textiles and stitch.

I decided to work with old garments, taking them apart piece by piece. My aim was to reveal imagined emotional evidence left behind by some person who had touched the wearer in some way.

I’m often inspired by words and text from strangers’ letters. I feel that a handwritten letter captures the emotions of the writer at the exact moment of pen hitting paper, and because of this, I decided to use words from letters as my emotional evidence.

The art of letter writing

Was there any other preparatory work?

I wanted to create three hanging panels for this piece, each carrying the emotional evidence of a different person.

After hunting through my collection of letters for inspiration, I decided that my first piece would give a glimpse into the life of Gillie, a schoolmaster from Brighton. I have two letters dated July 1919 from Gillie addressed to Miss Dorothy Ferguson who was a teacher at the same school. I found these treasures on eBay several years ago; the letters captivated me from the outset, particularly this opening line in one letter:

“Please don’t misunderstand the meaning of this letter but I have felt such an awful cad ever since the occasion I was so unwise as to feel very sentimental.”

I love the fact that I only have two letters and don’t know more. There is enough information in the letter to find a lot more out about Gillie, but I’ve never been tempted. I love a little glimpse into a life but don’t wish any more than that.

For my second panel, I decided to write a response from Miss Dorothy. I don’t have any letters from Dorothy, so I have no idea of her actual response or how the story turned out. I very seldom make up a story completely, and I am intrigued by the fact that I became so involved in Gillie’s letters that I wanted to develop a story for them. In my imagination Dorothy was rather feisty and would not be won over easily!

The emotional evidence for the third and last piece in this installation comes from a completely unconnected collection of letters from a mother to her child. Written in 1907, in tiny spidery handwriting, they are very difficult to decipher but so very full of emotion.

What materials were used in the creation of the piece? How did you select them? Where did you source them?

I decided to work with old garments for this project. I often use items of clothing as a way to tell stories of people.

As Gillie was a schoolmaster, I decided that his story would be told through a white shirt and collar. I used a white shirt that had been given to me by a friend who had found twenty-two identical white shirts in her father’s wardrobe when he died. I collect old shirt collars, so I chose to use one of those from my collection.

For Dorothy’s story, I found two separate antique silk dress panels. I love collecting old garment pieces and often squirrel them away until the right project comes along. This was layered onto a background of old silk that came from a dress lining, that came from a friend’s mother’s house; the silk panel clearly been cut off when a dress was shortened.

For ‘My Dear Child’ I chose to use a hand-stitched antique baby gown, possibly a christening gown, with beautiful tucked and embroidered details. I also decided to use a beautiful pair of antique kid leather baby shoes to hang alongside the baby dress. There is something about these tiny little shoes that reflects the vulnerability of the letters.

I wanted the overall appearance of the piece to be rather ethereal, so I chose to work with beautiful old and very delicate silk organza as my background fabric. I also used abaca tissue paper.

Deconstructed garments

Take us through the creation of the piece stage by stage

I worked on each of the three panels individually, starting with Gillie, using a similar process for all of the panels. I started by deconstructing the garments. Like a forensic examination, I rather liked the idea of taking the clothing apart piece by piece and then (re)constructing a story. I painted Gillie’s shirt and collar with gesso and walnut ink in places to knock back the stark white.

Then I printed text from my letters onto abaca tissue paper and then applied this in various places on my garments, following the shape of the garment pieces. On some pieces, I traced handwriting from my letters and on others I wrote it freehand, to stitch later.

I layered all my garment pieces onto the background organza, attaching them with Bondaweb before stitching. I am always inspired by the shapes of garment pieces and find the act of rearranging and placing each section to be very engrossing and pleasing. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of it!

I stitch intuitively but tried to be true to the handwriting script. Using a very limited colour palette of threads in each panel, black, cream and ‘Turkey red’, in combination with a limited range of stitches.

As well as the stories and energies of the authors and recipients of the letters, these pieces are also imbued with the stories of the garments themselves and the real wearers.

And, of course, I add my own emotional energies as I make my own marks. I picture these energies entangling and interacting, becoming one with each other. I rather imagine this to be much like how the energies of any group of strangers will intermingle and interact with each other, often completely unnoticed but a connection is made.

