You might think such extensive mash-ups could lead to art that overwhelms, but that’s hardly the case. April expertly balances colour and composition to create cohesive works that are surprisingly neat at first glance. Even upon close inspection, April’s layers of texture and pattern seamlessly merge and often surprise the eye.

In addition to offering us a look into her process and favourite things, April also shares how renowned UK textile artists helped her discover the power of simple stitches and inspired her to let go of her need for control. She explains how Constance Howard and others have taught her that self-expression doesn’t have to be complicated when it comes to stitchwork. And we think you’ll agree.

Apron strings

April Sproule: My earliest memory of making something with textiles is making an apron with my maternal grandmother, Grandma Ollie, when I was seven years old. She was a tiny woman who lived in a small house filled with things she had made. She loved to sew, knit and paint.

I remember carefully cutting out the apron on her kitchen table and sewing it on her portable Singer sewing machine. Her patience was infinite as she taught me those brand-new skills. I was amazed we had made something useful out of seemingly nothing with a scrap of fabric and some thread.

Around the same time my paternal grandmother, Grandma Petersen, began teaching me to do hand sewing and stitching. She taught me how to cut old clothing into squares using a cardboard template. Those hand-pieced squares would later become a quilt top. She also taught me hand embroidery and lace making.

I have very fond memories of being sequestered away in one of their homes on rainy winter days happily stitching away for hours. It’s no wonder sewing and stitching are now like breathing to me. They are something I have always done, and those basic skills would go through many transformations in years to follow. Back then, I had no idea how those early experiences would impact my life.

Textile artist inspiration

During high school, I participated in a work study programme that involved writing a business plan and starting my first little business. I set about making a variety of leather goods, clothing and bags to sell at local shops and galleries.

After learning the technical skills I badly needed, at the San Francisco School of Fashion Design, I worked for several different US and Canadian manufacturers. My area of expertise was new product development and production management for companies making leather goods, accessories and clothing. Since 2001, I’ve been a full-time studio artist working as both a designer and workshop facilitator.

In 2011, I developed a commercial collection of 25 stencil designs inspired by Japanese Katagami stencils for painting on fabric. I began using the stencils for all sorts of things while teaching my painting techniques to others. I started making upcycled clothing for myself and linen bags to sell with the stencils, and then I added hand stitching to them. The stencilling and hand stitching worked well together. Next came a collection of hand embroidery patterns and kits in 2015.

Shortly after that, I started seeing online images from UK textile artists who were doing amazing work using hand stitching. I was especially inspired by Mandy Pattullo, Claire Wellesley-Smith, Louise Baldwin, Cas Holmes and Aideen Canning. These incredible women not only eradicated the notion of creating perfect little stitches, but they used stitching in such an expressive and expansive manner. Theirs was a much freer and innovative style of hand stitch that appealed to me on many levels.

I admired those artists’ ability to move away from the expected and express their own unique, wild and wonderful styles.

It was as if a door had opened, and anything was possible on the other side of that threshold.

April Sproule, Textile artist

Freestyle stitching

My new norm became letting go of the need for control and embracing the idea of self-expression.

Upon further investigation, everything led back to the work and influence of Constance Howard. I pored over her books, and my entire perspective on hand stitching changed tremendously. I didn’t necessarily change the stitches I used, but I became mindful of how those stitches were used. One simple stitch could be used in 20 or more different variations.

When I developed my collection of hand embroidery patterns, I thought using lots of different complex or unusual stitches added more interest.

Constance Howard took a different approach. It was more about starting with one simple stitch and then tweaking it, contorting it, and reimagining all its possibilities.

Now as I go back and look through Constance’s books, I especially love seeing her illustrations. These days I see hand stitching as another form of mark making. And as I switch back and forth between pen and ink illustration and my hand stitching, each medium provides inspiration for the other.

I studied Constance Howard’s approach and realised the complexity of stitches wasn’t as important as I’d first thought.

April Sproule, Textile artist

Natural inspirations

I am inspired by many things, but my greatest inspiration comes from nature. Nature provides me with a never-ending treasure trove of ideas. It could be insects, botanical specimens or even diatoms and other microscopic images that pique my interest and beg me to take a closer look.

I live in an astonishingly diverse beautiful area in northern California. In just a few minutes, I can be exploring tide pools along our rugged coastline or trek deep into a Redwood forest where rays of sunlight pierce the thick canopy of branches and illuminate the areas below in a spectacular display.

Things that are in a state of erosion or decomposition are much more interesting than a perfect specimen. And surface design with textiles, pen and ink illustration, printmaking, collage, and watercolour are all mediums that supply me with lots of ideas and inspiration.

I’m interested in capturing the essence of my subject matter, rather than in replicating it in a photorealistic way.

April Sproule, Textile artist

Creative sketches

My work is developed in different ways, but it usually begins with a feeling or mood I want to convey. Early in the morning, I often work in a little handmade book where I experiment with different ways of combining paper, fabric and stitch in new and interesting ways that can lead to larger projects. 

Often my work begins with what I call a production sketch. It’s just a vague idea and a starting point, but it’s a very important step because it takes what only exists in my mind into the physical world where it becomes tangible.

Introducing colour

Next comes colour, which is one of the most valuable design elements. Colour is what first attracts or repels viewers to our work. I usually start with white fabric or pieces on which I’ve applied some sort of surface design techniques.

Scale, the overall finished size of the piece, comes next. Are the details going to be lost if a person sees it from a distance? Those choices inform all my decisions on which mediums to use.

I’ve learned to worked much more intuitively. All I need is one idea to get started. It could be the colour green and then everything develops from there.

Every piece I make takes me on a journey of learning and exploration.

April Sproule, Textile artist

Figuring things out

I feel incredibly fortunate because I rarely get really stuck on a piece and give up on it. I am good at problem solving and figuring things out. It seems like a waste of time, energy and materials to give up on a piece and not finish it.

When I start a new project that is very involved, I clean up my studio and put everything in its place. Initially clutter can be a distraction, but that’s only in the beginning. Once my ideas start to flow, it is total chaos. I don’t clean up until the project is completely done.

Mixing things up

I use a wide variety of mixed media on fabric and paper. I especially enjoy working with dyes, paints, stencilling, printing, pen and ink, cyanotypes, and hand or machine stitch. Learning to do all of these things has been so much fun!

I’ve done lots of shibori dyeing with Procion dyes and indigo over the years. It’s so exciting to unwrap the cloth and see what has happened. And now I have all those fabrics to choose from and add to my textile art.

Using paints and inks on fabric and paper has been a great addition to my work. I use textile paints that don’t alter the hand of the fabric, and I’m pretty picky about that. I also love using walnut ink, sumi ink and India inks. Sometimes I just sit and draw stripes or dots with a pen or brush. Then it’s fun finding new ways to incorporate those pieces into my work.

I am also experimenting a lot with different papers. I won’t use papers that are either too delicate or too hard to stitch through. I still have a lot to learn about different types of paper, but that’s part of the research and excitement of learning something new.

Favourite fabrics

My absolute favourite fabrics to work with are linen, cotton sateen and silk. I use both vintage and new fabrics, but many of the vintage fabrics are just wonderful to work with. The linen is like butter to stitch through, and I love the texture of it. 

My next favourite fabric is cotton sateen, as the weave gives it a subtle sheen. It has a very nice hand, dyes beautifully and it is really easy to stitch through. And silk has long been a favourite of mine. I don’t ever use fusibles on it, as that would ruin the hand of the fabric. I have lots of silk left over from having a custom sewing business for 10 years. Now, I’m glad I saved all those fabrics.

