textile art textile artist, stitching by hand, thread, embroidery, stitch journal

A Long Life complete

(content warning – mentions end of life)

I started this over two years ago, and finished it last week.

30,000 straight stitches on vintage silk, taken from various handmade silk lingerie garments, backed with soft brushed cotton. The number of stitches is equal to the number of days in the life of someone who has lived to the age of (just over) 82, which is a reasonably optimistic estimate of average life expectancy in this country. It’s not a memorial of a particular individual; more a general reflection on (or of) human life.

I’ve used hand-dyed silk and cotton threads, mostly equivalent to perle 8 or 12, and changed colour after completing each set of 365 stitches (every four sets I added an extra stitch to account for leap years). There are 532 (and a bit) rows. The whole work measures 6 inches (15cm) wide, and 22.5 feet (6.9m or 271 inches) long.

I counted the stitches and rows as I went along, to keep a running total and to keep track of the beginning and ending of each year block. I didn’t start a new row for each year.

A Long Life notebook – keeping the score

If there were seams, buttonholes, buttons, lace, or rust stains on the silk as I carefully deconstructed the garments, I left them in. That’s life.

I didn’t expect to become so emotionally invested in it. There was a distinct moment of sadness and even a little shock as I placed the last stitch. While a life as long as this is to be celebrated as well as mourned, I couldn’t help but think of all the other, shorter, lives that end too soon.

The briefest moment separates life and death. I can totally understand the Greeks’ idea of the three Fates, and Atropos cutting the thread of life.

A Long Life (from finish to start)

Until that day, of course we go on.

Past and future life

I’m piecing together a new course on patchwork and accidentally found some pictures of past work. Patchwork past work, you might say, if you like tongue twisters.

I was a bit startled by this one, from around 2009-ish I think. Far too colourful to be me, surely:

I remember the patchwork cave art creature was fun.

silk patchwork animal inspired by cave art

Lots of very tiny squares in this one – about 3/4″ I think.

Today it’s all much quieter, but equally productive. It takes a few weeks to plan and produce an online course, so I hope to have this one ready some time next month.

In the meantime I’ll be closing the shop for a couple of weeks from 13th July while I take a short break. My Teachable school will remain accessible if you’re looking for PDF templates or current courses.

June

Just like that.

Halfway through the year already. How did that happen?

The aerial map is filling up so quickly.

June days:

I really like the way the days are such different shapes on this year’s template. It feels like life. Some days feel longer or wider than others; some days have sharp corners; some days have crossing paths. Some days feel like running just to stand still.

Some days were too hot.

Every day, as always, just choosing thread and colour, letting stitches fall wherever they land. Marking the passage of time.

Today we can see the back of June.

And tomorrow, July. Between times, the cloth lives in this cover. Part embroidery, part patchwork. If you missed it, you can read about the making of the cover here

Playing Tetris with Time

There’s a lot going on here. Lots of beginnings but, as always, nowhere near enough time for the middles and the ends.

I’ve rounded up (squared up) some neutral and tea-dyed scraps for patchwork pieces, which will be a quilt eventually. (Cream pieces on a cream rug – someone tell the photographer the artist could have made this easier. Oh hang on, that’s me. And me.)

Patchwork, for me, is always about finding or defining connections. Puzzling things out, making sense of things, piecing things together from a few clues. The joining of fragments, little flashes from the past, collecting memories into one place. Because we are our memories, to a certain extent. When we lose the ability to remember, our sense of self feels less secure because the thread that holds us between past and present is broken. We end up losing ourselves along with the unremembered experiences. I think of patchwork as a kind of holding together.

I like to piece patchwork in the evenings while watching TV or listening to music. Nice relaxing thing to do.

And that would be fine, except there’s already a nice relaxing evening job in progress. I either have to finish that before I can get to the patchwork, or I have to put that down (again) to work on the piecing.

If you’ve been with me a while, you might recall the beginnings of A Long Life, which has become the current evening project. I started it a couple of years ago and have been picking it up and putting it down ever since.

It’s about six inches wide, and when it’s finished will contain 30,000 stitches. I have no idea how long it is – I won’t measure it until it’s done – but I do know that currently it carries 18,788 stitches. Yes, I count them as I go along.

I change colour for every decade (every 3,500 stitches or so) and change thread for the start of each new year. Factoring in leap years, when it’s had its thirty-thousandth stitch, it will represent the number of days in the life of someone who is just over 82. I have no idea why I’m doing this.

On top of that I have a couple of other possible big projects whirring away in the background, one of which might be a new online course on zero-waste stitching (aka Using All the Scraps).

Definitely playing a game of Tetris with time here. Move one thing up to make room for another thing, and so on more or less indefinitely. Good job I like to be busy.

Scraps

Birdie and I are in our happy place today.