In my mind this takes me back to Locard’s principle of exchange, where “every time you make contact with another person, place, or thing, it results in an exchange of physical materials”. This concept of an exchange of emotional energies will keep me inspired for a long time to come.

What journey has the piece been on since its creation?

This piece was first exhibited with Edge Textile Artists, Scotland as part of their ‘Strands of Time’ exhibition at the Edinburgh Palette in 2016. The work was selected for ‘Excellence In Fibers’ and it was exhibited at San Jose Museum of Quilts & Textiles in 2018. It was also featured in Fiber Art Now magazine (Winter 2017). Gillie’s Shirt is included in ‘Textiles Transformed’ by Mandy Pattullo (Batsford, 2020).

For more information visit aliferguson.co.uk

Did Ali’s work inspire you to stitch your own stories? If so, then let us know by leaving a comment below.

Debbie Smyth is known for her spectacular stretched thread drawings. Using a hammer, lots of pins and many metres of thread, Debbie weaves a network of threads between accurately plotted pins, bringing her characters to life as three-dimensional creations.

Whether working on small-scale domestic pieces or life-sized figures and large installations set in hotels and commercial premises, Debbie pushes the boundaries of what you can do with sewing thread. She has worked with companies both nationally and internationally including Adidas, Mercedes Benz, Hermes, Ellesse, The New York Times, The Canadian Red Cross, Sony, and The Dorchester Hotel Group.

In this interview you’ll gain an insight into working within an artist residency programme. You’ll learn how Debbie, assisted by her partner and collaborator Zac Mead, designed and created three new on-site installations, now permanently installed at Folio Daan Hotel, Taipei.

Debbie’s practice has been mostly brief-driven in recent years, with a focus on commissioned work. She’s made work for companies including Ellesse, Adidas, Mercedes Benz, and Liberty of London. On the downside, this meant she’s not had much time to develop her own artistic work. A welcome break from the fast-paced design world came in November 2017 when Debbie and Zac were invited by the Fubon Art Foundation to take part in an artist residency at Folio Daan, Taipei. They travelled to Taiwan and were able to spend time becoming completely immersed in the local culture, documenting their journey through the people they met. Over the course of three months, they enjoyed a rare chance to work at a much slower pace.

Each character in the FOLIO X FUBON series represents a significant aspect of their impression of Taipei, from the barrier of language to the everyday customs, and the weather they experienced during the residency. Debbie and Zac used these works to express how they adapted to a new culture and absorbed the environment.

In this interview, Debbie shares the joys of taking part in a residency and working at a slower pace. You’ll discover how she developed these site-specific pieces and how her everyday experiences of the Taiwanese culture influenced her work, bringing her subjects to life, almost as if they are stepping off the wall, into the room with you.

Name of piece: FUBON X FOLIO X DEBBIE SMYTH
Year of piece: 2017
Techniques and materials used: Pin and thread drawing

A visual diary

TextileArtist.org: How did the idea for the piece come about? What was your inspiration?

Debbie Smyth: For me, inspiration often lies in memories and a need to document events. I enjoy bringing a memory back to life in a piece of art: I try to capture the feeling a memory evokes, giving a new lease of life to fleeting forgotten moments.

Our residency in Taipei revolved around documenting our everyday life there; capturing valuable moments so our memories wouldn’t dwindle.

What research did you do before you started to make?

Taiwan was a complete culture shock for us; the foreign language, people, food and architecture were a totally new experience. It was a transcendental experience; a haven for our senses! We drew inspiration from being so completely immersed in an atmosphere that felt so alien to us.

We spent a lot time studying our surroundings, meeting people and learning, continually recording our journey through sketching. It was the people that really surprised us; even though there was a language barrier, we found were able to communicate.

We spent the majority of the residency researching, sketching and designing. We wanted the exhibition to become enlarged versions or extensions of our sketches and photographs.

A collaborative process

Our proposal was to produce a new body of work to exhibit at the Folio Daan Hotel, Taipei at the end of our residency. We liaised with the hotel and Fubon Art Foundation, discussing our ideas with them. It was decided that the works we produced would be permanently displayed in the hotel, one on each floor. We presented various options and mock ups for consideration before collectively deciding on a final direction.