Threads & stitches

For threads, I mostly use DMC cotton along with some hand-dyed threads. I‘d like to try linen thread but haven’t yet. My favourite stitches are the running stitch, stem stitch, straight stitches, rice stitch, couching, and the versatile blanket stitch. I also like the cretan stitch a lot, because it can be used in lots of different ways.

I took Sue Stone’s Exploring Texture and Pattern course in 2018. After finishing all the exercises, my style of stitching changed from using more complex decorative stitches to using very basic stitches in different forms and combinations.

My needle has become like my pen, and my hand stitching is now another form of mark making.

April Sproule, Textile artist

A few basic tools

I enjoy using good quality tools that last a long time, so I don’t have to replace them.

Really sharp scissors are very important. I have embroidery scissors, appliqué scissors, regular scissors, paper scissors and huge shears for cutting heavy fabrics. But mostly I just need a sharp little pair of embroidery scissors for cutting threads.

Fabric markers are also important. I use Frixion markers and have never had a problem with them. I like that I get nice clean lines with them. And of course, good needles make everything so much easier. I use mostly size 10 embroidery needles with a nice sharp point.

One of the greatest things about hand embroidery is you only need a few basic tools.

I do almost all of my actual stitching at night. I use a large floor model OttLite, and I could not sew without it. I usually do hand stitching for three hours or so every night. It’s become a daily practice I really enjoy.

My iPad is my favourite design tool. I use an app called Adobe Fresco for my illustrations. I start a piece, photograph it, and then draw mock up stitches on the photo to help with design options and decisions. I can add 10 layers of stitching, eliminate what I don’t like, AirDrop the image to my phone, and use it for reference as I stitch. It’s just like magic!

I think one of the best things you can do as an artist is try things outside of your comfort zone.

April Sproule, Textile artist

Silver linings

The biggest challenges I’ve faced as a professional artist were Covid related. From 2001-20, I operated a longarm quilting business, sold my wares online and as a vendor at shows, and I taught workshops on techniques I’d developed over the years. 2019 was an especially busy year for me. Then Covid reared its ugly head, and every single upcoming event I had scheduled was cancelled.

I decided to make the most of this unexpected free time by focusing on my art and volunteering for different textile art groups who support artists and textile art instructors. That gift of time gave me a chance to re-evaluate what I was doing and make some positive changes.

I closed my longarm quilting business and decided to stop vending at shows and started applying for grants. In 2019, I received a grant from a local arts foundation, and in 2020, I received a business grant from the state. Collectively, those funds made it possible for me to gain the technical training and equipment I needed to start teaching online.

I aim to spend half my time working and the other half creating art. I’m not there yet, but I will be some day. It’s also much easier to share what I do with others and help others achieve their creative goals.

I’ve found that pushing myself helps to grow my skills and proficiency.

My biggest artistic challenge was making the portraits in Sue Stone’s Stitch Your Story online course. I knew what a fabulous teacher Sue was, and it was really hard, but I learned so much along the way. I was really inspired by the work of the others in the course.

Designing my creative space

After leasing a commercial building for five years for my business and studio, I finally had a studio built behind my house in 2006. I needed room for my 14ft longarm quilting machine, space to teach my surface design workshops and a workspace for me to create my textile art.

I had lots of experience designing textile art projects, but designing a building was an entirely different experience. Luckily, I found a great designer and very good contractors to work with me.

The 24ft x 40ft (7.3m x 21.1m) two-story structure has nice high ceilings. Downstairs is my wet studio where I do my messy stuff like dyeing and fabric painting. I included a 6ft-wide stainless steel sink from a place that carried used restaurant equipment, and it has been a useful addition. There’s also lots of storage for art supplies and other stuff.

Upstairs is one large room where I sectioned off a full bathroom and walk-in closet. The kitchen area has cabinets that hold art supplies, and it was designed to accommodate appliances, but I would rather have the space.

One of my requests was to have lots of natural light. But I also needed wall space for art display and a large design wall. The designer was able to plan accordingly, so I have windows on three sides and plenty of wall space in between.

I had a 4ft x 8ft cutting table built with storage cabinets and shelving below. I knew my needs for this space would change over the years, so one of the best things I did was to outfit all my heavy equipment, like the cutting table and longarm machine, with heavy duty casters so I can easily move things around by myself. That has been a tremendous help.

The building is quite tall due to the high ceilings on each level, so I had a manual dumb waiter added to transport heavy items, like sewing machines, up to the second floor. We’ve had lots of great workshops and retreats here, and that dumb waiter has gotten a lot of use over the years.

Every morning I wake up really early, grab a strong cup of coffee, and head over to the studio. When time permits, I sit and draw for an hour in front of my big window before I start my day. I’m grateful for every moment I spend here. My family has always been very supportive of what I do, and none of this would’ve been possible without them.

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’.

Her art is a visual journal of her life, capturing moments, processing memory and embracing imperfection. 

Ailish is influenced by the philosophy behind Kintsugi – the Japanese art of mending broken pottery with gold to highlight its history. And rather than aiming for a polished final piece, Ailish explores how the act of creation can enable transformation and ‘mending’ to take place.

Her multi-disciplinary work is deeply intimate. By using personal objects and memorabilia in her work, she ensures her portraits are not simply representations. They also offer a tangible connection to the people and stories they portray.

Ailish Henderson: I make sense of the world and my own experience through a juxtaposition of the written word and visual, artistic methods. 

I am finally coming to terms with what ‘artistic practice’ means for me. It’s not always a finished painting or an embroidery – it’s the story of me. Art is my life rather than about a place or a setting.

“I need to have a story or an experience in order to create.”

Ailish Henderson, Art textiles practitioner

Celebrating flaws

My work is heart driven. It’s made with the Japanese art of Kintsugi in mind. Kintsugi literally means ‘golden repair’. Instead of throwing away broken pottery, a precious metal like gold or silver is used to repair and enhance the broken pieces. 

Having been exposed to a pattern of traumatic events from childhood through to adulthood, I realised I needed to find a way of making sense of big questions and issues. This led to my study of the concept of ‘repair’ and investigating how we can potentially present our emotional repair in a textile conversation.

In Kintsugi, flaws are celebrated rather than trying to make a broken thing perfect. This idea has become an inspiration to me. I’m analysing what this practice can mean within the sphere of emotional repair. 

I also find that it’s soothing to see something come into existence via my hands. It’s not a final repair or cure but a ‘mending’ which keeps me going. 

Exploring these concepts either openly or discreetly through my teaching and writing practice is now my life’s work. This way, my audience can connect with this form of ‘mending’ too. 

“I’m inspired by a memory, a life experience or even a scar.”

Ailish Henderson, Art textiles practitioner

Inspired by life

My art is my visual diary. I am honest in my practice – what you see is what you get.  I’ve always had a reputation for wearing my heart on my sleeve. I tell my story with all of its emotion as well as the narrative line. 

Unhappy occasions provide as much artistic fuel as happy ones. In fact, sometimes more so. I’ve also used written pieces of prose to inspire imagery. I draw from these sources, creating a simple vignette, which gradually forms a retold narrative using textiles. 

I explore how those stories can become tactile.

