That spirit of experimentation is one reason Gillian works in series. After spending significant time researching and sketching her source material, she sees endless ways to revisit an idea through different materials, techniques, and perspectives.

Nature plays an especially important role. Gillian creates cyanotype and botanical pieces using plants gathered during favourite hikes and visits to meaningful places. She has even installed her work in forests, blurring the line between artwork and environment. And be sure to read about her accidental laundering incident…

We’re grateful to Gillian for reminding us that some of the most interesting work begins with a willingness to experiment.

From accountant to artist

I was pushed down the academic route as a child, and to be honest, I didn’t show much artistic potential. But I did love experimenting, and being creative has always been part of my life. A memorable incident in my early teens was destroying my Mum’s new blender to make papier mâché. 

I was gently discouraged from my creative endeavours, and I eventually became an accountant. 

I didn’t not enjoy the training, but when I reached the level of manager and the learning curve slowed down, I realised I was going to be very bored, very quickly. 

I started taking evening classes at the City Lit in London. I wanted to do something more creative, but my traditional drawing and painting skills weren’t exceptional, so that wasn’t a viable route. 

It wasn’t until I took a textile course with Caroline Bartlett that everything fell into place. She was very supportive and helped me apply for a foundation course in Art and Design at the Central School of Speech and Drama. My portfolio was non-existent, so I think I was accepted on the basis I was dedicated (nuts) enough to give up a really good job to pursue art.

After completing that programme, I completed a textile degree at Goldsmiths. 

Exploring is key

My work is very process-driven because I explore a variety of ways to express my ideas. I tend to start with sketching. Not the actual textile piece, but more my general inspiration. Sketching gives me time to reflect on what really excites me about the source.

That leads to sampling ideas in fabric before I settle down to make a final piece. 

I’ll often fill a sketchbook on one subject with a sketch a day for a set period of time, using the same resources. 

I’m currently drawing from my collection of pottery shards found on walks. I sketch each shard in pencil and then paint with watercolour, and then I note where each was found. My paintings are more interpretations than exact likenesses. 

I made some large-scale versions of the shards using scraps and dissolvable fabric, and now I’m using those fabric pieces as masks for cyanotype prints. I don’t know where this will end up, but I’m liking the possibilities.  

“Limiting my source material and media helps me concentrate on what is happening, and means I’m not distracted in the initial phase.”

Gillian Cooper, Textile artist

Finding inspiration

Much of my work is inspired by the specific places that I visit again and again. Walking and drawing allow me time to get to know a place and to absorb a sense of it. My aim is to portray the feelings places evoke, not photographic reproductions. 

But I can find inspiration everywhere. I’ve always loved museums, and my children have lost count of the archaeological museums we’ve visited over the years. I take my camera and sketchbook and do as much as I can before they lose interest. My partner is also very good at taking them to a café to give me more time.

I’m also a big believer in finding inspiration without having to go anywhere. I’m lucky to live in a beautiful part of Scotland where I can see hills within seconds of leaving the house. But the cracks in the pavement can be beautiful too. It’s all about learning to look. 

Working in series

Because my work is process-driven, I regularly work in series. While making one piece, I’m already thinking about what the next one will be or what I could do differently. There are always so many more things I want to try out. 

And given the amount of time I spend researching and drawing, it would seem wasteful to put all my efforts into just one work. 

Most importantly, working in series takes off some of the pressure to create perfect pieces. I know it doesn’t matter if a piece isn’t exactly as I wanted, because I can correct things with the next one. 

“When I stop worrying about perfection, I can relax and experiment and push things further – often the work ends up being better than expected.”

Gillian Cooper, Textile artist

The magic of botanical dyes

I’ve always enjoyed colouring my own fabric, and the results often influence the direction a piece will take. Because I never know exactly how a dyeing process will turn out, I can’t plan a final piece in advance. 