Towards the end of our residency, we presented our ideas and gave ourselves two weeks to install three artworks in the Folio Gallery.

What materials were used in the creation of the piece? How did you select them? Where did you source them?

It was always the intention complete the works in our signature pin and thread style. These are made using a regular sewing thread in various shades of grey to achieve graphic line quality and complex shading. Pops of colour add important points of focus. We use regular haberdashery pins hammered into painted boards as the basis for our wrapped thread portraits.

Cross-hatch shading

Take us through the creation of the piece stage by stage

We started with sketches and photographs which were developed into detailed plans.

We installed three backboards in the gallery and drew out the designs directly on the boards. It is very important have some guidelines drawn on the boards before we start plotting the pins. The pins were then hammered in place and acted as anchor points for the thread to guide it around the surface of the board.

The pins generally followed the constraints of the plan, but often things became a lot more freestyle when wrapping thread in this way! The artworks were completed in sections, pinning and threading as we went along. We built up a complex tableau of shaded cross-hatching that slowly evolved, emerging as a full-grown version of our original sketches.

What journey has the piece been on since its creation?

The project as a whole has travelled a journey, from the initial encounter, photographs and sketches, through to fully-developed plans and then the final install.

Our close contact with the site combined with the project’s evolution helped us to achieve our aim of making sure the viewer feels immersed in our pieces. The final designs overspill the backboards, spreading out onto the walls. This grounds each of the characters in their environment, almost as if they are there with you, present in the gallery. Intentionally, we made the figures life-sized; when you walk into the gallery space you feel like you are meeting these folk, just like we met them.

These three pieces are now installed permanently at Folio Daan Hotel, Taipei and we recorded a video of the installation process for posterity.

For more information visit debbie-smyth.com

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When Haf Weighton began working on a commission for a local hospital, little did she know she, herself, would end up hospitalized with an illness that would stump medical teams.

And ironically, Haf would also find herself using one of the key elements of that commission…a single word…to not only create a magical work, but to also learn the power of stitching when faced with a physical challenge.

Haf’s piece ‘Salve’ is a testament to medical teams and the patients they served in a historical hospital setting in the UK. Using a unique approach of a pieced concertina, Haf created layers of texture and stitch to celebrate the hospital’s architecture and the meanings its buildings hold for so many.

We’re grateful to Haf for providing this insider’s look into her process, as well as her candid sharing of her own illness journey. It’s a story of how the arts can create beauty, as well as help with healing.

Haf is a Welsh-speaking artist based in the Welsh seaside town of Penarth. She has a degree in Textiles and Fashion from Liverpool John Moores University. Her work has been exhibited across the globe. Haf also hosts workshops for all ages, and she has run several successful school projects funded by the Arts Council of Wales.

Name of piece: Rookwood – 100 years of healing
Year of piece: 2018
Techniques and materials used: 120 x 50 cm’s, Print, paint, stitch, Repurposed upholstery fabric, acrylic paint, threads (gutterman)

The healing power of art

TextileArtist.org: How did the idea for the piece come about? What was your inspiration?

Haf Weighton: I created this piece in response to a 2018 commission from the Rookwood Hospital in Cardiff, UK. It is a local hospital for people recovering from spinal injuries, stroke, MS and neurological disorders.

The brief requested a piece that celebrated the character of the building, its purpose and what it meant to staff and patients. The piece was to also celebrate the Centenary of the hospital.

There is a tiled mosaic at the building’s entrance made up of many hundreds of small fragments and the word ‘Salve’ embedded in the middle. I decided to use that as my starting point.

When I first stepped on the mosaic, I was intrigued by the word ‘salve’ and later researched its meaning. I found it roughly translates as ‘heal’ in most languages, and this made me consider what that word would mean to patients and medical staff.

The hospital was originally built as a manor house in 1866, and it became a convalescent home in 1918. It became a general hospital in 1932.

The detailed paintwork in the main entrance of the hospital has remained untouched since originally installed and still looks in great condition today.

Originally, the hospital had planned for my piece to go in another wing at the hospital. But when they realised how closely my piece related to the colour scheme in the reception area, they decided to place it at the foot of the hospital’s main stairs.