The self-portrait Pistachio Smiles was inspired by a lone break in Paris. It’s stitched on a base of Irish linen (from my homeland) and created with many sentimental precious materials, such as my own clothing. The marriage of its inspiration and the hand embroidered fibres make it literally part of me. 

Alternatively, I might find an old photograph that triggers ideas. It intrigues me how the viewer simply sees the image for what it is, while I hold the unique knowledge or key behind the photograph. I love using that knowledge to extend the narrative into a stitched piece.

Drawing with a needle

Once I have my inspiration, my fabric becomes my canvas. The type of work I am doing influences my process, but for my self-portraits I sketch out the basics with pencil on the fabric.

I love working in a sketchbook. I like to make my own by stringing together odd leaves of paper or other memorabilia to work as paper. Each one is unique and my sketchbook might become the artwork itself. 

I might paint certain areas of the self-portrait. I’ll use watercolour or gouache paints as well as fabric dye. I am not precious about the type of paints I use as my self-portraits are not designed to be machine washed. 

I use a lot of drawing, collage, mixed media and paint. 

I appreciate the honesty hand stitching provides. My hand work doesn’t have to be intricate, and at times, it may be primitive. Yet I’m guiding its tension and I’m in control.

Although I adore my free machine embroidery foot, hand embroidery will always be my first love and I don’t do much machine stitch.

“My needle is my pen, whether I am stitching by hand or machine.” 

Ailish Henderson, Art textiles practitioner

Materials that matter

If I’m making a collage piece, I gather my inspiration and the materials I want to use. I have many large, lidded clear boxes filled with personal memorabilia that I treasure. By using these boxes, it’s easy to see what is inside.  

The memorabilia is usually directly connected with the imagery. For example, it may be a scan of a letter from a loved one, or some lace that they’ve given me. I use it all, even receipts from travel experiences or the odd chocolate packet. Thankfully, I have a large studio to house all of this ‘use one day’ fuel. 

I’ve always used materials which mattered. I find it hard to function creatively with synthetic fabrics. I love quality, so I’m naturally drawn to cotton, silk and wool. This is easily done in a sustainable way. I collect vintage items that no one else wants.

All the bits I want to use are collected, chopped and stitched on the fabric to form the portrait. However, as I work in a variety of mediums, this is just one way I develop my pieces.

Inspiring Stitch Club

Although I’ve long been known for my stitched collage portraits, creating my Stitch Club workshop, about capturing the essence of a person through stitch, was the start of a shift in direction. I’ve begun to investigate my own ancestry and think about where I fit in this life. 

These are big questions when we are talking about an artistic context. I’ve started to present my own background in greater depth and explore how it could be translated to others. 

I examine two lines of thought in my Stitch Club project. 

One is about looking at a family member whom we might not know well. For example, my dad’s family died before I was born. When I look at my dad’s family photographs, although I know them and feel connected with them, it’s not an emotional connection. This sparked my interest. How can we depict someone we do not know? 

Then, I looked at my mother’s mother – I used to stick to her like glue! She died recently, aged 99, so her loss feels very direct. Although in this instance I can create with knowledge, I wanted to challenge myself to think around this. How could I create art by looking at her qualities and the things she owned rather than simply representing her image?

Of course, in the workshop Stitch Club members will dive into their own personal adaptations. Their feedback will add to my own ongoing narrative projects. 

“We all can learn and be nourished by each other.”  

Ailish Henderson, Art textiles practitioner

Early inspiration

I was born in Northern Ireland at the height of the Northern Ireland Conflict (the Troubles). We moved back to the UK when I was quite young, so my family could offer full-time support to my mother’s parents. I was home-schooled until I reached sixteen and my focus shifted to the arts. 

Art has always been an integral part of my being. I didn’t aspire to become an artist. I just was. There was never that moment some have experienced when they feel they have gone from being an amateur crafter to being an artist.

I was always encouraged to be creative as a child. My Scottish grandmother on my father’s side was a painter, and on my mother’s side there were clear links to dressmaking and textiles.

My mother made her own clothes with Liberty print fabric which has since become the brainchild behind my digitally printed fabric collection called You Gave Me Liberty. 

She was forever trying to get a needle in my hand but I was a determined character and avidly rebelled. In fact, I didn’t pick up a needle until I went to college to study fine art.

In my early years, I was definitely inclined toward fine art. Every trip or holiday was filled with sketching time. Over the years, I accumulated a lot of sketchbooks and paintings, which I honestly thought would simply be stored away for sentimental value.

However, I always felt there was something missing. One day a textiles tutor happened to be covering my fine art class. From that moment I was hooked.

Discovering textiles

I had always thought of textiles as a patience-driven craft. Yet my tutor Julia Triston’s subtle vision sparked something inside of me. She showed me techniques that included fabric but were less taxing on the embroidery side. She revealed what textiles could be, and her patience and insight are something for which I will be ever thankful.

When I discovered textiles in college, I suddenly looked at fine art with new eyes. How could I translate my sketchbook and painting skills into a tactile form? So my textile methods reflect that ‘from-sketch-to-stitch’ concept.

My early practice revolved around utilising techniques with as little stitch precision as possible. I worked intuitively and creatively using my fine art brain. I have to confess I even used a glue gun at times when I didn’t know how to stitch a certain way. As I became more proficient, my work naturally changed.

Developing skills

When I left college after first studying fine art and then textiles, I felt lost. I remember panicking. Where would I go from here?

I ended up doing my City & Guilds Level 3 with Julia Triston and Tracy Franklin at their Stitchbusiness classes in Durham, which was a brilliant learning curve. I learned many textile and art-related skills, some of which I now teach.

After this training, I felt stronger and more focused. I knew deep within myself that textile art was something I had to pursue. I just had to make it work.

I began getting myself involved in teaching and lecturing to groups, such as branches of The Embroiderers’ Guild. The Knit and Stitch Show also took me on to provide classes, which opened up my work vision further.

I decided I wanted to continue learning and feeding myself with current and contemporary practices to open up my own practice, so I began studying for a BA in Textiles. 

Although I entered university level education later than most, my reputation earned through my own practice and teaching worked in tandem with my course. Teaching and other ways of working can potentially contribute to your creative vision.

“If you are an aspiring textile artist, I’d encourage you to think outside of the normal ‘job’ options.” 

Ailish Henderson, Art textiles practitioner

Follow your heart

During my degree studies, I was pushed to take more risks in my artistic practice. However, by the time I began my degree, I already knew who I was as an artist – so I found this mentally taxing. 

The work I loved most from my time studying is my stitched collage portrait narrative work. This work got the fewest marks, yet funnily enough it has been my most successful work outside of my degree.

“Be open to change and renewal, but always enjoy what you do – creating should never be a trial.”  

Ailish Henderson, Art textiles practitioner

Pass it on

I’d encourage you to always make with your heart. Art without heart lacks magic. Let the inspiration and the creation light you up. If it doesn’t, leave it.

Use materials you have a connection with. For example, memorabilia, letters, photos and passed down textile materials such as lace, old tablecloths or suchlike.

Don’t be afraid to use what’s precious. These treasured things will only die with you, so use it now and give it a new life. You never know, that cherished napkin you kept so carefully in a drawer may end up on a gallery wall someday.  

Coming home to myself

For many years, there was a period when I was teaching, writing and, I have to admit it, working off the back of my previous artworks, without feeling any need to make more. I hated this time and I felt as if I’d lost my way. 

I came to realise that my art is more than another stitched collage portrait, it is in everything I do. 