I originally worked with Procion dye and have experimented with transfer printing. I also use acrylic paint on some pieces, particularly with gelli-plate printing.

But in the last few years, more of my art focuses on specific walks or places, so I prefer using materials from those locations to colour fabric. Sometimes I rust dye, as there seems to be no shortage of discarded metal. And I’ve experimented with botanical contact printing.

About five years ago, I began a monthly botanical contact printing project using leaves gathered on local walks. I wanted to explore how the colours shifted with the seasons. 

While more exotic plants would have produced brighter colours, I found myself drawn to the leaves that reflected my own surroundings and experience. Oak, beech, elder, rowan and hawthorn leaves lasted throughout the year and seemed almost indestructible.

I also use plants with gelli plate printing and cyanotype. These allow me to make use of a wider variety of plants as not all leaves release colour in the botanical contact printing process.  

Letting fabric take the lead

Once a piece of fabric is coloured, I pin it to the wall where it can sit for ages whilst I think about how to use it. I have a lovely piece that has been on my wall for a long while. It became almost too precious to use! But after eight months, it is about to be used. My patience is finally paying off.

My go-to fabric is basic cotton, but I like mixing in fabrics with different textures. I try to use existing fabrics, especially old plain linens found in charity shops. The old fabrics bring their stories into my work.

I’m extremely poor at throwing out fabric, even small offcuts. Fabric is a precious resource, so I have lots of scrap bags. 

It’s so lovely when I use fabrics I’ve held onto for years – I feel vindicated for holding on to them!

“In the early design stages, I often work in black and white – colour can be distracting at first.” 

Gillian Cooper, Textile artist

Colour strategy

Before I went to art school, I took a year’s evening class in colour where we learnt how to colour mix. I was struggling with colour, and the class was incredibly useful. By the end of the year, I could look at any colour and be able to make it from gouache. 

My colour palette tends to be quite soft, and I think that’s because of where I live. As I look out of my studio window today, the sky is a flat grey, and I see wet greens of the different trees and the browns of branches and bricks.

I use a lot of cyanotypes, loving the blues, yellows and browns it gives me. I have also used a lot of rust dyed and botanically contact printed fabrics. I think they go well together. 

In the early design stages, though, I often work in black and white. 

I find colour can be distracting at first, so removing it helps me focus on the composition. Since we usually respond to colour before design, working this way lets me better assess the actual composition.

A quilted approach

I kind of fell into quilting. When I graduated from Goldsmiths, I had a part-time job writing for and subediting the now-defunct magazine Popular Patchwork. It became natural to make quilts.

I love the layers and substantial feel quilts have, along with the textures that can be achieved with stitching. 

I like how a quilt’s layers can represent the layers of history that led to the point of me making a piece. Some can be peeled back to reveal the past.

“I’m not a traditional quilter – my original training was in embroidery – so I enjoy using different thicknesses of thread to make marks and give texture to a piece.”

Gillian Cooper, Textile artist

The Big Beastie

I have three sewing machines on the go. My Pfaff is great for piecing and straight lines, as it has a built-in walking foot. For free machining, I have a basic Bernina that I couldn’t be without. It’s fabulous for free machining. 

And I recently bought a Handi Quilter Amara. I call it ‘Big Beastie’. It has a huge throat, which allows me to see the entire piece as I stitch. It goes super fast. 

I also enjoy hand stitching. At the moment, I’m stitching thousands of tiny tally marks into the third of my Making Time series.  

Tackling unmaking

My Manes series was created for my first Textile Study Group exhibition. The theme was ‘Unmaking’, which I found rather challenging, as unmaking something goes against all my practice as a maker and tutor.

My students will tell you I really dislike them unpicking their work unless absolutely necessary. I think it’s better to accept what happened and improve on the next piece.

I decided to unmake my artistic development by making versions of earlier pieces that would appear ghost-like, ethereal. The title Manes comes from Ancient Rome. Manes were the souls of ancestors that people worshipped as benevolent personal deities. My Manes were the spirits of earlier works, exploring questions of continuity and remembrance through unmaking. 