I worked on the piece for several months in 2017 and 2018. But ironically, whilst creating, I caught a rare type of pneumonia that challenged the medical profession to find a way to help me heal: salve.

I spent a month in a hospital run by the same trust that runs Rookwood. I was given 20 different types of antibiotics, but my body failed to respond to the medications and my health continued to worsen.

I actually had three versions of the Rookwood piece going, as I often work on several pieces at once. My main piece ended up being exhibited at the hospital, but I continued to work on one of the other pieces while I was ill—mainly using hand stitch because I worked on it from my hospital bed.
Through creating that piece, I learned the true meaning of what it was to try and heal—to salve—from illness.

I left the hospital still very weak and spent over a year getting over my pneumonia. Stitching kept me strong through it all.

I learnt that healing isn’t just about accepting medication from a doctor. It is also about finding ways to look after and be kind to yourself. So, for me, salve is about stitching. I literally used this commission to stitch my health back together.

What research did you do before you started to make?

I met with staff and patients at the hospital, and they were all very forthcoming.

I learnt how powerful the building was to the staff. There is some discussion about moving the hospital to a new site, and that possibility seemed to make some staff and volunteers quite emotional, especially when they finally viewed my work.

I love talking about buildings, houses, and architecture, as well as the meanings people invest in those things. I have created many building portraits for both private and community buildings, and I am honoured my work can be so powerful. I am genuinely interested in people and their stories, and I think buildings have the power to offer vehicles for people to relay their stories.

I was also told the bell in the reception was a very significant part of the hospital’s character. It is a large, meter-long brass naval bell like you might see on a ship or at a port. There is also a blue and white chain connected to the bell. It came from a seaman’s guild in Porthcawl—a resurgent seaside town near Cardiff.

The bell used to chime to indicate meal times, but it is now used to indicate the start and end of visiting hours.

I stitched the bell into the composition because staff told me ‘anyone who has worked at Rookwood knows that bell.’

I have my own associations with the sea, so I was naturally drawn to the blue and white rope and the story behind this bell.

Bringing the past forward

Was there any other preparatory work?

The colours used in the mosaic are very similar to the colours in my final piece. These colours are also reflected all around the main entrance in the hospital, which I understand is the original, untouched colour scheme of the hospital.

The colours I was drawn to in this piece are quite dark to reflect the English gothic style of the original manor house.

The hospital is also surrounded by extensive gardens (26 acres), and in some places, the gardens have been left to grow wild around the outhouses and surrounding hospital buildings. I stitched layers of thread in and around the hospital buildings to try and give an impression of the organic nature of the growing foliage around the hospital.

In some ways, this also represented the idea of growth and healing that I was trying to convey in this piece.

You can definitely tell it’s the same building, but it isn’t a direct copy of the building itself.

I instead drew different aspects of the building and surrounding area, and then I combined those different sketches into a long concertina sketchbook.

The mosaic floor was made up of small blocks of colour combined into one final piece, so I brought the sketches together to create a new single version of the building that anyone who knows the hospital would recognize.

What materials were used in the creation of the piece? How did you select them? Where did you source them?

I looked for materials in my collection that had the same colours and texture as the ‘Salve’ mosaic.

The background material is recycled cotton sheets. I like to use recycled fabrics, particularly old sheets and pillow case. I like the soft nature of recycled sheets and particularly like hand stitching on it.

For this piece, I felt using old sheets was particularly significant for a hospital where people go to recover and spend long days, weeks, months or even years in their beds.

There is no background foundation. I work directly on painted fabric. I did add some tapestry swatches to frame the bottom and top of the piece, and I stitched into those to bring them further to life and to link them with the details in the hospital buildings.

What equipment did you use in the creation of the piece and how was it used?

I used an old fashioned 1930’s Singer sewing machine to stitch my piece.

I used a similar type of machine to this during a workshop I ran for people over 50 at The National Museum of Wales. One of the workshop participants brought in her Grandmother’s old machine, and straightaway, I was hooked.

I found my machine on a free site on Facebook and got it working.

I have several machines, and this is one I like to use occasionally. It is quite slow, and sometimes that slow stitching movement suits the work I am doing.