I am never without a pen or pencil in my hand. I write poems or I sketch odd little things just to make me happy. I write articles about art and I review other people’s art. In other words, I began to realise that I am an artist, I had just missed the point of what the term could be.

The last few years have been filled with exhibitions, losing my cherished grandmother, and all the noise that comes from writing and publishing a book. Currently I am working on some new teaching projects, as well as developing ideas for a second book. 

Importantly, I am taking time to contemplate on what my narrative future might be.

Despite having no formal training, Emily found that hand stitching gave her the control she craved. Not knowing the ‘rules’ liberated her to do whatever worked – and this unlocked endless creative possibilities.

Emily’s artwork often features recycled materials like paper and plastic, emphasising the vulnerable side of life. She is inspired by people and places close to her heart, whether that’s a friend, a family member or wildlife encountered on daily walks. 

While Emily describes her creations as scruffy and unfinished, the dynamic energy of her stitches captures a fleeting moment, inviting you to imagine what happens next.

Emily Tull: I am a thread painter and I stitch wildlife and portraits. My work is inspired by fragmented, broken and ripped things. This gives a sense of fragility to my art. 

I view my artworks as paintings or drawings. They are called thread paintings because it’s the thread and stitching that I’m interested in. I stitch into wallpaper and plastic as well as fabric.

I focus on portraits, predominantly of family and friends. Since 2020, there has been a shift; nowadays there tends to be more connection to the sitters within my artworks. This could be through the use of particular fabrics or a title that hints at events in their lives.

I’m also interested in wildlife, mainly British species and especially ones that are endangered. I am particularly inspired by the wildlife I come across on walks at my local beach and nature reserve. 

For example, fish are stunning creatures and they can be overlooked. This is why I loved highlighting their beauty in my Stitch Club workshop. It was fun creating an exercise using shiny fabrics, which I don’t often use. 

Recently I have been working on a series of birds showing the love and hate sides to their lives. I love recreating those brief moments that we might glimpse, but not necessarily pay attention to.

“I consider my artwork as part of a story for someone else to complete.”

Emily Tull, Thread painter

Sparking inspiration

Inspiration comes from many sources including artists such as Frank Auerbach, Lucien Freud and Francis Bacon, the natural world, curiosity cabinets and Egyptian tomb paintings. I might be inspired by a piece of fabric, lyrics from a song, or a line of poetry. 

With portraits, I usually start with a title. This often gives me an idea of who the sitter should be and suggests what materials I might use.

Depending on the subject I’ll occasionally work from life, but generally, I work from a reference image. I use my sketchbook to plan out the pose and which fabrics I’ll use. I think about what events in the subject’s life I want to reference and how to do that. 

I might do a little drawing to decide on the shapes to cut the material. If it’s a more complex design, I might lay out all the components and write an inspirational story around it.

I start the making process with a rough sketch. I typically attach the background fabric first, unless it’s being used as an outline and then it will go on last. I use muslin gauze as the basis for the skin, pinning it on as a large piece before cutting away pieces.

After I’ve layered any fabric, I begin drawing – nothing too detailed – and then hand stitching. I always begin with the eye and work outwards from there, in no particular order. I work in quite an organic way. 

Creating wildlife isn’t very different. It all depends on what fabrics I am using. Sometimes I do the drawing on a thin cotton fabric which I then cut out and pin onto the base fabric. Again, I stitch the eyes in first and then continue out until the whole image is complete.

Mining your stash

I’m very aware of what fabrics and materials I use, particularly as so much of my artwork is about nature and its plight. 

I try to source most of my threads, fabrics and wallpaper from charity shops, or I use recycled materials. I often cut up old clothing for my artworks, but occasionally I have to buy new.

I’m a hoarder and I’ll save scraps left over from past artworks. These are invaluable especially if I’m layering up fabrics for a background.

“Go through your fabric stash every time you start something new and try to use at least one item from it.”

Emily Tull, Thread painter

Stitching paper

My interest in wallpaper is partly inspired by sustainability and also because I’ve always enjoyed looking at layers of peeling or ripped paper. I love the sense of history and personality it gives a building. 

I first introduced wallpaper in my fabric-based work, using floral materials against contrasting patterns and colours. Now I use actual paper to stitch on. 

I prefer to use vintage wallpaper as it is sturdier and has less of a slippery surface for the needle. Sometimes I only stitch the eyes, giving only a hint of the person with a silhouette cut out of a contrasting paper to the background.

“Paper is challenging to stitch, but that’s what I like most – pushing the boundaries of what I can stitch.”

Emily Tull, Thread painter

Freedom in simplicity

Hand stitching is my only technique. I use a basic stitch which I vary in size and layer. If the thread knots, I leave it and stitch it in. This adds texture, especially in wildlife pieces.

Often the stitching tension is manipulated when I work on a sculptural piece. Pulling in the material tight helps create the three-dimensional effect – as seen in my mermaid purses artwork, Tangled. 

“My lack of training has given me the freedom to manipulate hand stitching without being restricted by the ‘right way’ to do it.”

Emily Tull, Thread painter

Inspiration from frustration

I originally trained as a painter. I’ve always experimented with different techniques but I reached a point where I’d become frustrated. I realised that the kind of finish I wanted to create was never going to be achieved with my style of painting. 

One day, while stitching hessian onto a willow frame, I had a light-bulb moment and decided to stitch a face onto the fabric. I drew my eye on a scrap of muslin and then pinned it onto the hessian. 

I cobbled together a few threads and hand-stitched a basic eye over my drawing. I remember thinking the result was awful but I’d enjoyed the process. 

Drawing – whether it’s a quick sketch or very detailed – is my favourite technique. Drawing with threads reminded me of using coloured pencils. I bought some more thread colours and went on to make three male portraits. 

Paint versus stitch

When I first dabbled with hand embroidery, it was the control that I had in mark making that made me think this could be the medium for me. My background was oil painting with a palette knife, which although quick does give a very different effect. 

Even after 16 years I still struggle with how long stitching can take. However, the fine detail I can achieve, along with its painterly feel, outweighs my impatience. 

Because of the way I can use this painterly style of stitching, my subject matter has expanded compared to my painting days. Other benefits include being able to remove stitching easily and – apart from occasionally stabbing my finger – stitching is therapeutic.

I also find I’m not as precious with my artworks (unless I’m using expensive fabric) as I was with my paint. I have become looser and freer. I use sandpaper to rough up the surface and fray edges, and I rip up materials. 

My working week

As a freelance artist, no week is ever the same, as I work on projects in other mediums alongside my stitch art. 

If I’m working from home, the first hour is dedicated to emails and scheduling social media posts. If I am working on artworks, I aim to start work on them as early as possible in the day, especially as I only stitch during natural daylight hours. 

My evenings are often dedicated to admin, or planning and prepping. I often research multiple ideas at a time and can start the process many months before I have the opportunity to stitch them.

Research is one of my favourite parts of the process. I love learning about my subject matter in detail. Although sometimes it can take time to find what I’m looking for, I love the challenge of searching. 

“I tend to do a rough drawing with notes initially because I prefer to put the energy into the actual artwork.”

Emily Tull, Thread painter

Taking time out

I really enjoy working in different mediums and at very different scales. I work on community projects, including carnival builds and lantern parades, alongside my stitched artwork. 

Although it means I have periods away from stitching, I like to have a break from making my personal art. 

Social media definitely puts pressure on creatives to feel like they have to be producing work all the time and, unless you are feeling inspired, that is unhealthy. We are not machines and taking time out is refreshing. 