At the time, I had just bought Big Beastie, and I needed to practice using it. I had a roll of dissolvable fabric, which I thought would be great because once I washed it away, you couldn’t see any of my tension errors. 

I placed leftover scraps from earlier projects between layers of dissolvable. As the solid substrate washed away, earlier work was quite literally taken apart and reimagined. What remained were fragments and stitches.

I love experimenting with dissolvable and seeing how little stitching I can get away with and still have the piece hold together. There are still occasional disasters, but that’s all part of pushing the technique.

The great outdoors

For the Blue Woods series, I coated large sheets of fabric with cyanotype and laid them on my lawn with various leaves, branches, and ferns from the beautiful woodland walk at Tir na nOg, near Drymen. 

I originally thought they’d be hung from frames, so I cut the sheets with a maximum width of 40cm (16″). In the end, we decided to hang them around an old oak tree to better make them part of the woodland. The bits of fabric that weren’t very interesting were used for the binding. 

For over six months, the pieces hung from the tree through sun, wind and rain. Moss greens began to appear alongside marks from bark and falling leaves, as the woods slowly reclaimed the fabric.

To help with the hanging, I had stitched metal bars at the top and bottom of each panel. They eventually rubbed holes in the fabric, so I brought the panels home to change the hanging mechanism. 

I also decided to give them a spruce up and put them in the washing machine. Bad idea!

I gave them a wash at 40°C (higher than normal) and on a long cycle with my normal washing detergent, which I had forgotten was strongly alkaline. It stripped away the cyanotype colours and left a very clean and lovely shade of yellow. Oops! 

I did consider just putting them back out in the woods with their yellow colour, but I instead re-cyanotyped them and added more stitch. I also cyanotyped the backs that time. 

The panels are now back in the woods and their new name is Blue Woods Revived.

Walk words

In a word-based series, instead of my usual drawing while walking, I decided to write words, like Walk | Words | Moor, about what I was seeing and thinking and feeling. 

Given the mundane nature of these everyday walks, this was not profound. Just things like how nippy it felt with clear skies and a full moon. Or the time a pheasant squawked in alarm as I walked nearby. I don’t know who got the bigger fright.

I layered these words up using a different pen each day. I had to transcribe the words as soon as I got home, and over time, the layered words became more of a pattern than distinct words. 

I then stitched those words onto a three metre (10 foot) piece of fabric that had been dyed with leaves collected on walks. I stitched each day’s words on top of the others until they all merged together into the background. Sometimes an odd word would catch the eye.

I looped the strip of fabric back on itself in the shape of a mobius loop to emphasise the days running into each other, the walks that continued and layered on one another. It became a sum that was very different from its parts, as you can see in the short video Walk | Words.

A cyanotype workshop

I’m excited to introduce Stitch Club members to cyanotype and have them explore how it can be used to create exciting fabric using plant materials. The process doesn’t use anything fancy or exotic. Members will discover how even roadside plants can create great textures and patterns.

I’m hoping members take away the thrill of turning fabric blue using just sunlight and two chemicals. And that they will continue to experiment with the technique to create their own exciting fabrics. 

Stories are equally important to Nikki’s work. Drawing inspiration from myths, legends and the natural world, she explores diverse subjects ranging from a swan’s travels to the Inuit tale of Sedna and the environmental threats facing the Great Barrier Reef. Through stitch and mixed media, she transforms these narratives into complex visual stories.

Large in scale and rich in detail, Nikki’s work is impossible to ignore. And her choice of materials is just as intriguing. Be sure to check out the surprising elements Nikki has incorporated into her work over the years. A dental harp toothpick is just the beginning.

