The stitched surroundings in which Sue carefully places her figures add a hint of mystery or surreal humour. And through her distinctive use of mark-making, free machine embroidery and mixed media, her characters come to life.

Sue’s career as an artist is one of discovery: learning how to harness the expressive potential of thread, experimenting with materials and gradually shaping the unique style that she’s known for. Find out how Sue’s love of textiles developed from an early age and discover her journey to becoming the renowned artist she is today.

Surreal narratives

How would you describe your work?

Sue Stone: I am best known for figurative, textural, stitched compositions which often suggest journeys through life, shaped by memory, observation and imagination. 

We all need light and shade in our lives, so my work continues to swing from the serious to a slightly surreal sense of humour whenever it needs to. 

The techniques I use during the making process are straightforward; a deliberately limited colour palette and a small vocabulary of hand embroidery stitches combined with machine stitch, appliqué and sometimes acrylic paint.

Recurring themes

Tell us about the stories behind your work…

Nearly all my work fits into one of my recurring themes. My two works created for the Broderers’ exhibition The Art of Embroidery, held at Bankside Gallery, London in 2025, hold messages around mental health, the innocent victims of turbulent times and the state of the world today.

I returned to pure hand and machine stitch for these two pieces. The only criterion for the exhibition was to use hand embroidery or machine embroidery or a combination of the two. 

A Glimpse of Calm Amidst the Chaos contrasts a 1940s family’s air of innocence with the turmoil around them. The work invites viewers to consider how much – or how little – the world has truly changed between the 1940s and the present day.

The Stuff of Nightmares evokes conflict, loss and chaos through layered textures, confronting viewers with haunting truths while revealing humanity’s fragility and resilience.

What I learned from these two works was that it’s hard not to reach for the paintbrush when you are used to the freedom of mixed media, but I really enjoyed the challenge of sticking to appliqué to add colour to the background. 

Evolving ideas

Would you share a little about your process?

Most of my work evolves during a long, slow period with major pieces taking months, or even years, to come to fruition. There’s a lot of thinking, gathering images and sometimes making drawings. As I begin to develop an artwork, it often starts life on a computer screen. The computer helps me to experiment and save time; I can reduce a composition to a simple line drawing and print it out.

Other times, I’ll develop samples during the research stages of a project and often those become part of a final composition.

Then comes the exciting part, starting the stitching. My stitched drawings are done using free machine embroidery or hand stitch. And I use hand stitching to add details, pattern and texture.

Sketchbooks & samplers

How do you plan your work?

I use a sketchbook to record thoughts, images and ideas, as well as for drawing. Drawing becomes a means of problem-solving as well as a way to express ideas on paper. A sketchbook is also useful for working out colour schemes and making notes of fabrics and suppliers. And it’s the perfect place to store small stitched samplers that can be used or referred to in the future.

I sometimes show my sketchbooks alongside my finished work. Most people are interested to see the process behind the finished piece, and I hope it encourages others not to be too precious about the contents – a sketchbook is only a means to an end.

“I enjoy exploring displacement, a sense of belonging or not belonging…”

Sue Stone, Textile artist

Search out the unexpected

What inspires your work?

I look for the out-of-place, the unexpected and the bizarre. I am an avid photographer and use my photos to create a constant visual record, both at home and on my travels.

I enjoy exploring displacement, a sense of belonging or not belonging, often by taking figures from old family photographs and juxtaposed into a modern day scene such as beside the work of street artists in London’s East End.

A life story in portraits 

Tell us about your long-running self-portrait series… 

A Life Story began in 2015 when I was invited by my former tutor and mentor, Alf Ludlam, to create an unusual self-portrait for an exhibition at Grimsby Fishing Heritage Centre. With a six-metre wall to fill, I decided to make one portrait for each year of my life – then 63 in total.

My original plan was to pare everything back to simple line drawings, but my instinct for detail soon took over. By the exhibition deadline I had completed 42 portraits, each measuring 26cm x 30cm (10″ x12″), which were shown as a work-in-progress. I finished all 63 in 2016 and exhibited them at the Knitting & Stitching Shows in London, Dublin and Harrogate, before showing them again at several other venues. 

Finding reference material for some portraits was difficult. My Dad’s photographs helped with early years, but many portraits came from memory, often sparked by clothes and hairstyles I remembered wearing. 

For me, A Life Story has become a companion as much as a body of work. It is a stitched autobiography, a record of who I have been and who I continue to become. It is flawed, imperfect, and unfinished – just like life itself. And as long as I can, I will keep stitching, adding one portrait at a time to the story of a life.

“A Life Story is a stitched autobiography, a record of who I have been and who I continue to become.”

Sue Stone, Textile artist

Art & family

Who were your early influences?

My earliest influences were my Dad who gave me my work ethic and the determination to succeed and my Mum, who was a tailoress. She taught me to use her Singer treadle sewing machine at about the age of six. From a very early age all I ever wanted to do was design and make clothes, first for my dolls and then for myself.

Mum was unfaltering in her support when I wanted to study at art school during a period when ‘grammar school girls didn’t really do that sort of thing’. My Dad was a Grimsby fish merchant during the 1950s and 1960s.

My art always has a connection to my own life or environment. This might be family and friends, time spent in London and on my travels, both at home and abroad, or something I’ve heard or experienced.

Embroidery as art

What was your route to becoming an artist?

In the 1970s, I studied fashion at St Martin’s School of Art (now UAL Central St Martins) and then textiles and embroidery at Goldsmiths College in London (now Goldsmiths, University of London), where I was taught by the pioneer textile artists Constance Howard, Christine Risley, and Eirian Short.

Constance Howard was a small charismatic person with bright green hair and the first time I met her she introduced herself as Mrs Parker. I had no idea who she was at the time, or of her importance in establishing textiles as an art form in the 20th century. She was just Mrs P, an inspiration to all her students who gave me my lifelong love of stitching.

Christine Risley was an inspirational teacher who taught machine embroidery and opened my eyes to the versatility of the sewing machine and the spontaneity you can get with free machine stitch.

Eirian Short introduced me to the 62 Group of Textile Artists in 1975, when I was first a member for a few years until other commitments got in the way of my stitching.

After art college I went into business and made a living from designing womenswear for 28 years. But I always knew I would return to stitching eventually, which I did in 2002 at the age of 50.

Telling textured stories

How has your work evolved over time? 

When I returned to stitching in 2002, my work was purely decorative and mainly abstract. I eventually came to figurative, narrative work in 2005 when I made my first self-portraits. I got there via artworks featuring historic tiles, gargoyles and landscapes. My work soon became more figurative, humorous and surreal. 

In more recent years I have experimented with scale and different ways to present my work, like wall hangings, modular work, assemblages and stretched work.

Which direction would you like to explore in the future? 

In the future, I will definitely continue telling my stories and experiment with the layering of stitch and paint, which is a constant balancing act. I’ll use these simple techniques to find even more texture and pattern. I would also like to investigate using small stitched elements on larger soft backdrops. Maybe they will be easier to ship to exhibitions!

Nothing is impossible

What advice would you give to an aspiring textile artist?

Be true to yourself and use your own voice to say what you want to say.

Always strive to make your next piece better than your last. If you falter, turn up the next day and try again!

Be determined and persistent, and always remember my Dad’s maxim:  ‘Nothing is impossible, the impossible just takes a bit longer’.

As a young art student in the 90’s, Emma Cassi fell in love with fashion designer Dries Van Noten’s intricate and colourful embroidered scarves. Her student budget, however, offered no hope of ownership, so Emma tried to create her own scarf. That experiment would set Emma on a textile art journey for years to come.

Emma has a passion for working with what’s on hand, describing it as both an inventive and resourceful approach to making. She also loves the ‘alchemy’ of creating her own dyes from her natural surroundings. Who knew red mud could create such magical textures and colours?

We’re excited to share Emma’s diverse portfolio that’s aesthetically and spiritually connected. Emma literally lives and breathes her creative process, and it’s a wonderful reminder of how the process is as valuable as the end result.

It started with a scarf

Emma Cassi: My mum was a fine seamstress, and both of my grandmothers were incredible with needles and textiles. One of my grandmothers spent her time crocheting in her armchair, and the other repaired garments and socks to perfection.

I completed a year of Art History at university and then enrolled in the Beaux-Arts in Dijon, France. I didn’t work with textiles for my coursework, but I started embroidering in my spare time. It was like a hobby, and I was very bad at it in the beginning. 

While studying, I attended Ann Hamilton’s solo exhibition in Lyon (1997) where I had a big revelation. A peacock was running free in a room with floating red fabric hung across the ceiling, and big, white textile panels with embroidered poems hung from the ceiling to the floor. It was the first conceptual textile art I had seen. It touched me because it was poetic, beautiful, and so unusual. 

At the same time, Dries Van Noten was using embroidery from India in his designs. Art and fashion were mixing, and it was a very interesting time. Embroidery wasn’t as fashionable in 1996 – it was either in museums or in grannies’ wardrobes.  

Van Noten’s use of delicate beadwork, stunning mixes of colors and patterns were exquisite. His designs and collaboration with the best artisans in the world made him one of the best fashion designers.

Of course, I couldn’t afford any of Van Noten’s scarves, so I tried making them myself. That was the beginning of a 20-year training endeavour and my relationship with fabric, needles and threads.

Vegetal alchemy

My connection to alchemy began by chance at the Wellcome Collection Library where I assisted with the translation of an old alchemical book written in French. At the time, I was studying herbalism, and I was captivated by the art of ‘spagery’ – transforming plants into medicinal essences. 

Rudolf Steiner’s Alchemy of the Everyday further deepened my interest, and in 2018, my curiosity led me to begin dyeing fabrics using herbal infusions.

I work with natural materials such as plants, mud and powders, and I use rainwater or mountain water to allow the elements to influence the outcome. Fabrics are left outside to interact with the sun, wind and rain, creating unpredictable and organic patterns. 

The process is as important as the result, embracing imperfection and spontaneity. I never repeat the same mixture or method, which makes each piece unique. Alchemy and vegetal come to life as a dialogue between materials and elements. Transformation is at the heart of my creations, and the journey is as meaningful as the final work. 

“For me, ‘vegetal’ represents the raw, untamed energy of nature. So, my approach to fabric dyeing is wild and intuitive.”

Emma Cassi, Embroidery artist 

Avocado skins & berries

I love using avocado skins and pits, turmeric powder, and berries I find in nature, such as blackberries. Pomegranate skins and leaves also play a big role in my dyeing process. The plants I choose often reflect where I am. For example, when I lived in England, I worked with nettles. Now in Spain, rosemary has become a staple.

Bundle dyeing is one of my favourite techniques. It’s such a joyful process, where petals, flowers, leaves and anything found in nature comes together to create unique, unpredictable patterns. 

“The magic lies in the transformation – ordinary materials become vibrant colours, often in surprising ways.” 

Emma Cassi, Embroidery artist 

Flea market treasures

I often visit the vibrant El Rastro Sunday morning flea market in Madrid, Spain. It’s a wonderful place to uncover unique treasures and fabrics. However, I still have a deep connection to the flea markets and brocantes in my hometown of Dijon, France, to source vintage materials.

I’ve been collecting a lot of linen lately to make curtains. I then repurpose leftover pieces for other projects. I also recently came across a beautiful collection of vintage handkerchiefs that I’m transforming with embroidery.