I like to spend time on the beach or a nature reserve where I feel relaxed and centred. I also like to go to places that inspire my art so it feels productive without pressure.

“It’s healthy for my soul to have time away and look at ideas with fresh eyes.”

Emily Tull, Thread painter

Look & look again

When I’m working on a new artwork and have decided on my reference image(s), I spend a few days carefully looking at the photograph, before I start making. 

Spending time observing helps your eyes hone in on the finer details. You’ll be surprised at the subtleties in colour that will appear. This will help inform your choice of fabric and threads.

“If you are using a reference image, my biggest tip is to keep looking at it.”

Emily Tull, Thread painter

Cultivate self-belief

I have always followed what interests me. I work in my own style of stitching, which comes naturally to me. Over time you’ll create your own shorthand of making. This is how you remain authentic to yourself.

Don’t be distracted by what other people are making or compare yourself to them. That can undermine your confidence and it’s easy to get caught up with a fashionable style.

“Believe in yourself – don’t try to be anyone else.”

Emily Tull, Thread painter

Constantly evolving

Over time, my work has developed from tomb paintings to ripped wallpaper and I’ve changed the materials that I’m stitching into. 

There’s now a blurring of the lines between portrait and wildlife. I’m creating portraits that include wildlife. This introduces another dimension to people’s personalities and it’s also an observation of mankind’s relationship with nature. 

It’s been good to bring together themes that started separately and it’s something I want to continue exploring. 

I also want to carry on experimenting with the surfaces that I can stitch into, both two-dimensionally, and three-dimensionally and also for installation displays.

Recently, I’ve been looking back, to move forward. I’ve been focusing on my oil paintings and craving the lumps of colours that would appear in my work. 

After all this time, I feel that I understand my process and I’ve got it to a level I’m happy with. Now I feel it’s time to see if I can create those lovely painterly lumps in stitch. How I do that we’ll have to see but I am looking forward to experimenting.

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.

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.

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.

Much of that early stitchwork was practical in nature, particularly to create clothing. As materials and techniques changed over time, distinctive cultural approaches to design, colour, and embellishment came to life

Textile art played an increasingly important role in expressing cultural histories, folklore, religious narratives, community organisation and family values. Thankfully, many of those textile traditions are alive and well.

Below is a list of books that literally takes you across time and geography. And you won’t have to buy a plane ticket! We start in North America with African American and Native American traditions. Then we head to the African continent, followed by a trek through Asian and Middle Eastern textile techniques. We even have a stop in Mexico.

All of these books feature gorgeous imagery and stories that are both breathtaking and inspirational. So, join us in celebrating the diversity of stitching across the globe.

The quilts of Gee’s Bend

The women of Gee’s Bend in southern Alabama (USA) have been creating vibrant quilts since the early 19^th century. Award-winning author Susan Goldman Rubin explores the history and culture of this fascinating group of women and their unique quilting traditions.

They are especially known for repurposing fabrics in remarkable ways, including old overalls, aprons, and bleached cornmeal sacks. Much to the women’s surprise, a selection of their quilts were featured in a travelling exhibition in 2002.

A New York Times critic reviewing that exhibition described their work as ‘eye-poppingly gorgeous and some of the most miraculous works of modern art America has ever produced’.

The quilts of Gee’s Bend by Susan Goldman Rubin (2017)
^{ISBN 9781419721311} 

Sewing and survival

This book offers a researched narrative based on original sources, diaries, personal letters and other notes highlighting Native American voices. Indigenous Americans have been sewing, weaving, making pottery and other crafts for thousands of years. But ongoing attacks on Native American cultures in the late 1800’s promoted a fascinating shift toward quilt making.

While quilting skills were forced on some women, others willingly took on the craft. It’s compelling to learn that quilting within the Native American culture continued to gain popularity to the point where quilts now serve as cornerstones of many Indigenous give-away traditions.

Author Teresa Wong expertly walks readers through this historical and artistic quilting evolution. Powerful narratives complement images of over 60 quilts, as well as images of significant historical events and portraits of artists and collectors.

The book is available from the author’s website and can be shipped to addresses in Canada, USA, Japan, EU, UK and Australia. The author donates $4 for every book sold to the American Indian College Fund.

Sewing and survival: Native American Quilts from 1880–2022 by Teresa Duryea Wong (2023)
^{Published by Third Floor Quilts}

Colour and creativity across a continent

Traditional handcrafted African textiles are sumptuous, intricate, and steeped in cultural significance. Readers will be introduced to an incredible range of handmade textile techniques found across the African continent.

These include the gorgeous strip weaves of the Ashanti and Ewe, lace weaves of the Yoruba, and mud cloths from Mali and West Africa. The book also explores Berber weaves from Morocco, beadwork from the Zulu, Xhosa, and Ndebele people, and the crocheted, embroidered, and feathered hats from Cameroon.

The book features over 570 colour photographs that complement in-depth information about the influences of religion, culture, trade, tradition, fashion and the changing role of women artists on African textile art. It ends with a guide to public African textile collections, as well as a glossary and suggestions for further reading.

African textiles: Colour and creativity across a continent by John Gillow (2016)
^{ISBN 9780500292211}

Sustainable textiles and mindful making

‘Kantha’ is believed to have originated from the Sanskrit word kontha, which means rags. It refers to both the style of running stitch, as well as the finished quilted cloth made from layers of cast-off fabric embroidered with threads pulled from old saris and dhotis.

Author Ekta Kaul explores this rich tradition through objects of extraordinary beauty that were created to be given as gifts or for use in life event rituals, such as marriage and childbirth. 

Steeped in the ethos of sustainability, emotional repair and mindful making, this book showcases inspiring interpretations of the kantha spirit and discusses creative techniques for readers to develop their own kantha. A dictionary of fundamental kantha stitches with supporting images and instructions is included.

Ekta Kaul grew up in India and trained at India’s National Institute of Design. She received a Masters in Textiles in the UK, and has lived in Edinburgh, Bath, Ahmedabad, Delhi and London. Ekta says living in so many vibrant cities provided a wonderful education in celebrating plurality of perspectives, helping to develop her unique creative style.

Kantha: Sustainable Textiles and Mindful Making by Ekta Kaul (2024)
^{ISBN 9781789940435}

Threads of awakening

When Leslie Rinchen-Wongmo set out to travel the world, little did she know she’d get sidetracked in a Himalayan sewing workshop. Ironically, that sidetrack proved to be her necessary life path.

Equal parts art book, memoir and spiritual travelogue, Leslie shares her experience as a Californian woman travelling to the seat of the Tibetan government-in-exile in India to manage an economic development fund, only to wind up sewing pictures of Buddha instead. 

Tibetans have been creating sacred images from pieces of silk for more than 500 years. Much rarer than paintings and sculptures, these stitched fabric thangkas are among Tibet’s finest artworks. Leslie reveals the unique stitches of an ancient needlework tradition, introduces the Buddhist deities, and shares insights into the compassion, interdependence and possibility they embody.

Leslie Rinchen-Wongmo is a textile artist, teacher and author. She offers an online hands-on apprentice program called Stitching Buddhas that bridges East and West, traditional and contemporary.

Threads of awakening: An American woman’s journey into Tibet’s sacred textile art by Leslie Rinchen-Wongmo (2022)
^{ISBN 9781647420932}

Hmong story cloths

The Hmong people from the country of Laos have a rich tradition of creating story cloths to document their history and cultural legacy. Subjects for the cloths include traditional life in Laos, the Hmong New Year, folk tales and neighbouring peoples.