Finding my artistic voice

Nikki Parmenter: I trained as a fine artist, gaining a First Class BA Honours degree and an MA in painting from Manchester Polytechnic (now Manchester Metropolitan University). After that, I took a teacher training course that led me to teaching at secondary school level for 30 years. 

Throughout my teaching career, it was important for me to continue with my own work.

I spent many years making pieces on paper using collage techniques, but I eventually became dissatisfied with working on a flat surface. Encouraged by my husband, who trained as a sculptor, I started to experiment with MDF wood to achieve a more robust structure. 

I produced increasingly large artworks that became almost too heavy to lift. I also became unhappy with the wood’s rigid surface, so I changed direction again.

Two books were particularly inspirational in making that shift: Paper, Metal and Stitch by Maggie Grey and Jane Wild, and Fusing Fabrics by Margaret Beale. Each book’s techniques and materials opened a whole new world of possibilities. 

“I believe ‘bigger is better’ with my art, and I strive to make an impact.”

Nikki Parmenter, Textile artist

Layers & narratives

Two vital elements form the backbone of my work: drawing and a strong narrative element. My fine art background means I’m comfortable with drawing, and it’s important each of my works has a context that goes beyond the superficial appearance.

My work always involves layering fabrics, plastics and other materials, then embellishing with stitch. I’ve also devised ways to transfer images onto fabric, which results in figurative, narrative pieces. 

I’m very ambitious regarding scale, and I enjoy the reactions of viewers.

I love to try to fill an exhibition space. The Conference of Birds is a good example. The hanging space was eight feet high (2.4m), so I chose dimensions of eight feet by four feet. 

Storytelling & symbolism

I’m inspired by a variety of subjects, including mythology, symbolism, different cultures, history, religion, storytelling and literature. I was drawn to these subjects in the 90s via an interest in Indian art. I loved the heavily embellished artefacts and vibrant colours. 

In terms of the natural world, I’m fascinated with the vast variety of shapes, colours, and textures of animals, plants and birds. I enjoy looking at these creatures and learning the symbolism, history and stories attached to them.

The Wild Swan triptych, for example, follows a swan’s journey from W.B. Yeats’ 1917 poem The Wild Swans at Coole into the 12th century epic poem The Conference of the Birds. Its final destination is the discovery of a mythical bird found in Persian mythology called The Simorgh.

Another piece, Sedna, was inspired by a somewhat gruesome Inuit myth. There are several versions of the story, but in this version, Sedna was given in marriage to a hunter who lived on an island and who could transform into a giant bird. When her father attempted to rescue her, the hunter conjured a fierce storm. 

As Sedna fell from the kayak, her father severed her fingers to prevent her from climbing back aboard. She sank beneath the waves, her fingers becoming sea creatures and coral, and she transformed into the Sea Goddess.

Research & scribbles

My textile works evolve over time. I research a theme and thoroughly enjoy discovering new and exciting images to include. I’ll print those images and make lots of scribbly drawings to show my thought process, but I don’t use a sketch book.

Because some pieces can take several months or more to complete, it’s natural that my initial ideas transform and change. 

Sometimes a completely different angle presents itself, and I love this creative diversion as it keeps the work fresh.

For example, the work Cabinet of Curiosities exploring nearly extinct or extinct creatures was initially going to have a Victorian-inspired look. But subsequently, I opted for a more modern, bright appearance. 

If, however, I’m creating a large-scale bird or other subject, I’ll draw it out in detail and then trace the drawing onto PVC.

The shower curtain

I first started using plastic acetate sheets (often used on overhead projectors) over 15 years ago. I drew images on paper, photocopied them onto the acetate, then stitched the acetate to fabric and painted them with acrylics.

In 2018, I was working on a piece called Fade Out that was inspired by the notion of ‘fragility’. I researched the damage being done to the Great Barrier Reef by elements such as global warming and coral die back, and then I decided to incorporate real plastic pieces into the work.