In terms of threads, I’m often given old threads and sewing boxes from people who have passed. It makes me feel I have a connection with the past by reusing someone’s trusted sewing kit.

I never knew my own grandmother, as she died before I was born. But I do have her sewing box, and I regularly use her pinking shears. (For one exhibition, I invited Sophie Howe, the Future Generations Commissioner for Wales to open the exhibition with my Grandmother’s pinking shears!)

Architectural stitching

Take us through the creation of the piece stage by stage

After drawing my composition, I created a painted ground on the fabric surface using acrylic paints.

I then transferred printed images from my sketchbook onto the painted surface.

I spent a couple days each month building grounds for stitching. I dragged paint across the surface using a silk screen squeegy, and I like the randomness of the colours I created. After all, there is nothing more intimidating than a blank page.

I drew and photographed the hospital and gardens, and I manipulated some of the imagery in Photoshop.

I then heat transferred the imagery onto the painted surfaces before adding stitch. I tend to use this as a base, and then I end up burning off the heat transfer with an iron after the stitch has been applied.

I then machine stitched the piece together. Finally, I hand stitched to bring the whole piece to life.

Hand stitching is the final icing on the cake on my pieces. I machine stitch during the day and hand stitch at night with my family watching TV. I find hand stitching very therapeutic and calming.

I don’t use complicated stitches often. Usually running stitch, back stitch and a few French knots.

I also stitch layers of discarded thread and some applique into my work. Nothing is spared. I hate waste and store jars of thread of different colours in my studio ready to be used. If I want my compositions to be especially expressive, I sweep the floor of my studio and use the mix of discarded threads as a base for my work.

I particularly like using variegated thread, as the randomness of the mark is what adds depth and intrigue to my work.

Hand stitch is like drawing marks and can sometimes be more clumsy and organic looking than machine stitch. I also sometimes highlight particularly dark areas of my work with hand stitch.

Architecture is traditionally a male medium and stitching is traditionally seen as women’s work. So, I created these painted/printed architectural spaces that are then softened by stitch and made to look more earthy and human.

I once had aspirations to become an architect, but maths has always been my biggest challenge, so I was put off pursuing that occupation. By recreating stitched architecture, I get to re-imagine buildings in my own style – so maybe that’s a happy compromise.

I would love the opportunity to work for an architect or interior designer and create pieces that enhance the internal or external spaces of a building.

What journey has the piece been on since its creation?

The piece was a finalist for the National Contemporary Embroidery of the Year Award in 2018 and was showcased at the Knitting and Stitching Show in Kensington Olympia. It has also been shown on National Broadcast TV.

In 2020, it was featured in a film showcasing British Creativity for The Royal Mint Britannia coin.

It was exhibited at an exhibition of my work titled ‘get well soon’ which documented my recovery from pneumonia at Makers Guild in Wales.

It is now on display at the bottom of the main staircase at Rookwood Hospital in Cardiff.

Find out more about Haf and her work here: hafanhaf.com/ and on Instagram

Haf speaks about the power of textile art to help with personal healing. Have you found this to be true for yourself? Let us know below.

When you’ve gained a reputation for creating art that makes the world sit up and listen, why not use that power to broadcast the planet’s need for social change?

That was how a series of politically-inspired, globe-shaped baskets gave form to international textile artist, Barbara Shapiro’s, concerns – regarding issues of exclusion and division, pollution of the world’s waters and social action in the pursuit of justice.

Involved in textiles from an early age, Barbara, a San Francisco native, began weaving in 1975 in New York City. Since then she has developed a rich knowledge of historic and ethnic textiles, along with broad technical experience in weaving, dyeing and basketry.

After her involvement in the San Francisco Art to Wear movement in the ’70s and ‘80s, she shifted her focus to non-functional textile art, creating beautiful wall hangings and sculptural baskets. Indigo dyeing is both her signature and her passion and is often used to enrich her weaving and basketry.

Barbara teaches workshops in basketry and indigo dyeing at universities and conferences across the US, and has taught at the Art Department at San Francisco State University as well as Osher Lifelong Learning Institute through SFSU.