The Hmong first began making story cloths during their time in refugee camps. Story cloths begin with selecting fabrics and outlining images onto a backing cloth. Fabrics are then cut into the various shapes and appliquéd using intricate satin stitches. Borders are then pieced together and hand stitched. 

This beautiful book features 48 vibrant story cloths that provide a comprehensive look into the makers’ lives and culture. Readers will also find personal stories and artefacts that make this a great book for both history buffs and textile artists.

Hmong story cloths: Preserving historical & cultural treasures by Linda Gerdner (2015)
^{ISBN 9780764348594}

The art of Korean textiles

Bojagi, sometimes called pojagi, is the traditional Korean art of making textile wrapping cloths from exquisitely patchworked fabrics. The careful arrangement of pieces of cloth allows the maker to build unique abstract compositions, which is why this technique often appeals to textile artists and quilters.

In this book, artist and author Youngmin Lee shares the history of this art form and its place in Korean culture. You’ll discover bojagi hand stitch techniques, seam finishes and decorative motifs through a variety of contemporary and beautifully-illustrated projects.

Youngmin Lee is a Korean-born textile artist and educator based in California, USA. In 2017, she founded the Korean Textile Tour, an educational trip for textile enthusiasts. Youngmin has exhibited in the USA and internationally, including at the De Young Open Exhibition, San Francisco, in 2023-2024.

Bojagi: The art of Korean textiles by Youngmin Lee (2024)
^{ISBN 9781789941838}

Shibori for textile artists

Shibori is one of the world’s richest textile traditions. While commonly associated with Japan, the technique has been long used in Africa, India and South America. In this practical guide, textile artist Janice Gunner shows how to combine all geographic shibori methods with contemporary techniques to create stunning textiles bursting with rich intricate patterns and bold colour.

Various creative approaches are clearly explained and illustrated, including tied and stitched designs, folding, clamping, pleating and binding. Simple and safe instructions for a range of dyeing techniques are also provided.

Janice Gunner is an award-winning stitched textile artist, quilter and author. She is a renowned expert on Japanese textile art and was recently awarded The Quilters’ Guild of the British Isles Education and Travel Bursary.

Shibori for textile artists by Janice Gunner (2018)
^{ISBN 9781849945301}

The fabric of life

From the intricate embroidery on a Palestinian wedding dress to the complex iconography on an Afghan war rug, textiles from the Middle East and Central Asia reflect their makers’ diverse beliefs, practices and experiences. This book explores the significance and beauty of textiles from across the vast area and is arranged thematically to enable cross-regional comparisons of the function and symbolic meaning of textiles.

Each chapter focuses on key life events, such as childhood, marriage, ceremony, religion and belief, and homestead. Featured textiles include garments, hats and headdresses, mosque curtains and prayer mats, floor coverings, tent hangings, hand towels, cushions, storage sacks, amulets and much more.

Contemporary works that grapple with modern political issues are also included. The author’s focus on the British Museum’s remarkable collection is sure to provide both education and creative inspiration.

Textiles of the Middle East and Central Asia: The fabric of life by Fahmida Suleman (2017)
^{ISBN 9780500519912}

Last but not least…

Serving a global community of over 60,000 stitchers can sometimes make it difficult to select books that are accessible to all. This is especially true for books that are out of print or self-published. That doesn’t mean they aren’t worth mentioning, though, so we’re sharing a few interesting titles that may be more tricky to locate, but still worth a read.

Phulkari from Punjab: Embroidery in transition

This meticulously researched book traces the history of Phulkari through the ages. Over 350 photographs help bring to life the nearly lost craft, including instances of revival and innovation amongst artists and designers.

Every stitch in Phulkari placed on the fabric tells a story in the form of motifs. Author Shalina Mehta spent seven years searching out those stories across the villages and byways of Punjab, which is considered home for this ancient craft.

Shalina traces the history of Phulkari from its decline to its revival and includes stories collected from practitioners along her journey.

Phulkari from Punjab: Embroidery in transition by Shalina Mehta and Anu H Gupta (2020)
^{ISBN 9781911630180}

Beadwork techniques of the Native Americans

This book focuses on beadwork techniques among the western Plains’ Indians, both past and present. Readers will discover the basics, advanced techniques, supplies and actual examples of beadwork through rich illustrations and easy-to-follow instruction.

Styles include loom work, appliqué, lazy/lane stitch and the gourd (peyote) stitch. Instructions for making and beading moccasins are also included. This book is both instructional and artistic, as it features dozens of images of beaded works housed in museums and private collections.

Beadwork Techniques of the Native Americans by Scott Sutton (2008)
ISBN 9781929572113

Mexican textiles

Mexican textiles are known for their passionate appreciation of colour, pattern and design. Author and photographer Masako Takahashi shares her love of the form by taking readers on a journey to artisan workshops, weaving centres, lace makers and family-owned rug manufacturers.

Readers are given an inside view of how traditional fabrics are designed, dyed, woven and finished. The photos are gorgeous, and the author shares insightful notes on regional differences, history, and technique.

Mexican textiles by Masako Takahashi (2003)
^{ISBN 9780811833783}

Kelly Boehmer’s artworks hint at the same dichotomy. While some people discern images that appear eerie, grotesque or even disturbing, others notice the faux fur, the glitter, the bright sparkly colours and enticing textures.

Kelly’s artworks have been described as ‘art that you might think twice about taking your children to see’. A pink faux fur wolf head with fangs bared; a fluffy wall of gut-filled bricks; butterflies languishing in the hot pink villi of a stomach; a fleshy human arm dripping off its white fur canvas; or a puppy – colourful and textural but more akin to something from a Stephen King novel than a celebrity’s cute handbag dog. All fashioned from faux fur, yarn, organza, beads and glitter – apart from the occasional bone.

But it’s this very contrast between representation and medium that gives artistic licence to Kelly’s psychedelic images. Delve a little deeper and there’s a purpose behind her imaginings.

In scrutinising challenging psychological territory, she hopes that her making is not only therapeutic to her but also for viewers – an invitation to process some of their own deepest emotions.

It’s a visual, and visceral, experience that can either thrill or abhor – your reaction is up to you.

Attraction & repulsion

Kelly Boehmer: My main themes are anxiety, death and growth.

I have social anxiety, so I often make work about anxieties, and I sometimes give my work an anxious look. I also like to show the positive aspects of anxiety that are often misunderstood.

I think there’s a strange beauty to the energy and heightened awareness that anxiety can give: fantasy and anxiety are like two sides of the same coin.

It’s funny that someone who has social anxiety would go into teaching and performance art. Oddly, I try to go towards my fears in life sometimes. I was fortunate to find a career as an art educator, where my artwork and job are linked. Doing research for my students is also inspiring for me.

I often use taxidermy as a way to explore the hidden beauty of death. By dressing up the taxidermy creatures, it can make the idea of death more approachable.

I also like using different metaphors for growth – such as moulting – in my work. Showing creatures shedding their skin can symbolise me moving past (or at least confronting) my anxieties and fears.

I’m interested in the push/pull of attraction and repulsion. That’s a complex feeling – one that’s stronger than a single pure, uncomplicated emotion, like attraction alone.

“I think that when I experience attraction and repulsion together in an artwork, it takes me longer to process my feelings and the sensation lingers with me.”