At that time, I didn’t know PVC plastic sheeting could be purchased by the metre, so I bought a transparent shower curtain and used that! I also considered using plastic pockets, but they weren’t clear or strong enough. 

I’ve used PVC sheeting in my art ever since.

Possibilities with PVC

Clear PVC is an extremely versatile material, and I’m sure there are still more techniques and applications to be discovered. It can be presented as a traditional wall hanging, but it can also be moulded into shapes. And when hung against a window, it creates an interesting stained glass effect.

Tulipmania is a good example of how I created a 3D shape. I drew on and then stitched a panel using PVC, cellophane and gold papers. It occurred to me that it would be interesting to present the panel as a cylindrical form and use it as a vase when wrapped around a plastic bottle.

The grey parrot detail in my Wonder Room project also has a PVC background, from which I cut areas from the edges to create a stencil effect. 

“Stitching through PVC is highly addictive!”

Nikki Parmenter, Textile artist

Easy to stitch

PVC is extremely easy to stitch through. I think it’s easier to sew through than a traditional fabric, and there’s no lint residue. I don’t need to adjust my sewing machine settings in any way. I rarely break any needles. I use jeans needles, and they usually wear out before I reach breaking point. 

I use two sewing machines: a Bernina and a Janome (my sponsor). Both machines are basic, and although there are some ‘fancy’ stitch options, I only use a straight stitch. I’m not a fan of pre-designed images that can be robotically transferred onto fabric.

Coats Moon thread is my thread of choice, as it’s inexpensive. That’s important, as I use hundreds of metres of thread for each artwork. Moon also comes in a wide range of colours, including fluorescent threads. But I’ve never managed to conquer metallic threads.

I’ll often add acrylic paint to my finished stitching as it adds shadow and variety. 

Free motion fears

I’d had no formal training in textile art, and I had absolutely no idea how to thread a sewing machine, let alone use one. My only previous sewing experience was at high school when the most exciting thing I (or rather my mother) made was a pastel-coloured nightdress with broderie anglaise. 

But this meant that I was free to experiment, except, of course, when the sewing machine went wrong. That’s another story!

When I purchased my first sewing machine in 2005, I took it out of the box, looked at it, and put it away again! It stayed there for three months before I plucked up the courage to try again. I surprised myself that I could make it work.

From there, I went from strength to strength, but I only used an ordinary sewing foot. My revelation came sometime later when I discovered the free machine embroidery foot. Unfortunately, my initial attempt was short lived with the needle breaking after about 30 seconds. 

So, that technique was cast aside until I mustered the courage to try again. That’s when I became hooked! It was amazing to be able to sew circles, stitch around corners and make spirals. 

“I think my lack of training was an advantage, as I wasn’t hindered by any rules.”

Nikki Parmenter, Textile artist

Iridescent vinyl

I am a lover of all things shiny, so I searched the word ‘iridescent’ on Amazon to see what would pop up. One of the suggestions was iridescent holographic self-adhesive vinyl that was primarily used for stencils. 

It was amazing how the colours changed dramatically depending on the direction of lighting on the surface. Around that time, I was creating a work based on the stained-glass display at Chester Cathedral of St. Werburg and the Geese. The vinyl proved to be the perfect way to achieve the luminosity I was seeking. And like PVC, it was very easy to stitch through.

I drew the elements of the window on paper and then traced small sections at a time onto clear PVC. Having pinned the iridescent vinyl behind the PVC I free machine stitched it together. 

I also enjoy using coloured cellophane in my work. I think it’s usually used for floral arrangements or gift wrapping. The type I use most shines either pink or green, depending on how the light falls on the surface. 

Getting funky

Funky foam, or neoprene foam, is a highly versatile craft material. I use it to make flowers, leaves, and other detailed elements in my work. It comes in a variety of colours and patterns. 

It can be easily cut with scissors or a craft knife, and colour and detail can be added with acrylic paint. The goal is to transform the flat colour into a realistic, natural form. And because it’s soft, I can incise the veins of leaves or other detailed elements. 