A past Board Member of the Textile Society of America, she also serves as an advisory board member of the Textile Arts Council of the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco and was a docent at the SF Museum of Craft and Folk Art.

Barbara’s award-winning textile art has been widely exhibited and published internationally. She writes for many textile publications and has served as an exhibition juror and guest museum curator.

In this interview Barbara takes us through the steps she followed, from concept to creation, as she formed her globe-shaped basket ‘Tikkun Olam: Repair the World’. Inspired by the concept of repair as artwork, she describes her use of and training in Japanese kintsugi – the repair of broken ceramics with lacquer and gold leaf – and how recycled tea-bags and fermented persimmon juice featured in the piece.

Name of piece: Tikkun Olam: Repair the World
Year of piece: 2020
Techniques and materials used: 14 x 14 x 13H”, Techniques: Hexagonal plaiting, indigo dying, kakishibu coating, gold leaf application Materials: Sedori cane, tea papers, indigo, Kakishibu, raw kozo paper, gold leaf, sumi ink

Repair as artwork

TextileArtist.org: How did the idea for the piece come about? What was your inspiration?

In 2018 I started a series of politically inspired, globe shaped baskets. I do not often create work with a political perspective, but recent events moved me to speak my mind, albeit in a quiet voice. The first, called Strength in Diversity (2019, 12 x 12 x 12”), was my response to a growing division among citizens of the US.

The globe is plaited in hexagonal technique interlaced with handwoven bands of various bast fibers and paper (gampi, hemp, linden, straw, indigo dyed ramie, nettle, mulberry, kudzu, fique, coconut). Bast fibers have been used by common folks for centuries whereas silk and cotton were luxury fibers for use by nobility and the wealthy. My response to exclusion and division is Strength in Diversity.

The second, called Troubled Waters (2019, 13 x 13 x 13”), reflects my concern for the pollution of our natural environment, especially the waters on which all life relies. Laws protecting the environment are being stripped away in the US and I find this frustratingly short sighted. This plaited cane globe is embellished with dyed and inked paper and cloth debris, symbolizing the pollution of our waters. There is a pool of these materials inside the bottom of the basket reflecting what we see, instead of limpid waters, when we look into our rivers, lakes and oceans.

The third basket, the subject of this interview, is Tikkun Olam: Repair the World, (2020,14 x 14 x 13”.) It was conceived of as a response to the huge 2019 fires in Australia, evidence of the effects of global warming on our small planet. As a Californian, those Australian fires had brought back memories of recent ones we had experienced, fires that took the homes of some dear artist friends. When the Corona Virus upended our lives early in 2020, it seemed appropriate to continue with the theme of repairing the world.

After some time spent planning, I was ready to start plaiting in my new studio in mid-March. As I write this article, California is burning once again, and we have suffered from very smoky air for weeks all the while dealing with a pandemic. The Hebrew words Tikkun Olam: repair the world have come to suggest social action in the pursuit of justice. Today, our world and our lives are in need of repair on so many levels.

What research did you do before you started to make?

Decades ago, I acquired an interesting piece of Japanese ceramic at an auction. The subtle, incised, geometric pattern contrasted with some strange irregular gold lines running through the piece. I later learned this was Japanese kintsugi, the repair of a broken ceramic piece with lacquer on which gold leaf is applied, highlighting the repair rather than concealing it.

Last year I actually took a class in this technique from David Pike, a Japanese-based American kintsugi expert. I made several repairs to broken ceramics in the months after that class.

The concept of repair as artwork has been part of my own textile art practice for many years in my collaboration with wood turner Chuck Quibell. He gives me his occasional imperfect bowls that have cracked in the drying process or gotten too thin on the bottom as he strived for the finest turning. I use textile techniques of coiling or darning to fix these bowls in the long tradition of women repairing things. The bowls have won awards in the wood turning world and one was exhibited in Mending = Art curated by Diane Savona.

I love the Japanese tradition of giving a basket, often a worn utilitarian basket, a new life by covering it with recycled paper coated with kakishibu, fermented persimmon juice. I have a couple of Japanese examples in my collection and have used the technique in a number of my sculptural baskets such as Unwrapping Memory.