Upcycled cotton bed linens with holes or stains are also appealing. I enjoy their well-worn softness and am inspired by the fact they’ve been washed countless times. I’m giving them a second life, breathing new stories into materials that witnessed so many dreams. 

Vintage threads are also lovely, particularly cotton and silk. They have a unique texture and quality that often tells a story, enhancing the narrative aspect of my pieces.

Occasionally I’ve come across collections of old threads, which feel like little treasures waiting to be revived. They bring a timeless elegance to my stitching, making each piece feel deeply connected to the past. 

African beadwork

Shortly after designing some masks for Hand & Lock, I travelled to Kenya where I fell in love with the incredible artistry of African beadwork. I saw sacred works including Masai jewellery, Yoruba beaded chains from Nigeria, wire-beaded animals and stunning wall hangings. They were truly magical and left a deep impression on me. 

When I returned, I began creating 3D portraits as a way to continue my intimate connection with Kenya’s cultural richness and my passion for beading embroidery. 

I had already explored intricate beadwork and sequins in my jewellery-making practice. However, transitioning those techniques to textile art brought new challenges, particularly in creating the 3D effect. I experimented with adding stuffing to specific areas which required a balance between structure and flexibility to ensure it was still easy to embroider upon. 

Mastering that method was a huge win, as it opened new possibilities for depth and texture. Seeing how the beadwork transforms a flat surface into something alive and dimensional has been incredibly rewarding. 

Beading advice

My advice for readers wanting to add beadwork to their textile art is to start by exploring different types of beads to find what resonates with them, whether it’s their textures, colours or materials. It’s good to experiment with various sizes to see what looks best or feels most natural.

Beading is a tactile and intuitive process, so take time to play, experiment and let your creativity guide you. Don’t be afraid to mix materials or create your own techniques. There’s no right or wrong way to incorporate beads into your art. 

In my Stitch Club workshop, I share my tips and ideas so that members can create a captivating 3D portrait inspired by African beading traditions. By mixing trapunto and intricate beadwork they can form unusual and striking faces with 3D, contoured elements.

I hope students embrace the joy of intuitive creation and see the transformative power of blending materials. More importantly, I want them to experience the magic of creating something deeply personal and see how each step in the journey is as meaningful as the finished piece.  

Wearable embroidery

My garment named Seedling was inspired by a friend and our shared connection to the Cistus plant, which is sometimes called rockrose. We first met because of that plant: she had it in a vase in her studio, and I immediately recognized its amazing wild scent and told her it was my favourite. 

That conversation not only sparked a friendship, but also a jewellery collaboration, and later, a performance featuring this kimono and skirt. 

I wrote a poem for my friend, that blended the story of the rockrose with our own journey and I stitched the poem into the garment. The garment’s colors were inspired by a cave in the countryside where she wore it during our performance. 

I dyed recycled cotton bed linen with mud, indigo and henna. The embroidery was done outdoors during the summer to capture the essence of nature’s textures and spirit. The piece symbolizes a deep intertwining friendship, memory and the natural world. 

Mud dyeing

This body of work is deeply inspired by my life in the hills of the Valencia region, where I embrace a way of living that is closely connected to nature. Every day I walk through the wild landscapes, bathe in and drink fresh water from the mountains and live without electricity or the internet.

When we moved to Spain, we bought a house dating back to 1900. In the barn, I discovered an old, stained canvas which became the foundation for this series. I began experimenting with dyeing and printing using the red mud from the land surrounding the house.

I had been searching for a nude or pinkish tone for my dyework. When I noticed the stunning dark red and brownish mud in the Spanish landscape, I decided to dig a bit and experiment with dyeing fabric. To my delight, it worked beautifully. 

I hang the canvases in the attic and let buckets of fabric and red mud macerate for months. This slow natural process allows the materials to transform over time, creating unique textures and patterns that reflect the essence of the place and its rhythm. 

“Dyeing with mud allows me to connect deeply with the place, transforming a forgotten material into something meaningful and alive with the spirit of its origins.”

Emma Cassi, Embroidery artist

Meditative silk landscapes

After injuring myself from years of intensive embroidery on lace for jewellery, I had to pause and step away. These silk panels became my way back to embroidery. Working with silk provided a healing framework by allowing me to use my needle on the soft, delicate fabric without straining my shoulder. I was able to reconnect with my craft gradually and gently.

The silk panels offer a beautiful canvas on which to explore embroidery and colour. I used vintage threads, combining silk, cotton and fine wool to create layers of texture and richness. The process is deeply meditative, and the softness and thinness of the fabric demand patience and care.

Over the past six years, this practice has evolved into an integral part of my creative journey, merging healing and artistry. 

The new gold

I love how I can transform everyday materials into jewellery that is both precious and meaningful. The collection I created for the Seedling project felt like an exciting and effervescent process – it came together over just a few months. 

I embroidered hundreds of seeds collected from making butternut and pumpkin soup every day. The variety of shades and shapes inspired me. I dyed the silk with henna, turmeric and indigo which created a rich, textured finish. 

I think the collection showcases a rare blend of Edwardian elegance and ethnic aesthetics. Each piece has been thoughtfully crafted to evoke the essence of ritualistic objects, embodying the spirit of talismans imbued with meaning and artistry.

People also resonated with the story behind the seeds as being ‘the new gold’. Wearing the embroidered seeds and regarding them as something precious became a beautiful metaphor for valuing the legend of the fertility deity named Kokopelli, as well as bringing attention to a seed saving project that inspired the collection.

These treasured journals, first published in the 1930s, became a catalyst for Darren’s creative journey, their images of so-called ‘women’s work’ sparking his imagination.

He turned to textiles and, working intuitively, began to embroider and embellish rich, jewel-like vignettes, incorporating found and repurposed fabrics, or vintage items such as old handkerchiefs.

Years later he’s still inspired by those magazines. The domestic scale of his work resonates with the traditional domestic pastimes they championed, and reflects his interest in the relationship between making and well-being.

Although Darren looks to bygone times for inspiration, his artworks couldn’t be more contemporary. Find out how he developed a unique approach to exploring narratives through textile art.

Darren Ball: I love exploring textile surface qualities and bringing them together – silk, satin, velvet, sequins, beads and other embellishments – to create a play of light on the materials. I think it is this, rather than a tactile response to textiles, that I particularly enjoy.

My work is domestic and intimate in scale. It encourages closer inspection and consideration. Created on a domestic sewing machine, I use vintage handkerchiefs or textiles as the canvas, and my narratives are fed by their textile qualities.

My collection of magazines and ephemera is central to my work and adds greatly to its individuality. My pieces reference the domestic making of the 1930s and 40s and the current recognition of the importance of well-being and making.

I am particularly interested in the knitting, hand embroidery and fashion found in magazines of that period.

“I exploit these images to create my own narratives from imagination or memory.”

Darren Ball, Textile artist

Vintage inspiration

My artwork is populated by figures taken from my collection of vintage Stitchcraft magazines given to me by a friend and fellow teacher. They were published from the 1930s onwards and cover all aspects of women’s domestic life.

I had never seen knitting magazines of that age before. I was amazed that they had survived and been treasured for so long. I discovered that they had been kept because there were so many memories tied up in them – hours spent sewing with mothers, sisters and grandmothers – and the intimacy of that shared time.

The draw of domestic life

As a knitter, I loved the beautiful, fitted garments of the period. The magazines provided a window into the everyday lives of women at home in that era.

The magazines and their content formed an intriguing link, bringing me back to the knit that I had studied previously and a new way of using that knowledge.

I found I was much more interested in domestic life and what was often known as ‘women’s work’, and the way it related to my life, rather than any more grandiose subject matter.

A full-time practice

After many years teaching fine art and textiles, having trained in fashion textiles, specialising in hand knit, I now work as a full-time artist. My practice is underpinned by meticulous craftsmanship.

I explore hand knit, appliqué and machine embroidery techniques to achieve my imagery – bringing together methods of making learned over many years. I don’t use any digital embroidery, rather I control the sewing machine with artistry to create completely bespoke pieces. I respond strongly to the materiality of textiles.

“Through my use of vintage magazines, I have found a new visual language – referencing the past in a contemporary way.”

Darren Ball, Textile artist

Stylistically, I am influenced by the fashion drawings of the 1930s and 40s and their economical use of line, their relationship to free embroidery and their relevance to the Stitchcraft magazines.

I am particularly inspired by the illustrations of Carl Erickson, Christian Bérard and René Gruau. I also love the domestic interior paintings of the artist Edouard Vuillard for his use of colour, pattern and the intimacy of his work.

Tools of my trade

I use a basic Janome domestic sewing machine. It’s the same one that I previously used in school with my textile students. The other must-have is my fabrics.

I source fabrics from my stash, often salvaged from fabric bins in school or from discontinued fabric sample books. I also use vintage materials as these often suggest a narrative for my work.

My use of handkerchiefs references past domestic life and imposes a scale at which to work. Handkerchiefs were still commonly used during my childhood. I transform them thereby adding relevance to the present and the future.

I’m really interested in exploring and contrasting textile surface qualities in my work.

I don’t use any paints or dyes but exploit a collected palette of fabrics and threads that I’ve gathered over the years. These provide rich contrasts of surface as well as a uniquely personal colour palette.

“I try to buy as little new material as possible, to be as sustainable as I can.”

Darren Ball, Textile artist

Stitch Club embroidery tips

In my Stitch Club workshop, I demonstrate my approach to appliqué and machine embroidery. With the free machine embroidery, I encourage Stitch Club members to consider how detail can be edited and to explore the use of different weights of line for emphasis. If you work by hand, lines can be created using back stitch or something similar.

I have made the workshop as inclusive as possible, keeping the domestic starting points broad, including suggestions of family photos, gardening, food, outings and so on.

I hope that it will give those members new to the processes the confidence to have a go. For those who have some experience of appliqué and machine embroidery, I’m hoping it will encourage them to explore my crisp, graphic approach.

How I work

Everything starts with an idea. I keep a note of these on my phone so I don’t forget them – and they can be saved for a long time before I start on them. I may make work for a particular show or to make use of a handkerchief or fabric that I’ve found.

I’ll look through my collection of Stitchcraft magazines, my vintage French seed pack labels from the 1920s, or whatever subject matter may be appropriate. I choose a selection of images and then narrow them down.

I’ll consider scale and the fabrics I want to use. Then, I simplify the images and bring them together. I hand cut, layer and appliqué the fabrics and add embroidery.

Then I’ll think about how to complete the piece. Usually, I’ll include areas of machine satin stitch to add emphasis and heavier weights of line. Sometimes if a fabric has frayed on the edge, I may use satin stitch to crisp it up.

I don’t do any preliminary drawing but work intuitively into the piece until I feel that it’s complete. I may use beads or sequins for embellishment, enriching the surface further.

Presentation & framing

How I present my work has developed over the years. I view it as art so I frame and mount it in a contemporary way.

Framing also protects the work and emphasises its precious quality, and it also enhances it aesthetically. Mounting a piece behind glass also draws attention to the textiles.

I emphasise the textile quality by leaving the work unstretched with ripples.

I go to an excellent framer who has a really good eye. She makes sensitive suggestions and is more aware of contemporary approaches than me.

Driven by curiosity

I was initially attracted to textiles through a desire to experiment. I remember being inspired by something I’d seen in a magazine, and experimenting with batik and very simple stitch when I was doing A Level art. We didn’t have lots of textiles at home but we did have those craft magazines in the 1980s that you could collect to make a set.