“Small, portable sections allow me to hand stitch if I’m away from home.”

Nikki Parmenter, Textile artist

Large-scale challenges

Every piece I make is composed of various separate elements. This allows me to work on relatively small sections at a time, and these are assembled together when each component is completed. The smaller sections are also portable, allowing me to hand stitch if I’m away from home. I always have several projects going on at one time.

Once I’m satisfied with the individual elements, I audition different compositions by laying the pieces in various arrangements on the floor, taking photographs along the way. 

The most challenging aspect of my work is the physical aspect of handling such large-scale pieces. 

The final assembly often involves a wrestling match between me, the fabric and the sewing machine as I try to attach different elements together. I have to roll up the piece and attempt to free up an area to stitch. Because of that, I take the time to plan the order in which to assemble the piece in the final stages.

The Silk Peacock posed a real challenge in choosing materials for the blue parts of the feathers. Each of the 25 feathers has a central metal support that hooks onto a semi-circular piece at the top of the tail. 

After much deliberation, I decided to use blue linoleum. We’d just had a new kitchen fitted and there was extra linoleum in the garage. I spent several hours sitting on the floor cutting through the tough lino to create my desired fringe effect. 

“Like many creative people, I’m prone to accumulating various materials and unusual items, and I use them in my work.”

Nikki Parmenter, Textile artist

Unexpected materials

I collect various materials, even when I have no idea what to do with them. Friends often offload their unwanted items, which I gladly receive. I occasionally find things in charity shops and DIY outlets, and I upcycle plastic bottles and cartons. You never know when something might be useful.

I like to incorporate these unexpected items into my work. 

I’ve used curtain hooks, split pins, dental harp toothpicks, nylon rope, broken jewellery, cable ties, insulation pipes, drainpipes, hair ornaments, empty tomato puree tubes and other metallic elements.

I have boxes and bags of various materials housed in a number of places around my home. I’d love to have a bespoke studio, but space does not allow, so I use a spare bedroom and shelving in the study, as well as the kitchen table…

My primary work surface is the kitchen table, which is large enough to allow me to leave out my creative chaos. My husband and I eat our meals at the other end of the table! I’m grateful that he fully supports my textile work and appreciates its importance to me. 

Flight fantastic 

My workshop for Stitch Club is called Flight fantastic – birds in stitch. I show students how to transfer a drawing onto fabric using an oil pastel technique. I know drawing can be intimidating for some people, so I’m hoping this method will give them a foolproof way to overcome their fears.

I encourage members to be ambitious in terms of colour and scale, and be open to experimenting with different ways to display their pieces. 

When designing the workshop, I used garden plant supports to make a frame for the birds and leaves, which is something I hadn’t tried before. That has given me lots of ideas for a larger piece and is a perfect example of discovering an alternative composition through experimentation. 

Working with paint and hand stitching, she creates evocative images of the natural world that serve as metaphors for her ongoing exploration of the human experience.

She often describes stitching as drawing in slow motion. The careful, repetitive process gives space for ideas, memories and emotions to surface and take shape in cloth. For Myra, making art is also a way of thinking.

As her life changes, so too does her work. Every experience becomes part of her creative process. Myra’s early interest in sculpture can still be seen in the richly layered surfaces of her pieces, where dense networks of thread create intricate marks that reward close attention.

At its heart, Myra’s practice is driven by observation, reflection and a deep curiosity about the world and our place within it.

Myra Stimson My work is metaphorical, mostly using interpretations of the natural world to speak for me. I also make images of basic objects such as matches, knots, fire, smoke. 

I am drawn to simple processes and the technologically primitive. The images I make are straightforward and direct. The artworks are quiet, introspective, enigmatic.