Natural materials and techniques

Was there any other preparatory work?

I did some quick sketches and then made a small maquette of the plaiting technique and materials to be used for the skin and repair. My maquette included stitched mending, but I rejected this idea as impractical and unnecessary to my vision of a kintsugi inspired repair.

To create the skin for Tikkun Olam: Repair the World, I used recycled teabags, which are made of strong thin abaca paper. I drink enough tea to have accumulate stacks of these small precious rectangles. I open up the bags, compost the tea, wash and dry the papers flat, and dip them into indigo halfway.

For this project I coated a bunch of these two-toned papers with kakishibu, fermented persimmon juice, and let them cure to a nice dark reddish-brown hue in the sunlight. The persimmon is self-polymerizing and strengthens, waterproofs, and gives the paper a sheen.

What materials were used in the creation of the piece? How did you select them? Where did you source them?

The globe is plaited with sedori cane from Japan. Sedori means scraped in Japanese. The top of the beveled shiny side of the cane is scraped off, exposing some of the pithy fiber. This, like the underside of the cane, takes dye well, leaving a light-colored undyed stripe along each un-scraped side. I sourced this cane in Tokyo on a recent trip and have dyed a lot of it in indigo myself for other baskets.

The tea bags were easy to come by. I could have used other types of handmade paper, but I liked the idea of reuse. My kakishibu, fermented persimmon juice, came from Japan, but can be ordered online in the US. It was also used to adhere the tea papers to the cane. The repair patch was made of raw kozo (mulberry) paper which is strong and very textured. I coated it with gold textile paint as an adhesive, Italian gold leaf, and sumi ink.

What equipment did you use in the creation of the piece and how was it used?

My equipment are my two hands, a few basketry tools and brushes. I also use my camera to document the process for further explorations.

Creation of the basket

Take us through the creation of the piece stage by stage

In February 2020 I moved my art studio to San Francisco in a building next to where we live … so fortuitous with the general confinement that was soon to come. After some time spent organizing my new space, I was able to start working in mid-March. I could see the Grand Princess cruise ship moored in the middle of the Bay with Covid19 positive passengers and crew still aboard. The pandemic was constantly on my mind and remains so.

With my maquette completed, I went to work plaiting a large globe-shape in hexagonal structure with an opening on the top. While it dried, I prepared the skin for my globe by coating the indigo-dyed tea bag papers with kakishibu and curing them in the sun. Using more persimmon juice as an adhesive, I put about a third of the skin on what would be the back of the form to see what it looked like.

Then I drew a stencil of the gash I wanted to cut out and transferred this shape to the, still uncovered, front of the basket surface. I carefully cut out the shape and was relieved that the globe did not fall apart even with the large piece removed. A bit of glue made sure it all stayed in place. I adhered more torn pieces of the tea bags covering about 2/3 of the surface in all, creating continents and oceans. Sumi ink was added as necessary for depth.

I used the removed piece of plaited cane to draw a slightly larger shape on the raw kozo paper and cut that out. This kozo repair piece was coated with gold textile paint as an adhesive and then real gold leaf. The back side which would be visible inside the basket was coated with persimmon and cured. The repair patch was glued to the inside of the globe. Sumi ink created deeper shadows here and there, and the work was finished!

What journey has the piece been on since its creation?

The Mendocino Art Center hosted a Bay Area Basket Makers exhibition with Tikkun Olam: Repair the World in Summer 2020.
Other recently exhibited works include:
Strength in Diversity, National Basketry Org. Members in Print, 2020
What Knot: Top Knot, National Basketry Org. Basketry Now 10th Anniversary Exhibition, 2020
Top Knot II, Handweavers Guild of America Small Expressions, 2019
Unwrapping Memory, Surface Design Association, Home – Holding on and Letting Go 2019
Coiled Sakiori with Suki Ball, Mt Koya Temple, Japan, 2019 and Nagoya, Japan, 2018
Unwrapping Memory, NBO Members in Print, 2018
Sedori Vessel, HGA Great Basin Basketry Exhibit, First Prize, 2018

For more information visit www.BarbaraShapiro.com

Have Barbara’s tips and techniques inspired you to try something different? Let us know in the comments below.