I got ever so slightly sidetracked from what I started last week. I had to interrupt proceedings to deal with the scraps box, which was overflowing (and I forgot, in my distraction, to obtain photographic evidence of said abundance, but I know you’ve all seen an overflowing scraps box before, and I bet most of you have one of your own). I need the scraps box for something else right now, and that was a whole other sidetracking experience, cutting out lots and lots of paper piecing scraps. The scraps box is now temporarily a patchwork-pieces box, holding it all together.

temporary change of function for the scraps box

I sorted the scraps pile into lots of smaller collages where every tiny fragment will have its place.

I’ve also rounded up some very tiny/narrow strips and offcuts – selvedges, hems, seams, rolled hems from chiffon scarves etc) – all of which can – and will – be used.

The tiny strips can be stitched across the collaged pieces quite effectively:

There are a few little collages so far; these are about 4 or 5″ square:

I’m thinking of them as spots of time, a la Wordsworth (yes, Wordsworth again – no better poet, in my view, for exploring themes of experience, loss, and memory). In his long poem The Prelude, Wordsworth describes spots of time as moments that become profound memories with the capacity to rejuvenate and repair. I think most of the square collages might become round eventually:

collaged fabrics under a circular viewfinder

This one I think might just be complete as it is:

layered scraps, very simply stitched, about 5″ square

A square spot of time perhaps. I guess memories come in all shapes and sizes.

Spare a thought for poor birdie, though. I will be dismantling his nest.

Immersion

This piece takes its title from Wordsworth’s 1804 poem ‘Ode on the Intimations of Immortality’:

It hasn’t photographed well on this very dark wet Wednesday; the colours and layers are a little more subtle in real life.

The text fabric (above, top left) is a handwritten page from a nineteenth-century almanac that I scanned and printed onto tea-dyed cotton. If you iron fabric to a piece of freezer paper that exactly fits your printer (usually A4 in the UK), it’s surprisingly straightforward. I expected it to get snarled up and jammed in the bowels of the printer but it sailed through quite smoothly. I used to print on fabric quite often and had forgotten how effective it can be. If you set it with a hot (ish) iron after printing it appears to be reasonably water resistant, though I haven’t yet tried washing it.

Strength in what remains, detail of hand stitch and layered sheers

There are a couple more like this in progress, an ‘Intimations of Immortality’ mini-series, perhaps.

There’s also a heap of loveliness on the table that will be turned into something a little larger…

…related to more sketchbook exploration:

I am definitely busy.

Time Present

Recently I’ve been able to make a start on some new work, and the process of this modest beginning has been a truly joyful thing. I hadn’t realised how much I’ve been needing to do this.

So far, it’s about time, experience and memory. I’m beginning with the opening lines from T S Eliot’s Four Quartets as inspiration:

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.

What a vast line that is: All time is unredeemable. It’s irreversible and we can never get it back. The only time we can be sure of is time past, present in memory only.

The sketchbook I’m using for the wet media is a Fabriano aquarelle A4 sketchbook, 200gsm pages (no affiliation). Just firm enough for taking wet paint but not so stiff that the pages don’t bend.

Of course it had to have a cover:

And some details from its pages:

sketchbook page, oil pastel resist with watercolour and ink

white acrylic ink as resist with watercolour wash over the top

Mostly I’ve been exploring using watercolour, ink and collage. The above layered stitched work in progress is based on this paper collage:

I’ve been doing very loose sketchbook work, which is a great thing. I like the way it can be more a physical than cerebral process. I like to paint standing up rather than sitting because it somehow enables you to inhabit the process more, and to move around over the page more easily. It seems to generate and capture more energy. Drawing and painting can involve your whole arm as well as your hand, making expressive abstract marks and laying down whatever colours speak to you in that moment.

These are four separate sketches (unintentionally four quartets, perhaps), using inks, watercolours, and basic mark-making techniques, with no preconceived ideas about where it’s headed or what it’s going to be. Not my usual colour palette, but each one valuable in its own way, and time well spent. Even if you make something you don’t like much, it’s always worthwhile because you learn something. I think all of these might translate to cloth and stitch.

watercolour and ink over masking fluid resist

Also some calmer blocks and stripes, just to see.

It’s exciting to see these colours, shapes and compositions emerging. It may or may not lead somewhere, but for now it’s enough in itself. I have much more to read, and more blank sketchbook pages to fill, and it’s utterly delicious.

January

The entire month has passed in a blur of thread winding, dyeing, sorting and labelling, a task that is still very much ongoing.

But daily stitching counts the days and maps the path, creating lines of progress and marking the days in which standing still for a time becomes restorative.

I’m loving this year’s template. I like the way every day is a slightly different shape, as they are in real life. Some days are short and fill up quickly; some days have awkward angles and sharp corners; some days feel a bit longer than they should.