I use paint and hand stitching – balancing these two opposing techniques to make a single language. Images come to me and I work them directly into unstretched cloth. I use paint to stain and mark the cloth; dripping, pouring and overlapping washes and marks to create space. 

Then, I pick up the cloth and a needle and start. The cloth is scrunched in my hands, so I don’t really see the whole image as I’m working. Works range in scale from something the size of a hand to several metres. 

I build the work slowly, stitch by stitch. I hold the image in my head and feel my way through the stitching to the larger image. The stitching is literal, physical – the thread width doesn’t change. This creates an equilibrium within the image – no part is more important than another. But the paint tips the balance. It adds depth.

I don’t find thinking easy. Thoughts and feelings slip away before I can identify them. For me, making art is a vehicle for thinking. My work attempts to capture deep elusive snatches of thought that occur as I stitch. The process, the image and the thoughts come together in the finished piece. 

“The image comes first, but the process underpins the thoughts, and the thoughts influence the image.” 

Myra Stimson, Mixed media artist

Everything is interesting

I don’t plan my work as such. I have four or five little A6 notebooks on the go. I use them to record 30 second sketches of anything that pops into my head, plus words, sentences, phrases I hear or read. I go to a lot of exhibitions and museums and take many photographs. 

I am alive to the world all the time. I think that’s the curse of being an artist. It’s almost impossible to switch off. Everything is interesting and potentially usable.

I let the back of my brain do all the heavy lifting and trust that anything I really find interesting will find its way to the front where I can use it to make art. It’s like a filtration process. Everything gets mixed up, then filtered and then an image or an idea will begin to form. This might result in a series or a one-off piece of work. 

Everything that’s happening around me or passing through my thoughts somehow gets put into the work. I rarely take an image directly from what I have seen or experienced around me. Usually there is an amalgamation of imagery and ideas. 

The making process always influences how the work develops. By that I mean not only the physical act of making and responding, but also the thinking and responding.

Drawing in slow motion

I don’t like using complicated images or techniques. Most of my work will have two or three elements that are simply constructed. 

I always know what I’m going to make before I start, but I never know what it will look like. I know that sounds contradictory but my initial idea is about what’s going to be included in a piece, not how it will be made. 

Usually, I start by choosing a piece of cloth. The size will be dictated by whatever I’ve been doing previously. The type of cloth is chosen instinctively – it just seems right. 

For instance, I’ve recently been making smaller works because I’d just made 12 very large pieces one after the other and felt the need to work smaller. Now I’m about to scale up again as I want the viewer to feel like they can step into the space in the work.

Then, I lay the fabric on the floor and apply paint. If I have an idea what colour threads I’ll use, that’ll dictate the colour I paint the cloth – as will the colour of the cloth itself. The thread and backcloth need to be tonally different otherwise the thread can’t be seen. 

I like washes, drips and splashes so I use really watered down fabric paint. Generally, it’s the thread that holds the image and I don’t want this fighting with thick passages of paint. 

I never draw the image first. I only ever hand stitch. I just pick up the cloth and start. It’s like drawing in slow motion. 

I use simple stitching techniques which I sometimes adapt. I don’t think of myself as an embroiderer so I don’t mind if the stitches are uneven or I’m doing something to them that I shouldn’t. 

“The stitches are just a mark-making technique.”

Myra Stimson, Mixed media artist

Why stitch?

I like the solidity of stitching. Stitching feels real in a way that painting doesn’t. What I mean is when you stitch something you make an actual thing, whereas when you paint an image of something it’s more of an illusion. 

I also love the fact that when you make a mark with stitch it’s the same at the beginning and the end, because the thread is the same width along its length. Whereas, if you make a mark with a pencil, pen or brush the weight of your hand will change the mark as you move it across the canvas or paper. 

This makes the stitched plane of the image flat and to some extent float in front of the painted parts. This also means that no one part of the stitched imagery is more important than any other. There is no hierarchy in the stitched imagery. Also, I find stitching quite sculptural.

