By guest, Sep 27 2011 07:31PM
Stitch. Such a humble little thing. Intrinsically human, is that why it catches at my heart? A direct line through a simple action to previous generations, so totally low tech ~ think of what you need to make a stitch ~ thread, a needle and bits of fabric. How basic. How ultimately satisfying.
I see echoes of stitched lines everywhere, at this time of year especially in the fields around our home, the farrowed soil, the low angle of the sun giving the lines definition is the same exciting light and shade play that I love on quilts. The round bails suggest stitched spirals, the new emerging winter crops punctuate the earth.
The action of my fingers rocking the needle in and out feels soothing, calming; the prefect antidote to stress.
The production of something that goes on having a life after it leaves my hand; that use improves, washes soften and quite often records its experiences, I’m thinking of a friend who was horrified that her son’s birth quilt had acquired marks ~ but I am with Edward Munch who insisted that his painting ‘The scream’ preserved the damages inflicted by various thieves as part of the piece’s history. Surely it’s those reminders of a quilt’s life that make them so touching when we examine antique textiles.