Looking back, I notice a lot of running stitch trundling along, charting a path and counting steps.

I think it’s probably my favourite stitch. It’s so versatile and can be very expressive. I like the way it moves forward one step at a time, putting one foot in front of the other just to keep going. I also like its simplicity and its capacity for trust. It doesn’t always know where it’s going but somehow it finds its way and ends up where it’s supposed to be.

I like the quietness of January, where nothing much happens. I enjoy the pale, muted colours of winter and the gentle light. I know some people don’t like the grey days and the long nights and are glad to see the back of it.

Tomorrow is Imbolc, which marks the start of spring in the pagan calendar. It’s still cold, and the nights are still long, but you can see the light starting to change and there are snowdrops gamely battling on through the cold. Spring is on the way; you can smell it in the air.

In the meantime, I am still sorting through thread and fearing that I may never get to the end of it. But myself says keep calm and carry on and it will be done soon. If you’re waiting for thread, please keep an eye on the shop; all being well, the update will happen in a couple of days or so.

2024: Day One

Happy New Year.

One day ends and a new one begins in the unbroken chain of time that makes up our life. It really doesn’t matter what day you begin this kind of practice; all the days join up regardless of the occasion.

This year I’m using my 2024 template, which I’m imagining as a kind of map of the year. I sometimes think if life came with a map we’d probably all get to where we want to be a lot more efficiently. But I guess efficiency isn’t everything and I’m glad I ended up taking the long way round – the scenic route, I suppose we might call it.

As always, there is no plan apart from the template; each day will decide for itself what it wants to be. This practice, for me, has always been about witnessing the passage of time rather than marking events or occasions. I don’t often feel the need to remember what happened on a given day; it’s enough to know that I acknowledged the time passing.

I have no idea how this cloth will look by the end of December, but then I have no idea how my life will look by then either. It will be a voyage of discovery and an adventure as always.

I’m using the same vintage metis (linen/cotton blend) as the last two years. You can often find this kind of fabric online by searching for vintage metis, or vintage French bed sheet. I’ve only just noticed that I’ve left it in its natural state, whereas last year I dipped it in tea to dull the whiteness a little. I’ve marked my outlines with plain old biro, because I know all the lines will be covered. If you’re stitching along and (for example) you want to leave gaps between the blocks, then you will want to use a less obtrusive method for marking out your daily sections.

To begin, I’ve done a very simple whipped running stitch in perle 12 cotton and silk, with a fine textured yarn couched around the edge, to suggest a ploughed field ready for sowing some seeds.

day one: running stitch in cotton, whipped with silk thread

I’m easing back into work-mode from tomorrow and will be thinking about all the seeds of ideas that might take root. I hope some wildflowers blow in as well.

November

Thirty days, thirty boxes, one box a day. Counting the days, observing the minutes, watching time as it hurtles past.

As always, I’ve only used very simple embroidery stitches – mostly variations on running stitch and straight stitch, with a little blanket stitch here and there. Life is complicated enough without trying to figure out double braided Hungarian dragon stitch, whatever that might be. I may have just made that up.

It looks more complex than it is probably because of the variations in colour and thread weight. Some threads are very fine; some are thicker. There is probably meaning in the colour and thread weight I choose for a given day, but if there is then it’s unconscious.

You can only see the patterns in your life when you’re far enough away to be able to look back on them. Close up, it’s hard to see a difference. But stand back and squint, and you can usually make sense of the threads.

There is still no date for our house move. Today’s square is the shadowy ghost of a house. I know (I hope) our new home is waiting for us, but without a date I can’t connect with it. And frustratingly, I can’t (daren’t) start any packing.

I will have to temporarily close the shop for a week or two when we do get a date because at some point I will have to pack everything away. In the meantime, if you’d like to help me have less to pack, there are quite a few threads left and some of the fabric scraps packs are reduced. I’ll post updates here when I know more about when the shop will close, but keep in mind that we may not get much notice. My last international posting date is 6th December.

Also, while we’re on housekeeping, my stitch journal PDF templates are now available in my Teachable school as well as in my online shop. They’re exactly the same templates, just in two places at once. This is in response to requests from those of you who signed up for my Intuitive Daily Stitching class (thank you) and wanted easier access to the templates. If you’ve already bought the templates from the shop (and thank you, if you have) then please don’t buy them again from Teachable. If you have problems downloading any templates, or if you’ve lost access to them, please let me know so that I can email them to you.

I think that brings us all up to date – and here we are, poised on the doorstep of December, wondering what the last thirty-one days of the year will bring.

Next month, stars:

December (yes, it’s biro. All the outlines will be covered up)

Tag: textile art

A Long Life complete

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Past and future life

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June

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Playing Tetris with Time

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Scraps

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Immersion

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Time Present

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January

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2024: Day One

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November

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