My mum and dad were interested in crafts and making but not in the usual way. I never saw my mum sew anything but she would French polish or paint models. My dad knitted, did macramé and made pin art in the 1980s and later cross-stitched. Like my parents, I enjoyed making.

“I began to see that working with textiles was a way of achieving results that couldn’t be produced in paint.”

Darren Ball, Textile artist

Pictorial potential

I loved exploring ceramics, jewellery, textiles and painting during my art foundation course. I was always interested in colour, pattern and texture but for me, textiles had the greatest possibilities. I experimented with weave, simple dyeing and embellishment.

I began looking at degree courses and particularly Middlesex Polytechnic (now Middlesex University). It offered a BA Hons Fashion Textiles focusing on knit, weave and woven tapestry but, unlike most textile degrees it didn’t include printed textiles.

When I visited Middlesex, I was stunned by the tapestry work being woven on scaffolding poles. It was bold, ambitious and impressive.

“I discovered the pictorial potential of textiles and using imagery rather than repeated patterns. This was a pivotal point that influenced the art that I make.”

Darren Ball, Textile artist

Making for myself

After a number of years teaching full time, I wanted to make my own work again. I completed an MA in Textile Culture at Norwich School of Art and Design (now Norwich University of the Arts). It was an art-based course as I wanted to exhibit with galleries rather than design for knit. It was there that I began to make textile art.

“I could see the potential of textiles as an expressive medium and how it could be used conceptually.”

Darren Ball, Textile artist

Another important turning point was the decision to start showing and selling my embroidered work. This came about through the same friend, Janis, who had given me the Stitchcraft magazines.

We both taught art full time but decided that if we shared a stand at an art fair we’d have enough work for it. She made hand-built ceramics and I had framed textiles. We both sold pieces and it was the starting point for all my embroidery to date.

I have much to thank Janis for and it was an alliance very much in the spirit of Stitchcraft.

“Judge your artwork’s success by your intentions. Are you pleased with the final result? How can it be developed in the next piece?”

Darren Ball, Textile artist

Giving yourself time

Make work which is individual to you. Everyone is informed by the work that they see around them. Think about how you absorb those influences whilst making your work your own.

Be passionate about your subject matter. It may be completely individual to you or it may be a subject matter that lots of people explore, but tackle it in your own way. You are making work for yourself. It can look any way you want.

I recommend working on several pieces at the same time. They don’t all need to be large scale. This creates a little distance between yourself and the work to allow you to consider the next steps.

Giving yourself time to consider possible developments in a piece is really important. It can also reduce the feeling that you’ve made a wrong decision or spoiled something.

Have pieces of work out or pinned up where you do your making so that you can come across them afresh. This lessens the pressure of feeling that you must finish something before starting a new piece.

It’s also worth keeping work if you think it has gone wrong. You can look back at it to make sure you recognize the problem areas and avoid them next time.

Consider how you want to present your work and explore different options.

These aren’t just photographs. They’re moments of connection frozen in time.

But, although the memories bring joy, the idea of creating the faces of your loved ones in stitch can feel scary.

Lose the fear & find the fun in stitching faces

“Portraits usually terrify me,” confesses Stitch Club member Joanne Moorey. Maybe you feel the same way? Yet after discovering textile artist Susie Vickery’s unique and fun approach, Joanne found herself “brave enough to keep practising,” discovering that stitching faces can feel both natural and enjoyable.

This shift from fear to freedom is at the heart of Susie’s philosophy. “I like that connection with people,” she explains. “When you choose the image, I like the person to be looking at you because then you’re making that connection with the eyes.”

The fear behind the thread

Maybe you’ve been drawn to the idea of creating portraits in stitch. You’ve seen others capture personality and emotion with just fabric and thread, making pieces that feel alive with character. But something holds you back.

“I’ll never capture their likeness.“

“My stitching needs to be perfect.”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

These were exactly the thoughts that held back countless stitchers before they discovered a more liberating approach. “Portraits have never been my thing,” admits Lois Standish, “but this quick technique made it really fun.”

Breaking free: The “Sketchy stitch” revolution

Susie Vickery’s approach to portraits turns traditional assumptions upside down. “Don’t worry,” she encourages. “These are just sketches. Think of them as practice pieces and you might surprise yourself.”

This shift in mindset – from seeking perfection to embracing experimentation – is revolutionary. “Although before this workshop, portraits were something I thought I would never consider as a concept for my art… ‘never say never’ and ‘always learning!'” reflects Jan Virgo, capturing the transformation that happens when we let go of our preconceptions.

When Susie creates a portrait, she’s not trying to make a continuous, perfect line. Instead, she’s sketching with thread, allowing each stitch to contribute to the character of the piece. This freedom has led to unexpected joy for many participants.

“I am completely addicted and am now persuading people in the village to have their photos taken for sketchy samples!”

Sue Forey, Stitch Club Member

Finding your voice through faces

Just as everyone’s handwriting is unique, Susie believes every stitcher develops their own distinctive approach. “Like your handwriting, you’ll develop your own individual style,” she assures. “It’s always amazing in the workshops how different everyone’s outcome is… You can clearly see the style that carries across no matter what the subject is.”

This personal approach resonates deeply with participants. “My first attempt at a portrait is my father-in-law in 1940,” shares Mary Bertholf. “He always smiled a lot, and always had dark circles around his eyes and folds in his face.” It’s these personal observations, these intimate details that make each portrait unique to its creator.

Susie’s top tips for creating characters in stitch

1. Start with someone you don’t know

“You might find it easier for your first attempt not to do someone that you know,” Susie advises. “Often it’s harder when it’s a face you know really well and you spend all your time trying to get the likeness rather than looking at the picture in front of you as something to work from.”

One Stitch Club member discovered the freedom in this approach. After starting with unfamiliar faces, she gained the confidence to tackle more personal subjects, even feeling empowered to “redo the mouth on my son’s portrait” when it wasn’t quite right. The process became about exploration rather than perfection.

2. Think sketches, not masterpieces

“I’m doing some quite long stitches, and I’m overlapping them. I’m not trying to make a continuous line. I’m just sketching in,” Susie explains. This liberating approach resonates deeply with participants.

“I really enjoyed stitching this. Even though I don’t feel I achieved a great likeness, it doesn’t matter. I know I’ll get better the more I practice,” shares Jess Richardson, who found joy in the process by using fabrics inherited from her mother. The material connection became more important than photographic accuracy.

3. Let the lines lead you

Rather than trying to create perfect features, look for the defining lines that give character to a face. “The lines that we’re putting in are just a guide,” Susie emphasises.

This approach led to beautiful discoveries for Melissa Emerson, who shares, “I’ve really enjoyed developing this piece further using colour on a small section of the face.”

“I’ve deliberately caused some of the threads to knot around the hair to add to the meaning of the piece – accepting physical change as we get older.”

“The acceptance that our perceived imperfections make us who we are and that there is a strength and beauty in this.”

“I loved the thread drawing element of this workshop, especially the freedom to be playful with the placement of stitches. Thanks again Susie, this was lots of fun!”

Melissa Emerson, Stitch Club Member

4. Build in layers

Susie’s technique of layering fabrics and then building up stitches creates depth naturally.

Catherine Walker found this transformative: “This workshop felt very special. I am not able to see my Mother often as she lives on the other side of the country. It felt like I was sharing time with her as I studied her photo, adding colour and depth. It reminded me of what a strong woman she is and how much I love her smile.”

Each layer brings new opportunities for character and connection.

5. Embrace the process

“Like your handwriting, you’ll develop your own individual style,” Susie encourages.

Angela Sparkman discovered this truth firsthand: “Oh. I really enjoyed this one. I did all of the stitching in one sitting! Learning to capture my dad’s likeness has brought so much joy and experimentation to my art.”

The journey begins: Getting started

The beauty of Susie’s approach to stitching portraits is that you can begin with just basic materials:

• A simple photo reference
• Three pieces of fabric (Susie often uses calico and old clothing)
• Basic embroidery threads
• A needle and hoop

For many participants, using meaningful materials adds an extra layer of connection. As Jess Richardson discovered, using inherited fabrics creates a deeper bond with the subject and the process itself.

From sketch to story

When Susie creates a portrait, she’s doing more than capturing a likeness – she’s telling a story. “I’ve loved spending time with her getting to know her face in detail as I embroider it which I think is really wonderful,” she says of a portrait of her mother-in-law.

This deeper connection through stitch resonates with many participants. Richard Tremelling used Susie’s technique to create his first stitched portrait of his mother-in-law, noting the quick yet striking results in capturing her “characterful” face in just an hour.

Taking the first stitch

Remember: every accomplished portrait artist started exactly where you are now – with a simple needle and thread, and a willingness to try. As Susie puts it, “I prefer to actually sketch with a needle and thread because I absolutely love sewing.”

The joy isn’t in achieving perfection – it’s in the process of discovery, in developing your own unique voice, and in creating something deeply personal and meaningful.

Ready to start your portrait journey? Take Susie’s advice: choose a face that intrigues you, gather some simple materials, and give yourself permission to sketch with thread.

After all, as countless Stitch Club members have discovered, you might just find that creating portraits is less about perfect technique and more about joyful exploration of the faces and stories that matter to you.

Interested in learning these techniques? Join the waitlist.

It’s a dichotomy that Rosemary Meza-DesPlas has often witnessed as visitors peruse her works stitched with her own hair.

Rosemary incorporates fibre art, drawing, installation, painting, performance art and video into her studio practice. But in 2000, prompted by a friend’s suggestion, she started gathering her hair to produce artworks stitched solely in this material. Recent works have intertwined hand-sewn human hair with watercolour, thread, speciality fabric and collage.

Why stitch with hair, you might ask?

Rosemary recognises the relationship between the qualities and symbolism of hair with issues of body image, femininity and identity. Her mother and aunts had migrated from Mexico across the United States as a family of agricultural labourers, and, as Rosemary pondered the hardships they endured, she committed to exploring these feminist issues.

Since then, her artwork has been thematically centred upon women: their narratives, societal challenges and resilience. Hair is the perfect material and the human form the perfect image.

Experimenting with hair

What made you decide to stitch art using your own hair?

Rosemary Meza-DesPlas: I started working with my hair after an artist friend suggested the line work in my wall drawings correlated to human hair. She equated the scratchy and undulating lines on the wall to the texture of hair.

I became intrigued by the idea of utilising hair in my art and so I spent time experimenting with it. It resulted in trial and error: glueing it to paper was messy and unruly.

I have academic degrees in drawing and painting from the University of North Texas and Maryland Institute College of Art, respectively. When I tried sewing with the hair, I found it allowed me to translate drawing techniques – such as hatching, stippling and cross-hatching – into stitches.

I haven’t been trained in sewing hair – I’m self taught. My mother and aunts learned to sew due to the economic challenges and scarcity of resources. As a child in the 1970s, I wore shorts and shirts made by my mother from Simplicity patterns. But neither my sister nor I were interested in picking up basic sewing skills.

My first few hair artworks were graphite and colour pencil with just a touch of hand-sewn human hair. After becoming more confident with sewing the hair, I’ve created subsequent artworks completely with hand-sewn human hair.

In 2002, I began to embed these artworks into three-layer resin casts. Some recent works have intertwined hand-sewn human hair with watercolour, thread, speciality fabric and collage. Since 2018, I’ve made hand-sewn human hair artworks with my grey hair.