Kelly Boehmer, Textile artist

My art is abstract enough for the viewer to fill in the blanks so that they’re connecting to it on their own terms. I don’t spell everything out.

I want to leave enough clues to pull them in and to leave them with a particular feeling. The feeling or impression is usually bittersweet, mysterious, silly, and a fearful sensation all mashed together.

Getting bold with fibres

I’m lucky that my whole family has always been very supportive of my art. I really appreciate that – I realise it’s not the case for many artists. My mom was a graphic designer and ran her own business from home, so I got to see how art could become a career path.

Both of my grandmothers did a range of different craft practices including crochet, knitting, sewing, doll making and decorative painting. I met my husband, Chuck Carbia, in graduate school when his studio was next to mine. Now we are both art educators. He gives me a lot of help, support and feedback.

I studied art in school but didn’t work much with fibres until graduate school. I initially started out as a painter, but when I hit a point where my work was stuck, that’s when I started to embroider into my paintings. The embroidery became more and more three dimensional, until I started making fibre works in the round.

I was timid about using saturated colour and texture in painting but, when I started using fibres as a medium, it seemed like an opportunity to try something completely new.

“This experimental mindset helped me become bolder with my use of bright colours and complex textures.”

Kelly Boehmer, Textile artist

History revisited

Usually, I’m inspired by a work from art history and that’s the springboard into my process. I completely reinterpret the art historical reference, so sometimes it isn’t even recognisable in the final work. 

Examples of this are Jan van Eyck’s The Arnolfini Portrait (1434), the Italian sculpture Laocoön and His Sons which inspired my artwork Laocoon. The Henri Rousseau painting Tiger in a Tropical Storm inspired Jungle. And Jeff Koons’ vast Puppy sculpture made of stainless steel, soil and flowering plants, which I referenced for my own similarly titled work, Puppy. 

I’m also inspired by the artists Monica Cook, David Altmejd, Mike Kelley, Louise Bourgeois, Yayoi Kusama, Claes Oldenburg, Ebony Patterson, and Roxanne Jackson.

Recently I’ve been influenced by interesting imagery on the cooking shows that I love. For example, I created my Drool sculpture after watching a chef skin an alligator. It was such an odd, alien thing to see. It was both disgusting and strangely beautiful, and I could not get the image out of my head.

Start with a sketch

I usually start with a very rough gesture sketch to help me figure out a basic overall composition, but I never keep a sketchbook. Using a sketchbook I’d feel like the drawings would become too precious as final products for me.

I prefer to grab a scrap piece of paper where I feel freer to experiment and make mistakes. The closest thing to a sketchbook that I use is the notes app in my phone. I’ll write down title ideas or basic sculpture ideas before I sketch them. 

I like to save images on my phone that I take at museums or find on social media. I use these as part of my research, and they often end up being reference images for my work.

After I have a sketch and a reference image, the process is mostly intuitive. Having said that, there’s a certain aesthetic and a level of time and labour that I like to have invested in an artwork before it feels resolved for me.

My work is extremely slow-paced and labour intensive, because it’s all stitched by hand. I try to find a balance between going too rigid or it being a free-for-all in my process.

I make hundreds of small parts, either by sewing in my studio at home or while I’m on the move: I take a travel sewing kit with me in my purse everywhere I go. This portable studio allows me to find time here and there to chip away at a larger project, even if my teaching is keeping me busy.

When all the parts are complete, I assemble everything in my studio. I also like to incorporate bits from older sculptures, after I’ve already shown them in an exhibition. They get cut apart and mixed in with the new pieces, which adds more visual variety to the final piece.

One piece that I haven’t been able to cut up and reuse is my sculpture Puppy. When I do feel ready to destroy it, I might do something special to cut it apart, maybe something that could become performative.

Taxidermy & organza

I love to talk about my materials! One of my favourites is upcycling taxidermy. Friends, students and colleagues often donate taxidermy, bones or skulls that they find.

I also find rejected taxidermy that’s either damaged or not properly preserved at thrift stores or on eBay or Etsy. I clean them up using Dawn brand dish soap. It’s surprisingly effective at treating bones. I store red cedar blocks with my fabrics and taxidermy to prevent moths.

I like using sheer silk organza as a way to layer colour. It can almost work like a sheer glaze in painting. I often stuff the organza with yarn.

I sometimes get little odds and ends of yarn donated to me or I’ll find half skeins of yarn at Starlandia in Savannah, a store selling reclaimed art supplies. Soft materials are the perfect vehicle for making work exploring the fear of unknowns like death. 

My must-have tools include Gütermann red thread (I particularly like their polyester #408), Fiskars’ spring action scissors, magnetic pin cushions and copper compression wrist bands. I haven’t officially been diagnosed with arthritis, but I often have symptoms that I believe are caused by sewing.

Becoming a better artist

I struggled as a young artist, and I didn’t have a lot of what some would call ‘natural talent’. But I did possess a lot of determination to become a better artist. I learned that if you invest the time into the process, you eventually develop your own style or voice, and then you’ll see improvement.

“The best advice, that I often remind myself of, is to stay playful and keep experimenting – it’s so much more constructive than worrying about failing.”

Kelly Boehmer, Textile artist

“You have to take risks. We will only understand the miracle of life fully when we allow the unexpected to happen.”

When Pamela Campagna creates textile art, her approach is to be open and intuitive; this allows the exciting – and even miraculous – possibility of new and unpredicted outcomes. It’s a place where accidents are positively welcomed.

Pamela’s irrepressible drive comes from her passion to gain an understanding of our presence here in the world. She calls upon her own personal experiences: constantly researching materials, techniques and forms that marry her thoughts and emotions into artworks.

Her starting material is often a long length of thread – a simple starting point leading to ethereal artwork that’s both complex and minimalist at the same time.

Pamela’s fascination with time, light, magnetism and space inspire her to explore other materials such as nails, magnets, rust and wood as a way to portray these qualities.

Pamela is a natural nomad who, after 20 years of travelling, is now based back in her home town of Bari in southern Italy. She’s been a graphic designer, an entrepreneur and now has her own atelier – a lovingly created hub where she shares her art and talent with the community.

She’s a dreamer who dreams big – and, for Pamela, this appears a very happy place to be.

Pamela Campagna: I guess I’ve always had a passion for exploring and experimenting. I was born in Bari in 1977 and ever since I can remember I’ve felt the need to travel. When I grew up I went travelling for about 20 years until I became pregnant in 2019 and felt the need to have a stable base. So I’m back in Bari now … but that hasn’t stopped me from dreaming. 

After re-settling here I decided to realise one of those dreams – to open an atelier to the public, a place that is both a working space and an art gallery. I wanted it to have a big window onto the street so that I could welcome people in to see how my art is made, to talk about the process and to learn.

I’ve not only achieved this dream, but it’s also slowly becoming a vibrant place for meetings and workshops for all kinds of arts. I find this exchange both inspiring and enriching.

I’m perhaps best known for adapting existing techniques into something all my own, particularly when working with threads, nails, magnets, rust and wood. The result is a reflection of my nomadic attitude, a wonderful mix of both graphics and crafts, with a focus on exploring our present and our presence.

Since 2011, the core of my artistic research has been experimenting with weaving techniques and image design. I mix graphics and crafts, always looking for new artistic ways that can help us to interpret and understand our presence.

“Through my constant research into different materials, techniques and forms, I aim to make the invisible become visible.”

