Thread Lightly
How embroidery became a metaphor for life.
I was eight years old when my mother handed me my first square of needlepoint canvas and a big, blunt tapestry needle, then invited me to choose some colours from her basket of vibrant embroidery threads. I was stunned - it was better than having enough pocket money to buy some sweets at the corner store.
With a thumping heart and a deep breath, I delved into that precious collection (which I’d coveted forever but had known since I was tiny was completely out of bounds). I pushed my mother’s patience to the limits that day as I dithered over my choices, but with the instincts of a child about to go too far, I realised that if I didn’t hurry up I might miss out. I grabbed an electric blue, a glowing ruby and a yellow as bright as corn. Okay, I was eight; I hadn’t learned about tertiary colours yet, and I was under pressure.
My mother snipped three even lengths from the skeins I’d picked then moistened the blue strand with her lips, threaded it through the needle and tied a neat knot at the other end. I was mesmerised. I’d seen her do this a thousand times, but this time she was doing it for me! It sounds cheesy, but it felt like a rite of passage, a connection to my mother, grandmother and all the aunts and cousins I’d watched embroidering and knitting and crocheting for as long as I could remember.
My mother set me up at the dining room table with my new ‘project’ and guided my trembling hand as she instructed me how to hold the canvas and make my first stitch. “Under and up. See? Now back down, through this hole.”
I was smitten, for life.
Embroidery is still one of my great passions, and at the risk of sounding melodramatic, it has saved my sanity more than once. Slow, mindful stitching takes me into another world, colour brings joy, cradling something small, warm and handmade makes me feel grounded and at peace. It is a safe, gentle and no-pressure way of expressing creativity and withdrawing from the ‘real’ world.
Most of the things I make have no purpose at all, but every one of them brings me pleasure. I made it. I did it. It is mine. It is done and tomorrow there will be something new to begin - or an opportunity to go back and add more.
What’s not to love?
I work with fabric, paper and bark, silk, wool and gold - the possibilities are endless - but confine myself to only a few simple stitches. I’ve learned that setting parameters adds to my creativity and sense of wellbeing, rather than limiting it.
I am seldom without a half-finished project (or three) nearby, each in its own waterproof bag, each with its own needles, threads, embellishments, frame and scissors. Self-contained, portable, considered.
It’s a metaphor for how I try to live my life. Be prepared, take your time, allow for the unexpected, enjoy the journey - and be ready to go at a moment’s notice.