The symbolism of hair

Sociologist Rose Weitz published a work called Rapunzel’s Daughters: What Women’s Hair Tells Us about Women’s Lives. She examined the hair’s relationship to sexuality, age, race, social class, health, power and religion.

Hair conveys symbolism in literary works such as the short story The Gift of the Magi by O. Henry, The Rape of the Lock by Alexander Pope and Rapunzel by the Brothers Grimm. There are religious connotations to hair, which coincide with symbolism reflecting strength, sensuality and reverence: Delila cut off Samson’s hair and Mary Magdalene washed the feet of Jesus with her hair.

“I like the dichotomy of using hair. Hair can be sexy and engaging to people; on the other hand, it can be repulsive.”

Rosemary Meza-DesPlas, Textile artist

Consider finding a hair in your soup or a hair on your hotel pillow. When viewers see the works in person, the imagery beckons the viewer to move in closer. I’ve seen gallery patrons impressed with the technique, yet repulsed by the material.

Repurposed materiality

Transformation of hair into artwork is repurposed materiality. Materiality of hair coincides with feminism at the point it speaks to issues of body image, femininity and identity.

Due to its correlation to material culture, hair may reflect political agency. In 2022, women filmed themselves cutting their hair; ordinary actions became acts of protest. Hair for Freedom showed solidarity with Iranian women and protested the death of Mahsa Amini.

Crafted hair in contemporary artwork can be interpreted as exoticizing women, ritualistic movements, critical gendered commentary or multidimensional stories.

“The materiality of hair coincides with feminism and ethnicity at the point it speaks to issues of body image, femininity and identity.”

Rosemary Meza-DesPlas, Textile artist

Feminist ideology

Tell us how the tenacity of your eight aunts contributed to the feminist ideology that you express in your art…

My mother comes from a family of eleven; eight out of the eleven siblings are women. Her family, originally from Allende, Mexico, travelled across the United States as agricultural labourers. The migratory existence was difficult for the women. Family stories have given me an appreciation and understanding of the hardships they endured as women.

My artwork has been thematically centred upon women: their narratives, societal challenges, and resilience. The female experience within a patriarchal society is one of inequality.

From brunette to grey

What were your feelings as you went from brunette to grey, and how did this affect your hair art?

I’ve been collecting my hair daily since 2000. Collection of hair is a ritualistic activity; I gather it by running my fingers through my hair each morning or by accumulating that which falls out during a shower.

There’s a meditative quality to sorting hair as preparatory work. I enjoy the texture of the hair through my fingers. I slide my fingers down its length and create work piles correlating to length.

Over the years, I’ve dyed my hair different shades of brown and red to obtain a greater variety of values and tones. When my hair began to grey, I would dye it. Colouring my hair was an act of vanity. The grey was visual evidence of my ageing process.

“At the point I stopped dyeing my hair, I came to terms with time’s salt and pepper paintbrush.”

Rosemary Meza-DesPlas, Textile artist

My greying hair became another art material to experiment with in my studio. Incorporating grey hair into my practice involved trial and error; therefore, I began a quest for the appropriate ground fabric. I currently use a black twill fabric. The texture of the grey hair is coarser and easier to manipulate.

Sketching and stitching

Tell us about your process and techniques when you’re working on a new piece.

Once I’ve collected my hair, I store it in plastic bins referenced by colour or year. At the beginning of a day’s work, I create piles of hair correlating to length: short, medium and long. These work piles of hair are then ready for me to use.

I select my needles according to the ground I’ll be working on. Some of the grounds I’ve worked upon include mylar, vellum, parchment, stretched watercolour canvas, chine-collé paper, stretched oil canvas and raw unprimed canvas.

I then create a gestural sketch of imagery on the selected ground. The sketch is usually created with an H pencil; however, I’ll use a white pencil for the black twill fabric.

This preliminary sketch is necessary because sewing hair is an unforgiving medium. Once the hair is sewn it can’t be undone. The removal of stitches leads to gratuitous holes and a blemished appearance.

“As I stitch my hair into the surface with a needle, I create a variety of values which serve to define the imagery.”

Rosemary Meza-DesPlas, Textile artist

Closely stitched lines or darker hair strands correlate to dark value. Sparsely spaced lines or a lighter brunette hair equates to lighter values. Drawing techniques, such as hatching, stippling and cross-hatching, translate to stitches.

Depending upon my intention, techniques are varied to achieve a range of textures, values and emotions. My academic degrees in drawing and painting mean that my technical approach is drawing-based.

As I sew the value patterns across imagery, I erase the initial gestural drawing. Visually, the end result is solely embroidered hair.

Tying off the hair when I am done sewing a section involves leaving the strand long; the hair protrudes from the surface. This interaction of hair and negative space creates a three-dimensional appearance. Initially, I tied off the hair and closely trimmed it to the ground; however, by 2011 I began leaving the tied-off strands long.

Human figures

How does your hair art fit in with your other work?

I incorporate fibre art, drawing, installation, painting, performance art and video into my studio practice. The human figure is the unifying image in my artwork, notwithstanding what medium is being used. Thematic continuity links my visual artwork with my academic writing and poetry.

The installation artwork, Groundswell, that I set up in 2020 in the Amos Eno Gallery in Brooklyn, New York has hand-stitched hair around its border. The smaller elements of it contain hand-sewn hair.

My performance artwork encompasses the creation of costumes. The skill set from sewing hair is applied to sewing the costumes for my performances.

Hair as archive

How has your hair artwork developed over time and what direction do you think it will take in the future?

The hair artworks have served as an archive of my body and ageing process.

I prefer not to speculate as to what direction future works might take. Studio experiments are predicated on freedom. Presupposed outcomes can hem in latitude, restricting future choices.

Drawing and exploring materials

What advice would you give to an aspiring textile artist wanting to try out your kind of materials and techniques?

If an aspiring textile artist wanted to use my drawing techniques, I would recommend they take college-level drawing classes including figure drawing. Experimentation, research and study of materials are also integral to my studio work.

New ways of making art invigorate my practice; thereby, the visualisation of thematic issues becomes innovative. I move comfortably between varied materials to create art.

“I am a process-oriented artist who finds personal growth within the investigation of unfamiliar materials.”

Rosemary Meza-DesPlas, Textile artist

Presenting a figure’s profile or a view of the back of the head is a key part of Sila’s thread paintings. When the faces are hidden, the viewers’ imaginations take over. Some may see themselves, others may see someone they know, and almost all invent each subject’s life story.

Hair styles and denim fabric also take centre stage, through Sila’s intricate layering of threads. Her interest in urban fashion design adds style and sizzle to her art. Detailed clothing, flowing tresses and physical poses all echo high fashion magazine spreads.

The fact that Sila is entirely self-taught and first picked up a needle in 2018 adds to the excitement of her portfolio.

Enjoy this look into Sila’s fashion-inspired embroidery art.

Thread painting

You describe your work as thread painting – can you explain what that entails…

Traditional embroidery has so many different types of stitch possibilities. But my work largely uses long and short stitches in a freestyle fashion that’s very intricate and quite realistic.

My stitching is essentially like painting on a canvas but using thread.

I’m inspired by almost anything, including nature, a city, a particular texture, something I see in a magazine or fashion blog. Even an advertisement or pose from the red carpet gets me thinking.

It’s fun to imagine the possibilities, but it can also make it difficult to pull all the ideas together to work in harmony to tell a story. Every day I have new thoughts about ways to make hair, maybe adding a scarf, making denim trousers, or what colour palettes I could use.

I always have new ideas and images in my mind for future projects, which can sometimes be a bit overwhelming, especially if I’m in the middle of another project. It’s definitely a distraction, but I can’t shut off my brain.

Who’s that girl?

Most of your work features the backs of figures, rather than a front view. Why is this?

Thanks for noticing that! Yes, most of my textile art purposely features the backs of figures because I don’t want to expose or reveal who they are. It makes me so happy when people say a figure in my work looks like their daughter, mum or friend.

I enjoy it when viewers imagine who my figures are or who they remind them of. It’s more engaging and makes me feel like I’m connecting with viewers. That’s so precious to me.

Denim takes a front seat in much of your work. What is it about denim you find appealing?

I love the timelessness of denim. It’s always modern and always fashionable. I enjoy stitching denim because it has high contrast on the sewed lines, making the artwork more eye-catching.

I prefer using DMC 930 and its lighter and darker shades for stitching denim. First I line up my colour shades from light to dark, and then I start with the middle tones. Next, I add the darker shades and lastly the lighter shades. I constantly blend the threads along the way.

It’s all about the hair

Of course, we must ask about the way you stitch hair. How did you come upon the idea for embroidering such incredible free-flowing hairstyles?

Stitching hair was very challenging at first because it has curves, highlights and shadows. Trust me, it takes lots of practice.

I used to use six different colour shades for hair when I started. Today, I use more than 20 different colours. That sounds crazy, but it’s what it takes to make the hair look realistic.

Darker hair is a bit easier, as you don’t need as many shades as you need for highlighted blonde or copper hair. Wavy or curly hair is also a bit harder compared to straight hair, as I have to make all the curves.

Braided hairstyles are my favourite.

Discovering embroidery

What’s your earliest memory of making something with textiles?

Sila Gur: I’ve been artsy and creative since childhood. I love to make things and experiment with different techniques and materials. And though it might seem cliché, I did sew all my Barbie doll clothes and even crafted accessories.

But none of my family or friends were interested in textiles, sewing or fashion design, so I don’t know how I became so interested in using a needle.

I studied fine arts during high school and then fashion and textile design at Yeditepe University in Istanbul, Turkey. I studied fashion styling at the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York City.

What was your route to becoming a textile artist?

When it comes to embroidery, I’m entirely self-taught.

It came about when I moved from Turkey to Scotland in 2018. I’m originally from Turkey, but my family moved to Scotland because of my husband’s work.

Our daughter was only one year old when we moved, and I became a full-time mum at home in a different country with no friends or relatives close by. I’m not at all a domestic person, so I felt the need to make and create something apart from being a housewife. I missed working and feeling productive and busy on a daily basis.

“I started stitching and discovered my love for hand embroidery.”

Sila Gur, Textile artist

I saw a couple of embroidery artists on Pinterest whose works were so modern, new and fresh. I especially enjoyed Elin Petronella’s amazing architectural embroideries on Pinterest.

I wanted to try something similar, so I figured out what I’d need and ordered everything from Amazon. I chose a few different sized bamboo hoops, aida fabric (which is actually used for cross stitch), embroidery needles and a very cheap set of embroidery floss threads in 100 colours.

I didn’t want to spend too much money, as I wasn’t sure I’d like embroidering. So, when everything arrived, I found they were of poor quality.

After that, I properly researched materials and visited a craft store to purchase better quality supplies. I then taught my daughter how to embroider and passed along the poorer quality materials for her to use to practice.

Where do your stitch stories come from?

I usually have a couple of ideas going in my head at the same time. I don’t rush my thinking. I’ll give myself time to think and imagine, and it’s like a silent gap between projects.

But once I decide on what to create, I become very excited and there’s no stopping me. I simply have to draw, choose colours and start stitching.

With that said, embroidery is ultimately a very time-consuming and slow process. It takes me weeks to finish stitching one piece.

Creative process

Do you use a sketchbook or computer software for planning, or something else?

I always sketch with a pencil on A4 paper first. It doesn’t take me long to draw something. I’ll also sometimes jot down notes.