Pamela Campagna, Thread artist

I create artworks that interact with time, light, magnetism and the environment, to change their appearance and significance, and reveal themselves in unpredicted and surprising ways.

Art to decode life

My work can never be separate from my life. Art is my instrument for decoding my life – my present and my presence seen in a multitude of ways. My art can’t be encapsulated into any one approach or style, and that’s why there are so many heterogeneous expressions in my works.

I imagine my map of inspirations and influences as a vascular system with the blood flowing all in the same direction, even if coming from smaller vessels. I don’t consider any one thing more relevant than others.

“Every step I’ve ever taken and everything I’ve ever seen is influencing me.”

When my mother got sick and sadly died, I needed to understand what had really occurred. It was such an enormous loss, so I used my artworks to explore this sense of emptiness. And when I developed my business MINI Art For Kids, I transformed my experience as a mother into a line of tactile artworks for children.

Lately, I’ve needed to explore new techniques – some quite distinct from fibre art – and I’ve achieved this by organising workshops in my studio, which has had the added bonus of enriching my daily life with ‘real’ relationships.

“For me, art is a way of approaching life, fulfilling my imagination and creating worlds.”

Pamela Campagna, Thread artist

Starting out with textiles

When I originally started working with textiles, my aim was to build complex shapes with just a single thread, using weaving techniques to connect both physically and metaphorically. 

As a graphic designer, I’d been working with visual metaphors, expressing concepts through the use of decontextualisation of specific materials and gestures. There was a time when I wanted to deal with the idea of family, particularly working with a specific image of my mother’s family… It all started from that.

I’ve been prompted in my work by qualities I saw in the amazing trousseaus my parents had from their mothers. They were so carefully embroidered over many hours and communicated such a deep sense of grace, purity and faith. 

Another aspect of my approach probably comes from the chemistry experiments we did in the science laboratory at school. I developed a deep curiosity and fascination for the triggering of cause and effect processes.

All of the ‘design’ aspect of my art is around creating something that has a free outcome, in the sense that the final appearance is subjected to many external factors including the viewer’s own point of view. One example of this is in my White Noise series.

Becoming an artist

Initially, I studied economics, while simultaneously developing my interest in art. That included going to shows, drawing, transforming, attempting, researching and trying to match the two interests together. 

After my graduation in 2001, I took an internship in New York working for Franklin Furnace Archive. I then went to Florence to study a Masters in Management of Cultural Heritage and worked for Cittadellarte Fondazione Pistoletto in Biella in their economic office.

It was the beginning of a step into the art world while still trying to use my studies. But I was still always designing, painting and experimenting. 

I founded an artistic collective in Milan, called HEADS, making live paintings mixed with video art, makeup and music. When I met Tomi (tOmi) Scheiderbauer and CALC  (casqueiro atlantico laboratorio cultural: a group of artists, a cultural association and design company), I started working with them as a graphic designer with a little involvement in art and architecture.

After seven years, the artistic part began to take over. At the moment those two worlds are inseparable, and they totally influence one another.

Motherhood & art

Being a mother of a young child, a wife and an artist at the same time is not an easy thing, especially in Italy where there’s not a real system to support artists or autonomous working mothers.

So in the first three years of my son’s life I mostly concentrated on him. I didn’t have time for exploring and experimenting. Nevertheless, that period was beautiful and truly magical.

Through those years of observing my son, I dreamed up and developed a wonderful project: a playful brand called MINI Art For Kids, the main product being a line of tactile artworks made from laser cutting and layering superposed, colourful felt.

It came from a positive intuition and was a great success. It was really satisfying to be contacted by people from all over the world wanting to buy from the different lines I’d created.

But at a certain point, I missed the language and mystery of art being a part of my daily routine, and I realised I didn’t want to be just an entrepreneur. So I went back to my art and experiments, my son grew up a bit and I organised my day in a different way so that I could again pick up the ‘threads’ of the experimentations I’d left behind.

Sparks that become art

Mostly my art comes from the urgency of seeing something new, something that’s previously been missing from my outlook, absent from my emotional landscape. Sometimes I have a clear message to communicate, sometimes it’s a suggestion – an emotion that can’t be defined. Depending on that, I decide the subject, the technique and materials, and then I go deep into creation.

I always start from a sketchbook. I need to write down just a few lines and a few words to figure out the metaphor I’m looking for or the intention. Based on that I decide the technique I will use. There’s often a narrative that I’ve decided, but nothing is too defined. I always leave it open for accidents.

Depending on the technique I’m going to use, I have a specific way in which to draw the artwork. For every technique, I have a method of bringing a project forth.

Then I begin to work with my iPad and stylus. Since I often work with superposition or layering of images, it’s useful to make samples to get an approximate idea of the outcome. But, of course, nothing is totally defined.

“I like to think of my process as a ritual in preparation for the miracle to come.

This ‘open’ part of the creative process is exactly the reason that pushes me to begin.”

Pamela Campagna, Thread artist

I believe that there’s never one point of view, and no one point of view can last forever. I aim to create something that can change with us, and generate doubts and new thoughts or keys to understanding our present.

“My art has to be seen from different perspectives – it helps to blink the eyes or squint.

I ask for some effort from the viewer, because nothing in my work is overtly obvious.”

Pamela Campagna, Thread artist

Optimum fibre

I have a wonderful technical sponsor, Cucirini Tre Stelle, based in Milan. They provide me with many different kinds of high quality fibres in infinite colours and shades.

This is absolutely great because it pushes me to explore how every fibre can influence every work, depending on the thickness and luminosity.

For many years, I’ve been developing embroidery, weaving, tufting and bobbin lace techniques based on using ikat fabric, a material woven using dyed yarns to create patterned fabric. But often I disaggregate and minimise this concept to produce something which is both from the past and the future at the same time.

For example, in the BIG KNOTTHING series and the MIRAGE series I’ve worked in the warp and weft separately, leaving space between every line to give the image a rarefied appearance, close to the feeling of a distant memory.

In the MACROembroidery series I’ve brutalised the fine gesture of embroidery, fixing a continuous bundle of wires, made of five or six different threads, with a staple gun.

Be true & flexible

If I had to offer advice to anyone, I’d say be honest. Don’t copy, but transform and be respectful of the ideas of other artists. 

Find your real tool of expression and go deep into it, but at the same time don’t be its hostage – and change direction if you feel like it. Remember that art is a profession and a way of living and relating with your surroundings.

The biggest challenge for me is staying authentic to myself and feeling deeply what I’m saying with the piece I’m creating.

Authenticity is really difficult when it comes to commissioned works, which for years were a part of my practice. That’s why I’ve now greatly reduced the time I spend on those.

It’s difficult being a fibre artist right now, working with ‘real’ material, which requires lengthy consideration prior to doing the work, many hours in its creation, and then once it’s online it is eaten up by the web very fast.

We’re bombarded every day with images (real or AI-generated) that influence the sense of our work. Generated images can look like super elaborate crafted artworks, not actually existing in reality, and would require an enormous amount of energy to be realised in textiles.

“My greatest challenge is to keep the flame of my passion for art alive. As a woman in the cave fighting the beasts, I use that fire to keep safe and secure from the soul thieves.”

After having concentrated on local dynamics, private commissions, workshops and my project for kids, I feel that now is the right time to put together a show and an itinerary project abroad. I’m imagining, also, a more dimensional and collaborative approach. That’s my desire … but let’s see what life brings to me.