I then take a picture of my drawing and import it into the ProCreate app on my iPad. The app allows me to add details, play with colours and experiment with backgrounds.

Once my design is complete, I redraw it on the fabric using an erasable pen. People think I transfer the drawing from the app, but I actually redraw the image. Because I’ve always been an artist, it’s fun for me to do so and it’s not a hard step for me.

Once I finish my embroidery, I use a blow dryer to get rid of the erasable pen marks.

Any preferred stitches you use for your thread painting? And what threads do you use most?

My favourite stitches are long and short stitches in a freestyle motion. French knots are also fun to make, and I usually use them for small details.

While it looks like some of my threads lay loose on top of the canvas, they mostly go to the back. But sometimes I’ll use turkey work stitching on specific objects like the end of a scarf.

I usually use DMC embroidery threads. They are absolutely the best quality in the market. I also use Gütermann machine threads if DMC doesn’t have the exact colour I’m seeking.

What are some of your must-have tools and materials?

I use thick cotton calico and linen fabrics most of the time. A few years ago, I did a series called I’m Here for You (see below) for which I used vintage lace as my base fabric. I enjoyed that and plan to use lace again if I can find something I like.

My forever must-haves are my Nurge embroidery hoops and hoop stand. The hoop stand is a game changer, in that it allows me to use both hands, and I have more control over my embroidery.

I also like a pair of scissors that are small and fine. No particular brand, just nice embroidery scissors.

And a Pilot FriXion heat erasable pen – I can’t work without it.

A closer look…

Table For One is a great example of how you create detailed and flowing hairstyles. Can you tell us a bit more about this work?

I wanted to use an autumnal colour palette for this piece, so I thought copper hair with highlights would work. It took me 80 hours just to stitch the hair. I used intricate realistic stitching in front of a single lined background to help the piece breathe.

“The background is fairly simple because I like paintings that balance realism with abstract.”

Sila Gur, Textile artist

Why did you choose lace as a background for your I’m Here for You series, and what challenges did it pose?

I created this series right after the pandemic when people’s lives had changed, mentally and physically. Many loved ones were lost, and it was a hard time for people all around the world.

Lockdown made me realise how my family and friends bring meaning to my life and are what I care about most. This series is a tribute to that realisation.

I wanted to stitch on lace, as its threads are very delicate yet attached to each other, just like us. It was the most challenging art I’ve ever created. They’re small pieces, and each took ages to make. The gaps and big holes were especially problematic, so I had to stitch and cover them first before I could actually embroider.

If anyone is interested in stitching on lace, I’d recommend they do so only if the holes are tiny and the lace doesn’t stretch.

What’s your most favourite work?

Girl With A Camera is my favourite – I wanted to emphasise the denim texture, and I like how the jacket has one shoulder off and folded. It creates both movement and a bit of drama. I love all the highlights and high contrast shades.

Navigating social media

What’s your relationship with social media? Love it? Hate it?

I must admit Instagram used to be a better place. Five years ago, I could post a work-in-progress picture in bad lighting and get thousands of likes and comments. Today, I have to create short videos, add trending music, edit, add captions and think about algorithms. That’s not easy!

I’m an up-to-date person and I don’t fight with new trends or technologies, so my relationship with social media is fine. But I do know many artists struggle to engage with others or to find their communities.

My advice is to keep sharing your work and keep posting.

“Don’t wait for people to discover you – if you want them to see your work, you need to go ahead and show people what you make.”

Sila Gur, Textile artist

Subversion reigns supreme in Richard’s embellished French Toile de Jouy work, complemented by a healthy dose of humour, and it’s wonderful. His goal is to create historically inaccurate decorative arts using centuries-old fabric designs.

Richard’s art comments on current social, political and cultural challenges. He also makes sure his overlooked and unusual characters rightfully take centre stage. Past and present are seamlessly merged through burlesque imagery and colourful storylines.

Richard’s work is all about the details, so come and take a closer look – you’ll find something new every time.

Pillow dreams

Richard Saja: When I was seven or eight years old, I was given a box of Crayola iron-on transfer crayons as a birthday party prize. After a brief period of trial and error, I took a T-shirt and painstakingly recreated the Star Boy costume from the Legion of Superheroes.

But it wasn’t until after high school that I decided to introduce myself to art and the creative process. I had floundered around a bit in New York City and later in Philadelphia. I had always been drawn to pattern and texture, so I enrolled in a surface design class at the now defunct University of the Arts, Philadelphia.

I also took classes in ceramics at the Fleisher Art Memorial, and I loved building surfaces on clay. That prompted a move to New Mexico when I was feeling I needed to get off the East Coast.

While living in Santa Fe, a friend asked me to sit in on some classes at St. John’s College. I was blown away by their educational approach: all of the classes were seminar classes featuring student discussion and demonstration around an oval table – and no professors.

I graduated in 1993 and decided to teach myself Photoshop and Illustrator to add more skills to my arsenal. A couple of years later, I landed a job as the assistant to the creative director at an advertising agency on Madison Avenue (NY).

I worked at the agency for a couple of years, and then a transformation happened. Armed with knowledge of surface design, a classical education and advertising experience, I decided to start a design company with a friend. We developed 10 different styles of decorative pillows, one of which was hand embellished Toile de Jouy.

The concept had occurred to me while waking from sleep.

We debuted the collection at what was then the International Gift Show, and right out of the gate, the embroidered toile garnered the attention of all major design publications, as well as The New York Times.

“Out of necessity, I had to teach myself how to embroider to fulfil all our orders.”

Richard Saja, Textile artist

The company lasted a few years, but as my needlework skills improved, I decided to frame the pieces and introduce them into a gallery setting. That, too, took off almost immediately.

Historically inaccurate

Subversion is a key goal in my creative process. With an economy of means, I can change something historic and make it a little more rebellious.

Selecting specific areas of a traditional toile print to embroider over automatically subverts its intended use, by breaking the anonymity of the pattern. Suddenly, with stitches and colour, motifs are brought to the fore, demanding attention for my social, political or cultural statements.

“My work isn’t interesting to me if it’s not amping it up a couple notches.”

Richard Saja, Textile artist

From the beginning, my work has explored a myriad of themes of interest at the moment. They can range from ecological collapse or manmade disaster to trans visibility or the rise of neo fascism. The canvas mirrors my life experience and thought process.

Early on when I coined the term ‘historically inaccurate decorative arts’, I realised people liked to discover the humour for themselves. Subtlety was more important than didacticism or instruction.

Any message I’m attempting to address and imprint on a viewer will more likely hit its mark if the viewer is an active participant in their own discovery.

The funny side of toile

I’ve always responded to humour that’s considered dry-witted and spontaneous. Toile de Jouy just seemed like it was ready for some kind of reworking. Embroidery was the easiest way for me to do that.

The marriage of past and present creates a frisson and births something very new.

“There’s also something appealing about bestowing my imprint upon a textile pattern that has been around for hundreds of years.”

Richard Saja, Textile artist

Aubusson stitching

For the past 12 years, I’ve also been embroidering over Chinese Aubusson tapestries. This has made me see the close bonds between embroidery and knot making, and I’ve been pursuing and exploiting this relationship ever since.

From what I understand, weavers from France went to China in the 70s and taught their techniques to villagers in an attempt to keep prices low and production high. These Chinese Aubussons are fairly plentiful and largely inexpensive. That connection to French weaving was a natural progression from my Toile de Jouy work.

“For the Aubussons, my needlework is scaled up 1,000 times because of their size.”

Richard Saja, Textile artist

A couple of months ago, I was diagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome. Although my unconventional conventional embroidery wasn’t fully affected, I found it somewhat easier to stitch using a thicker needle and perlé cotton over these wool wall tapestries.

At a certain point, simple stitches take on the form of knots sitting on the surface of the fabric. And because of the size of the tapestries, my needlework needs to be immaculate because errors are visibly evident.

Creative process

Generally, I start by selecting my canvas, whether it’s yardage of Toile de Jouy or a wool Aubusson tapestry. I pick a palette of complementary colours, arrive at a concept and begin stitching.

I rarely plan out specific embroidery – I prefer spontaneous results.

“My approach is to add context through embroidery.”

Richard Saja, Textile artist

For Toile de Jouy, I usually work with prints featuring figures sized 18cm to 30cm (7″ to 12″), as the stitching has little impact on anything smaller. Scale isn’t an issue, though, when working on the tapestries because the imagery is already quite large.

I work with a hoop, and I mostly stitch over historically based reproduction prints. But I’ve also worked with other artists on custom prints where I essentially art-direct a print using their drawings.

On custom prints I’ve designed myself, I use embroidery more as embellishment, as the context is already apparent in the print design.

A simple stitch palette

My most-used stitches are a basic running stitch, french knots, bullion stitch and chain stitch. Being wholly self-taught, I don’t profess to be a technically accomplished stitcher. Thus far, the possibilities seem limitless, and I feel my joy is imbued into the work.

“I find great joy and satisfaction in developing new and usually very interesting interactions among these few stitches.”

Richard Saja, Textile artist

When it comes to thread choices, I like using Anchor Marlitt viscose rayon threads for embroidering on Toile de Jouy. They’re rich in saturated colour and don’t easily fray.

For my Aubusson tapestry work, I only use DMC perlé cotton. Those threads are very durable, come in a gigantic range of colours and contrast perfectly with wool.

Must-have tools

I use a pair of electrician’s scissors I found on the side of the road in the early 80s. They’re still sharp enough and perfect for embroidery because of the rounded contours of the blades.

I like my surfaces to be very taut, so I only stitch on Morgan no-slip hoops. These are the only hoops that allow for that without frequent restretching.

My studio is in my home, in a room originally meant to be the primary bedroom. The room gets full sun all day long, so the light is perfect for needlework. I sit in a custom Vermont Folk Rocker chair, made without arms so I can get my floor stand as close as possible for the hoop to rest upon.

Young Mr. Lincoln

A favourite work of mine is Young Mr. Lincoln.

Years ago, I was invited to participate in a show honouring the ongoing legacy and accomplishments of Abraham Lincoln. I first thought to decline, but when I put needle to canvas, I created an almost stunning likeness.

I called the piece Young Mr. Lincoln because it showed a different side of the venerated US president. It was more lighthearted and less careworn.

That work and my very first Green Man was purchased by the comedian and chat show host Graham Norton. Of all my pieces, I wish I still had them in my possession. Interestingly, both were very basic embroideries.

Challenging stereotypes

It seems regressive to me to approach someone’s work because of their gender, so whenever I’m asked what it’s like to be a male in the textile art world, I shut down that line of questioning.

I’m much more concerned with the ‘what’ than the ‘who’, and I look forward to the time when people are rewarded by their fans and peers because of the quality and universal themes presented in their work. Not simply because of who they are.

“Social progress will never occur so long as the long under-represented continue to ape the same tactics of their oppressors to effectuate change.”

Richard Saja, Textile artist

Another challenging stereotype is the fact embroidery is rooted in the craft tradition. It’s not considered to be ‘fine art’, but I’m very happy to see that attitude steadily changing. Tons of textile work is now being prominently featured in museum exhibitions, galleries and art fairs.

It’s been a long time coming. And happily, the younger generations seem little concerned with the tired and resolution-less art versus craft conversation.

Find your own artistic voice

In an age when we relentlessly encounter imagery, I think it’s of paramount importance that young artists develop their own visual vocabulary to set them apart from the herd.

It’s quite easy to become tempted by trends or to rely too strongly on already established pop culture tropes. Those should only be used as an initial springboard to something more wholly personal and emblematic of each artist’s persona and experience.

Power of social media

I am very pro social media and feel somewhat sorry for those who resist it. I also think the value of hashtags shouldn’t at all be underestimated when posting.

Social media exposes my work to literally thousands of people from all different backgrounds, including people who may not have the resources to purchase textile magazines or be within travelling distance of museums or galleries.

I also find it immensely rewarding when I see comments on my posts mentioning how my work has inspired viewers. Instagram has also been hugely instrumental in prompting new commissions and exhibition opportunities for me.

“I spend most of my work time stitching alone in a room, so to receive recognition can be a big boost.”

Richard Saja, Textile artist

Rosie James is a confident tidiness rule breaker, especially when it comes to hanging threads. And the end results give even the greatest stickler pause.

Rosie’s long hanging threads add meaning and texture that couldn’t be achieved otherwise. They clearly suggest movement in her scenes of daily living, especially in the hustle and bustle of crowds, which is a favourite subject of hers.

Rosie also uses screen printing and appliqué to create a sense of depth and reflection. And she loves exploring non-traditional materials like reflective fabrics and neon threads.

We’re thrilled to invite you into Rosie’s large-scale world. Neatness takes a back seat to some remarkable character development. 

You may decide to set your scissors aside after seeing her work.

Fashion dabbling

Rosie James: One of my first memories of being exposed to textiles was my mum sewing on her treadle sewing machine. It was quite noisy! She made so many cushion covers and curtains for the house in fabulous 60s colours and prints. I can still picture them.

I was taught sewing at school, and I remember making an apron and a nightie. I wasn’t particularly good at it, though. Later, around age 17, my friend and I dabbled a bit in making our own clothes, which was fun.

When I left school, I studied to be a radiographer and worked all over the world for about 10 years. But all that time I was thinking about doing something else!

Eventually, I took a part-time course in fabric dyeing and printing, and I loved it. So, I decided to pursue a Bachelor of Arts degree in textiles at the Surrey Institute of Art and Design in Farnham. My programme was led by fabric printing design, particularly screen printing. 

I then completed a Master of Arts at Goldsmiths in London, which was more art focused. This led to my becoming much more experimental and working on a large scale.

Free motion freedom

I started teaching fashion and textiles at a further education college in Kent (UK) after completing my master’s degree. That’s when I discovered all the possibilities for using a sewing machine to draw, especially when using photographs I could trace. I could also create photo collages to stitch, putting together all sorts of crazy surreal images.

“A whole new world opened up when I realised if I could photograph something, I could stitch it, too – and in any size!”

Rosie James, Textile artist

As I was learning free motion embroidery, I recreated a drawing by the German painter and printmaker Albrecht Dürer, one of the Renaissance masters, to compare the different kinds of lines I could make with the sewing machine. I especially loved the way the thread gave the lines a fuzzy and slightly hairy quality. 

When drawing with a pencil, you can easily change the thickness of a line just by pressing harder. But with a sewing machine, it’s more difficult because you have to change to a thicker thread, which is a bit more work. 

The sewing machine also likes to keep going in a continuous line, and it can get frustrating if you have to keep stopping and starting. Using the sewing machine is much less intuitive than drawing by hand because the machine is always in the way.

I first tried learning free motion stitching from a library book. I followed the instructions, but I couldn’t do it. The fabric kept getting sucked into the machine. So, I took a short course and eventually achieved success.

I also learned that some machines are better than others. The college had old Bernina sewing machines, so when I saw a similar secondhand one in the window of a local sewing machine shop, I bought it and off I went!

Today I use a newer version of that original Bernina machine. It’s basic and doesn’t do a load of fancy stitches. I also have an old green Bernina and a couple of Janome machines people have given me, all of which I use at some point. But I prefer the Bernina for free motion embroidery.

Public faces, public spaces

I love stitching pictures of people out and about. I prefer stitching complete strangers, as then I don’t have to worry about whether my work fully looks like them. I can also change things if I like.

I especially like figures that have interesting details, such as their clothing, what they’re carrying, or unique hairstyles, perhaps.

“I like people that have a lot of stuff going on, as the details are the things that reveal something about each individual within the crowd.”

Rosie James, Textile artist

Crowds are also intriguing. I take lots of photos of crowds and then I’ll pull people out of the crowd images to create a new group. I usually look for figures that are visible from head to toe. 

I especially love crowded places where people travel. Train stations, airports, motorway service stations and the like always have different types of people from many different backgrounds brought together in a single space. 

Kyoto station is a particular favourite. I’ve only been there once, but I was struck by the movement of large numbers of people all criss-crossing each other. They all seemed to know where they were going and never bumped into each other. 

Paris Gare Du Nord station is another great spot for crowds. It’s amazing to see everyone accessing all the different underground lines. 

It’s also interesting to interpret industrial, built-up areas using soft domestic textiles and threads. The juxtaposition presents the complete opposite of the subject matter.

Creative process

I normally have an idea in my head and then just make it. If it starts going wrong, I just adapt along the way. That’s why the end result may not be what I originally imagined, but it might be even better. 

After I choose a photograph, I print it in the size I want. I then fiddle with it by drawing over it, tracing it, deleting bits or adding bits, until I think it will work. I use Photoshop and set the size file to whatever I need. 

I can create a life-sized image in Photoshop, but to print it out, I usually divide the image into lots of A4 sections that I print at home and then tape together. I recently printed a piece that was about six metres long, on which each figure was about three metres high. 

I then add fabrics, some of which I may screen print. I use textile printing inks for screen printing, and I usually do the printing first and leave space for stitching if needed. I use Vliesofix Bondaweb (an iron-on paper backed adhesive) to apply the fabrics to the background. 

I also love using photo transfer paper for fabric. I can print an image using an inkjet printer and then iron it onto fabric or use a heat press. It’s a great way to add little photographic elements to a work. 

I work in a large wooden shed that I love dearly. One half is devoted to printing and the other for sewing. I like to listen to the radio or play music, but I don’t have a set routine. It mostly depends on what I’m working on at any one time.

“It’s not unusual for me to sometimes abandon a work at some stage if it’s not right.

I throw it onto a pile to be rediscovered later!”

Rosie James, Textile artist

Hanging by a thread

Hanging threads has become somewhat of a signature in my textile art. I remember the first time I used the technique. I had originally intended to cut off all the threads, but I liked how they looked, so I left them in place. I did cut them all off once, but I felt the resulting work was flat and lifeless.

In earlier works, the threads were gushing out of the figures’ eyes! 

I also think that if I cut all the threads, the work just looks like an ink drawing created with a pen. The threads make it clear the piece is stitched. They add scribble and movement, and I love how they dangle off the edge of a canvas like dripping paint.

There is so much to be explored with loose threads. I love the work of Nike Schroeder, who has gone from drawing figures with loose threads to pulling the threads down and off to one side of the canvas. Her work is now all about the loose threads, and she creates great sweeping works of loose threads in graduated colours.

“It’s interesting how the threads have evolved since my first drawing.

They’ve gotten longer and longer over the years, but I’ve started trimming them a bit so viewers can see more of the faces.”

Rosie James, Textile artist

Sheer magic

I love using transparent fabrics because they’re great for layering on top of printed fabrics or other stitched pieces. I use tissue paper to make these fabrics easier to stitch on, and I always use a hoop. 

I particularly like silk organza and cotton organdie, but I also use a lot of polyester voile, which is more affordable. I’ll even stitch on netting, which is mostly holes!

My appliquéd fabrics are all recycled. Many people give me their old fabrics and others I acquire elsewhere. I do like making clothes, so I also have scraps left over from those projects. 

My colour palettes are fairly random. They might be based on a particular bit of fabric or use a different coloured thread instead of my normal black thread. I might also create a palette based on screen printing I’ve done.

Crowd Cloud

Crowd Cloud features an actual crowd of 20 different stitched figures. All were taken from photos of people approaching the London Bridge tube station on their way home from work at rush hour. 

They are hung together as a cluster, and viewers can walk around the figures and literally become part of the crowd. Viewers are also able to see through the figures to create an additional sense of being in a crowd. 

Crowd Cloud has been exhibited all over the world, usually in small groups of about 10. Only once have all 20 been displayed together.

Combining stitch & print

The figures in All the People Some of the Time are taken from photographs of people shopping in my local town. The work is both screen printed and stitched. 

I stitched the same people that I had also drawn and printed. The figures were stitched onto transparent fabric, which was then hand stitched onto the screen-printed background using a red running stitch. I wanted to build up a crowd using both stitch and print. 

In my earlier works, I only used stitch and no printing. But I love screen printing and was very keen to get back into it. So, I decided to use it to add buildings in the background and kept stitching for the figures. 

I’ve moved on from that now, and do sometimes also stitch the buildings. But I still like the contrast between a printed line and a stitched line.

Reflective stitching… literally

I’m a member of a small group of artists called the Filaments Art Collective. We put on large-scale installations, each of us doing our own thing towards the whole. 

We chose to exhibit in an unused church near where I live, in the winter of 2022. The church only had a few pews and a small altar which made it a perfect place for our imaginations to run riot.

Also, because winter is a dark and cold time of year, we wanted to create things that would light up or otherwise show up in the dark, so I searched for reflective materials. I also discovered reflective thread. It didn’t fit through a needle, so I put it in the bobbin to sew, making the back of the work become the front.

“I explored using reflective fabric, as I’m always interested in stitching on different kinds of materials.”

Rosie James, Textile artist

The reflective fabric is the same that’s used for protective clothing, and it lights up when car headlights hit it. The stitching was also revealed when a flash photo was taken. I was able to use a torch to light it up, but the stitching was only visible if I was standing at the right angle. 

I’m continuing to explore this process after discovering some high-visibility garments by the side of the road near my home. Using photos of the city at night for reference, I’m experimenting with high-visibility and reflective fabrics, as well as neon threads and fabrics.

Favourite work

I love many of my artworks and the memories of their making, but my favourite is Waiting for the Meeting to Start. I made it during the Covid lockdowns in April/May 2020. 

I was looking for something to do while stuck at home, so I posted a request on Instagram asking people to send me pictures of themselves at home. I received so many responses and eventually had to stop at 100!

I made a stitched drawing of each photo and posted it on Instagram. Each piece was 20cm (8″) square. After stitching 100 portraits, I sewed them all together to make two large panels of 50 squares each. 

Each square had a black frame around it, and I put myself in the middle with a lime green frame around my square. It was meant to look like a Zoom meeting, with me talking, hence, my portrait having a green-edged frame.  

It was first exhibited in the windows of the Intra Arts gallery in Rochester, Kent. That was great, as we still couldn’t mingle with other people due to the pandemic. It was later shown at The Festival of Quilts and The Knitting and Stitching Shows, so lots of people got to see it in person.

When you look at Michael’s work, it’s easy to see where he’s coming from. From a distance, his quilts do look like painted canvases.

For someone who just started quilting in 2018, he’s gaining a lot of attention for his bold use of colour and shape to tell stories of modern living. There’s a definite city vibe to his work, and many of his quilts are packed with a whole lot going on. 

While he uses traditional quilting methods, Michael’s approach to quilting and the art world in general are far from the norm. He’s eager to challenge how quilts are presented in the fine art world, as well as speak out against its sense of exclusivity. 

Michael creates visual feasts that take time to explore, and it’s worth the effort. We think you’ll agree that this fresh take on the quilting tradition is very exciting.

An artistic journey

Can you tell us about one of the first textile art pieces you remember creating? Did any family members or friends influence your textile art journey?

Michael C. Thorpe: The first quilt I ever made was an aquarium scene in 2004. 

My mother, Susan Richards, taught me everything I know about quilting and crafts. When she bought a long-arm quilting machine in 2018, I started to quilt too. 

That was when I began to understand I could create any painting I’ve seen using fabric and thread. Now I’d say a general curiosity of the world informs my artistic journey. 

What was moving into the world of quilting like for you?

People were supportive and didn’t make me feel ostracised by being odd and creating ‘paintings’ out of quilting. 

I wasn’t following patterns or designs, which was very different from how they were creating quilts. But I still felt embraced by my family and the people I’ve met at quilt and fabric shops.

‘I was the only dude and the only Black person in those quilting spaces – but it wasn’t alienating.’

Michael C. Thorpe, Quilt artist

What inspires your approach to quilting?

I was initially inspired by the works of Romare Bearden and Jacob Lawrence. Their work served as the building blocks for my understanding of art. I appreciated how they turned acts of daily living into art.

Lately, I’ve been greatly influenced by the surrealist and conceptual art movements because of their emphasis on exploring the mind and irrational impulses instead of practical thoughts. 

‘I believe art doesn’t have to be a grand exclusive thing.
We can transform our everyday and mundane thoughts and things into works of art.’ 

Michael C. Thorpe, Quilt artist

Start a conversation

You tackle some challenging topics in your quilts, including race and politics. Can you share more about that?

That’s an interesting question for me now because when I came into making art, I truly believed I needed to address challenging issues and topics to be a relevant artist. But the deeper I’ve gotten into my practice, the less it matters to me to comment on contemporary life. 

I’ve become more invested in exploring imagination and creativity and how I can create systems to create artwork without great thought. I’ve learned that when I think about the meaning of a work, or what I want to say about such-and-such, I become paralysed and can’t make work.

Now I just create work and put it out in the world. I create things because I’m interested in a certain subject matter or process. It’s not that deep for me. But I do hope my work starts conversations. Where those conversations go is up to the audience. It will become whatever it was meant to be.

Quilts are often viewed as being domestic or possessing other tame characteristics; how do those stereotypes influence the messages you want to express?

Using quilting and textiles as my primary mode of expression is a deliberate act of rebellion. 

Understanding painting is considered the ultimate mode of expression, I have decided to never paint but I still call my quilts ‘paintings’.

‘I’ve always struggled with the hierarchy in the art world – it seems so silly to me.
Just create art, look at art, be curious and like what you like.’

Michael C. Thorpe, Quilt artist

How do you create your quilts?

First, I have an image or idea. I then draw that out and enlarge the drawing with a projector. Next, I cut out fabric pieces and then put them back together using a long-arm quilting machine. I use a Handi Quilter Fusion machine.

I work in a separate studio space. Since my art is how I make money, I treat it as a nine-to-five job. I mostly listen to podcasts while working, but I definitely sprinkle some music in there.

What are your must-have tools for creating your textile art?

Something to write with and my mind. That’s all I need to create art. A good pair of scissors also doesn’t hurt when it comes to textile work.

Go for it

How hard was it to learn machine quilting? 

My learning curve wasn’t steep because of my mommy. She shared all her secrets and helped solve problems that would have taken me out of the act of making art. Also, I don’t use any of the machine’s built-in digital programs. The results were too perfect and there wasn’t enough of me in the quilts. 

I prefer steering all the stitching myself so you can see my hand in the quilting. And there’s a level of spontaneity that’s beautiful.

My best advice for using free-motion stitching is to just go for it and remember that mistakes are the best part.

‘Sometimes the fabric will move, and it is what it is.
I’m not going to force it to do anything it’s not meant to do.’

Michael C. Thorpe, Quilt artist

Where do you source your fabrics and threads, and what do you enjoy working with most?

When I was starting out, most of the fabrics I used were given to me. Now I love the cheapest fabric I can get. 

Picking out my own colours and patterns is very important to me, but I also leave it up to chance. When I get low on fabric or I’ve just got paid, I go to a store and let my imagination run wild. I go with my gut instincts and grab whatever attracts me that day.

‘My entire artistic practice is deeply concerned with living in the moment and not overthinking things.’

Michael C. Thorpe, Quilt artist

Seeking inspiration

What’s the inspiration for the Dick 4 President quilt?

Dick Gregory is a very fascinating human being. I appreciate everything he has given this world.

Tell us about your Necrows quilt. I believe it connects to Disney’s Dumbo movie. Is that correct?

Yes. I loved Disney growing up and still do today. But I do find it interesting that the leader of the group of crows in the movie is named Jim Crow. Make of that what you will.

There’s so much going on in Last Night At Your Mom’s House. What’s the backstory to that quilt?

I wanted to create a party scene that I may or may not have been in before. The Milwaukee shirt is a nod to my wife who’s from Milwaukee. I love the Midwest.

Who is featured in your Family quilt?

The original idea for the quilt was a big ‘what if?’ in terms of my relationship with my father. I was thinking what it would be like to grow up in a two-parent household. But now that thought is kind of whack to me because it discredits everything my mother did for me. I wouldn’t change anything in my life because it put me here now talking to you guys. 

Your multimedia work Sisson incorporates wood and iron alongside textiles. How did that all come together?

It came from an interest in glueing quilts onto random surfaces just like a painter can use anything as a canvas. I think it stemmed from looking at Robert Rauschenberg’s work.

What is one of your favourite works and why?

The last work I create is always my favourite. I don’t dwell on the past. I’m always thinking about what’s next.

What challenges, if any, have you faced in your textile art journey?

My greatest challenge is getting people to accept my way of creating work and living life.

‘It’s quite funny when people’s expectations of me and my career don’t match up to my own expectations.’

Michael C. Thorpe, Quilt artist

What lies ahead with your textile art? Where to from here?

Only time will tell.

This proved to be a winning combination when, after buying a one-way ticket to India she became entranced by the colours, fabric and texture of the traditional Tibetan thangka (sounds like ‘tonka’). 

These thangka, beautifully elaborate fabric mosaics, became a way for this previously meditation-resistant Californian to connect with Tibetan culture, as well as discover her own spiritual path.

Leslie’s four-year apprenticeship in a sewing room in the Himalayan hill town of Dharamsala – with the Dalai Lama as a neighbour – is an extraordinary story of how she became one of the few non-Tibetans to master the traditional art of silk appliqué thangka.

As she mastered this ancient artform, her own style of art evolved: blending Eastern techniques with modern materials and a Western colour palette. Today, Leslie is back living in California but she still draws on her love for Tibet and its people in her unique textile art. 

Leslie Rinchen-Wongmo: I make sacred Buddhist images and portraits from pieces of silk stitched together by hand. My work is bold, textured, colourful, Asian-inspired and vibrant. It speaks to some and definitely not to others. 

I am a caretaker of a sacred Tibetan tradition of textile art. I stitch bits of silk into elaborate figurative mosaics that bring the transformative images of Buddhist meditation to life. 

Visually, I love the colours and the light and the three-dimensional textural quality. I also love the richness of symbolism and meaning in every form, and the connection of these forms to a great lineage of spiritual practice.

I love that the images I work with – the images of enlightened beings – have helped many people to become free of suffering and to teach others about their true nature. And I love being connected with a lineage of spiritual teachers and practitioners through these images and this sacred creative practice. 

I hope that, in my small way, I can open people’s hearts with my work, that I can provide some stimulus or inspiration for their own awakening.

“I believe that beauty uplifts. So, I hope that the beauty of my artwork can open hearts and raise the spirit.”

Leslie Rinchen-Wongmo, Textile artist

Connecting threads

People often call this type of work ‘tapestries’ because they are fabric wall hangings. But I am not a tapestry artist. I do not weave. 

Following a Tibetan tradition that goes back at least as far as the 15th century, I wrap strands of horsehair with silk thread and couch the resulting horsehair cords to silk fabric. Then I assemble pieces like a jigsaw puzzle into portraits and sacred images, all stitched together by hand. 

You can watch me creating Green Tara in my short film Creating Buddhas, The Making and Meaning of Fabric Thangkas.

The technique is most often referred to as Tibetan appliqué but – unlike most appliqué – in this Tibetan method, there is no backing cloth to which pieces are applied. 

Instead, pieces are overlapped and interconnected, held together by the elaborate connections between them. They do not rest on a single base. This is a beautiful metaphor for the Buddhist teaching of interdependence – nothing is absolutely true or existent. Rather each phenomenon arises in dependence on others, on relationships.

“In actuality, everything – including our ‘self’ – is always in flux and always interconnected.”

Leslie Rinchen-Wongmo, Textile artist

Cloth cultures

In my hybrid pieces, I’ve used quilting cottons, linen, photo-printed canvas and chiffon, and a variety of other materials. 

For my traditional work, I use silk satins and brocades, mostly woven in Varanasi, India. Varanasi is a sacred Hindu city on the banks of the Ganges River in the northern Indian state of Uttar Pradesh. It is considered one of the oldest continuously settled cities in the world. 

Varanasi is famous for its finely woven silk saris. Almost all the weavers are Muslim and live in the large Muslim quarter of the city and in outlying villages. While most of these weavers create the saris worn by women all over India, a few make the fine brocade and satin from which Tibetans stitch thangkas. 

The heavy silk satin and brocade produced by Indian Muslim weavers is not for themselves, nor for the Indian Hindu culture that permeates the city, but for Tibetan Buddhists from the mountains. These disparate cultures have been woven together in silk for generations.

“The satin has a particular buttery quality that allows large needles and thick horsehair cords to be pulled through without breaking threads or leaving holes.”

Leslie Rinchen-Wongmo, Textile artist

The role of thangkas

The Vajrayana or Tantric form of Buddhism practised in Tibet uses imagination to harness emotional energies and achieve speedy liberation from the misconceptions that cause suffering. 

Practitioners deliberately cultivate their imaginations with images of enlightened beings, pure lands, flowing blessings, and generous offerings. In visualisation, divine figures arise from emptiness like a rainbow and dissolve again into space. Although they may appear external to us, they always merge with us in the end. 

The point of all these practices is to move us from a muddled relationship with reality to a relationship based in awareness. 

“Thangkas serve as models for the intangible yet infinitely impactful images you can conjure in your mind’s eye to free yourself from distorted and limiting mindsets.”

Leslie Rinchen-Wongmo, Textile artist

The figures that grace thangkas are expressions of awakening, of fully realised human potential in honest relationship with the world as it is. They are personifications of teachings and practices in the Tibetan Buddhist tradition. Their multifarious forms highlight a vast range of awakened qualities: Avalokiteshvara embodies awakened compassion, Manjushri breathes awakened wisdom, Vajrapani radiates awakened power, and so forth. 

These divine figures are collectively referred to as lha in Tibetan, and generally called deities in English. However, referring to the figures as gods and goddesses is a misleading use of words. They are, in fact, buddhas, that is, awakened beings. As embodiments of our own true nature, their only purpose is to liberate us from ignorance and suffering.

While each form has a speciality, based on vows they made when they were ordinary beings like us, each also encompasses the full spectrum of awakened potential. They don different guises to suit people’s diverse temperaments. Every deity in the Buddhist pantheon exists to assist us in generating wisdom and compassion to become free from endless cycles of dissatisfaction and suffering.

Stitching as meditation

Making a thangka is like sharing quiet time with enlightened beings and sages. That is, people who have recognised the true nature of things; people who act out of pure compassion; people who have overcome all negative motivations and reactions.

Stitching a thangka is like hanging out with the best of my human potential and with the possibility and promise of awakening. We sit together, pass time, and share tea.

“As I stitch, I become steeped in their fragrance, tinged with their colours, and I feel the presence of enlightenment touching me.”

Leslie Rinchen-Wongmo, Textile artist

The Tibetan word for meditation, gom, literally means to familiarise or habituate. In some meditation practices, we sit with a specific heart-opening quality or inquiry, allowing it to permeate our mind-stream and allowing ourselves to become familiar with it.

Thangka-making acts like this too. Not only does the work arouse focused attention, it also engages the artist in a nonconceptual relationship with enlightenment, compassion and wisdom, while placing attention on just this stitch.

​​In class every morning, my teachers used Buddhist philosophy to open windows of freedom in my conceptual mind. In the sewing workshop every afternoon, the deities infused non-conceptual understanding in my heart, in my fingertips and in my bones. 

Rather than memorising lists of symbols and meanings, stitching invited me to hang out with the best of myself. On some unspoken, unanalysed level, I knew that these figures embodied the most potent and potential-rich aspects of my own being. I hoped that a little bit of their goodness would rub off on me.

The road to Dharamsala

I remember sewing clothes at home occasionally as a child with my mother’s guidance. In college, I became interested in Amish quilts. I was drawn to the bold colours, clear shapes, fluid fabric and meticulous handwork. I started to learn quilting but was interrupted, first by a herniated disc in my back and then many years of other activities.

I saw the Dalai Lama on his first visit to the US during my first year of college. He made a strong impression on me, but I wouldn’t have called myself a Buddhist. 

Toward the end of college, I did some quilting. I dropped it for a while, and then ended up in India, getting to know the Tibetans and delving more deeply into Buddhist philosophy. There, I found Tibetan appliqué and felt a wonderful sense of connection as two strands of fascination became intertwined. 

“I fell in love with the colours, the fabrics, the texture and the connection with my spiritual path – I just had to start stitching again.”

Leslie Rinchen-Wongmo, Textile artist

In 1992, while serving as an economic development volunteer for the Tibetans, I saw my first silk thangka in production. 

One day, as part of my volunteer work, I joined a tour of Tibetan handicraft centres. When I walked into a sewing workshop at the Norbulingka Institute, which was still under construction, I fell head over heels in love with the pieced silk images I saw there. 

I was completely entranced by their colour and beauty. I was also captivated by the integration of Buddhist teachings with such extraordinary handicraft. The threads of my life seemed to be coming together. I immediately wanted to learn this art, having no idea that my life would take a completely new trajectory from that point.

In the sewing room

Soon after, I found a teacher – and then another – and set my life in a whole new direction. I entered a full-time traditional apprenticeship with a Tibetan master. Working alongside several young Tibetan women who didn’t speak any English, day in and day out for four years, I learned to stitch like the Tibetans and create these vibrant sacred images.

People often imagine that thangkas are created in a solemn and meditative environment. Perhaps in some places that is true. But my own experience in a fabric thangka workshop – as well as what I saw among thangka painters in Dharamsala – is something much more integrated and natural and seamless. 

“The makers are not detached from worldly life but rather, channel all the energy and vivacity of worldly life into the creation of beautiful supports for spiritual practice.”

Leslie Rinchen-Wongmo, Textile artist

In the tsemkhang or sewing room, I sat around a big table with eight to 10 young Tibetans. Conversation was lively: gossip, laughter, camaraderie. 

We listened alternately to traditional Tibetan folk music and to dance tunes by Madonna and Michael Jackson. Butter tea and Tibetan cookies (sometimes the offerings left from a recent ritual in the temple) were served mid-afternoon. It was a joyful, friendly, relaxed environment. 

My Tibetan was pretty good, but not good enough to keep up with active group conversations, so sometimes I retreated into my own thoughts and sat quietly as I stitched.

Practice, practice, practice

We worked as a team on large projects. Genla (teacher) Dorjee Wangdu selected pieces of the design that were appropriate for each student’s level of skill. He transferred a section of the design to silk and handed it to an apprentice with instructions as to what colour and line weight to use. 

We sat on cushions around a big table – or, when appropriate, at one of the many treadle sewing machines in the workshop – and worked on our assigned pieces. When we’d finished, we returned to Genla for comment and for our next assignment.

The teaching method was straightforward: learn while doing. Working on big projects like this allowed us to get lots of repeated practice on each step.

“When I finally learned to embroider eyes, I spent a year practising only eyes.”

Leslie Rinchen-Wongmo, Textile artist

The time-consuming nature of creating these patchwork thangkas has always made them significantly rarer than painted thangkas. For this reason, they are considered by Tibetans to be especially precious.

East meets West

During my apprenticeship, I learned to create traditional images out of silk. However, I soon realised my colour sense was different from that of the Tibetans – slightly more muted, with more jewel tones and fewer primary colours. 

I also leaned toward simplified backgrounds and highlighting the central figure. This was partially due to aesthetic preference and partly because these thangkas take so long to produce that simplification was essential if I was ever to finish anything.

Over the years, I began to combine the traditional techniques I’d learned in my apprenticeship with inkjet printing and machine quilting, to create fabric portraits of real people in the Himalayan Buddhist world. I feel a mysterious kinship with Tibetans and their culture so, even in my non-traditional, non-thangka work, I play with imagery from that part of the world.

“As I incorporate new fabrics and machine quilting into my sacred works, evolving the traditional thangka form, I take care to respect and honour the qualities of the sacred images themselves.”

Leslie Rinchen-Wongmo, Textile artist

Developing my style

My ‘hybrid pieces’ fall broadly into two categories. First, traditional figures in quilted and/or printed surroundings (with idealised images of enlightened beings rendered in traditional Tibetan appliqué), such as Chenrezig and All In This Together. The figures are stitched by hand and their form is true to tradition, but the backgrounds and borders are machine quilted and sometimes embellished with printed words. 

In the second category, I’ve departed from traditional imagery and used a combination of quilting, printing and Tibetan appliqué techniques to create fabric portraits based on photos taken by friends. 

The first of this type was Three Mongolians. I became inspired when I saw a photo taken by a friend while on an architectural study tour of Mongolia. I was still in my apprenticeship learning to make fabric thangkas. I fell in love with the three figures in the photo and noticed they were wearing clothes that were made of the same satin I was learning to use to make thangkas. 

I immediately imagined these figures in fabric, but ten years passed before I got my hands on the photo and was able to make this completely hand-stitched piece. I projected the photo onto a wall and traced its outlines and the lines on the people’s faces. As I stitched those faces, I was very nervous and uncertain about how they might turn out. 

I had no idea whether it would be successful and was happily surprised by the result. For me, these three characters remain in perpetual lively conversation, and I know they bring great joy to the woman who ultimately bought the piece. Faces Of Pilgrimage and Pool Of Light incorporate photos by a dear friend, Diane Barker, whose photographs of Tibetan nomads can be seen in her book, Portraits of Tibet. With Diane’s permission, I printed her photos and applied hand-stitched fabric renderings of the figures onto the photo-printed fabric. This brings the figures to life as if they’re emerging from the photo.

Healing stitch

I started stitching a Medicine Buddha when my mother was in treatment for cancer, and many friends and loved ones were encountering health problems and loss. Each stitch was dedicated to their well-being.

When my mother recovered, I paused the work as I’d become indecisive about the background. I didn’t feel like moving forward with my original design but I wasn’t quite sure how to change it. I put the completed Buddha figure aside for a while to ponder and ended up leaving it undone for several years.

I finally returned to it during the early days of the Covid-19 pandemic while we were all sheltering at home. The world clearly needed healing, and our interconnection was so tangible at that time.

“Spurred by the global pandemic to return to this thangka, I felt like the clouds and mountains wanted to offer the whole earth to the Buddha for healing.”

Leslie Rinchen-Wongmo, Textile artist

I became acutely conscious of global interconnection. The phrase ‘we’re all in this together’ kept coming to mind. 

At the same time, I was aware that different people were experiencing significantly different impacts from the shared crisis – depending on their work, health, race, socio-economic conditions, as well as whether they live alone or with others.

The virus interacted with imbalances at our roots. Tibetan medical practices are based on the premise that disease arises from physical imbalances caused by the mental poisons of ignorance, attachment and aversion. True healing must, therefore, be grounded in spiritual transformation. 

Buddhas are referred to as great physicians because they possess the compassion, wisdom and skilful means to diagnose and treat the delusions that lie at the root of all suffering.

One world, many voices

I reached out to friends all around the world asking how they would say, ‘We’re all in this together’ in their languages. I printed their responses on strips of cotton and created a border of their words, surrounding the Buddha with voices from around the world – 28 languages in all – expressing the unifying truth that we’re all in this beautiful, muddy mess together. 

It was deeply gratifying. Alone in my home studio, I felt like friends around the world were collaborating with me.

Many offered versions of ‘we’re all in the same boat’. This reminded me of the traditional Buddhist metaphor comparing the cycle of lives to an ocean, and our human body to a boat that can cross this ocean of suffering to the other shore of clarity and freedom. 

I printed, stitched, and quilted the words into a watery border representing the ocean of samsara in which our diverse experiences arise. Below the Buddha, I included a prayer from the great Buddhist commentator Shantideva.

The thangka quilt All In This Together has been travelling around the United States for two years in the Sacred Threads travelling exhibition.

“May the frightened cease to be afraid and all those bound be freed.

May the powerless find power and all beings strive to benefit one other.

May I be a guard for those without protection, a guide for those who journey,and a boat, a bridge or passage for those desiring the further shore.

May I be the doctor, nurse and medicine for all who are ailing in this world.

May the pain of every living creature be completely cleared away.”

Shantideva, Buddhist commentator

Documenting tradition

Early in my apprenticeship, I realised I was uniquely positioned to write a book about Tibetan appliqué thangkas. There are no books on this art form in any language, just a few articles and a paragraph or two in books about other Tibetan arts. 

As an English speaker with uncommon access to a little-known precious tradition, I felt a responsibility and a debt of gratitude to my teachers to document the form. It felt like a life assignment that I would need to fulfil one day.

I really don’t love writing – for many years I preferred making art over writing about it. Then, for another several years, I thought I needed to get some formal education in art history so that I could trace the art form’s origins and speak on it authoritatively. I looked into advanced degrees but was discouraged by a couple of professors from taking that path.

Finally, I realised my direct experience was the most accessible and interesting way to approach the topic. 

I started writing my memories of apprenticeship: of the tsemkhang or sewing workshop, of life in Dharamsala, and of my experience making specific thangkas. The story gradually took shape over the next few years and was published as Threads of Awakening: An American Woman’s Journey into Tibet’s Sacred Textile Art, in 2022.

I’m proud that I actually wrote and published a book that documents and honours the tradition I inherited. After two decades abroad, I now live in southern California near the beach with my three cats and enough fabric to last several lifetimes – but never enough for the next project.

I’m now in a period of transition, open to daily inspiration and listening for clues as to what I’ll create next.