I find stitching immensely calming and pleasurable. It gives me the perfect environment to let my thoughts wander freely. I’m interested in the world and everything in it, there’s so much to explore and try to understand. 

In a way, making helps me know what I think and believe and this process enriches my making. It’s like a loop.

“The act of making gives me space to process my experiences and understand my thoughts.” 

Myra Stimson, Mixed media artist

Making art possible

I left college convinced I was a sculptor. After selling a work to the Arts Council of Great Britain I found myself a gallery in my late twenties. Gradually my work changed. 

Painting became more interesting to me than making sculpture. This coincided with my moving to a smaller studio and having children. I had less time and less space available. In order to make the making possible, an artist’s work often changes with the circumstances of their life. 

Around this time, I found myself a new gallery. They represented me for about five or six years until working as an artist became impossible and I ‘retired’ in my mid-forties. 

This had been a successful period in my career as an artist. My work was sold to lots of corporate collections and big collectors. I was shortlisted for The Jerwood Drawing Prize and a drawing was sold to The British Museum. This drawing has been exhibited twice since it was bought, including in a large touring survey show called Pushing Paper, which travelled around Britain.

‘Retiring’ from being an artist is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It genuinely felt like I was divorcing myself. However, I couldn’t pursue a more-than-full-time career as an artist along with all the family responsibilities I had at the time. Being an artist wasn’t something I felt I could do by half measures.

I found myself working in a primary school as a learning support assistant and gradually retrained as an early years’ teacher, which I loved. A lot of what I had learned in art school came in very useful. Not in terms of techniques, but in the way I looked at the world and the way I felt about independence and resourcefulness. 

I eventually ran a large early years’ department in an inner London primary school. Through these years I made clothes (badly), curtains and cushions (a little better), mended clothes, knitted jumpers but didn’t make any art using textile techniques.

Textile epiphany

One morning in my late fifties I woke up with an overwhelming urge to make something. There were no pens or paper available, so I found a little bit of old cloth and made a small appliquéd head about 30cm (12″) square. I shoved it in a drawer and tried to forget about it. However, I couldn’t stop thinking about it and images kept appearing in my head of other things I could make. 

I soon moved away from appliqué and started hand stitching. I worked solidly and privately for about three years. It was only then I felt I could call myself an artist again – and be brave enough to start an Instagram account. 

I’ve now retired from teaching and I’m now working as an artist full time once more. It took a long while to establish a network of other artists and to start exhibiting and selling work, as well as get a studio outside of my home. 

It’s been an exciting journey, I haven’t always known which direction to take in terms of my career, but I’ve always known what I want to make and I’ve always got something to make on the go. Stitching has become my constant companion.

Becoming an artist

I did both my foundation year and my BA in Fine Art at Goldsmiths, London. It was a time of extraordinary freedom when you could make a film one day and a painting the next. It left me with the knowledge that I can try anything. 

I was discouraged by some tutors from using textile techniques in my work – I was knitting with copper wire and making shirts for a sculpture – but I wasn’t discouraged enough to stop me. At the time Goldsmiths liked students who didn’t do as they were advised. It was a wonderful experience and I’m very grateful for it.

I didn’t learn any textile techniques at college. My rudimentary skills are those I learned at school or I’ve taught myself. 

However, I did learn to be an artist at Goldsmiths. I learned to think, I learned to look, I learned to question myself and I learned to be adaptable, resourceful and open to the world.  

I made friends at college that I’ve had for nearly 50 years. Almost all of us are still working as artists in some capacity and most have had parallel careers to supplement our income. I value the opinions of these people above all else as they have known me and my work for so long.

“The worst thing that can happen is that it’ll go wrong, in which case I’ll chuck it in the bin.”

Myra Stimson, Mixed media artist

Freedom to be

Both my husband and I come from working-class families. Our parents worked hard at jobs they didn’t necessarily enjoy but did so to support their families. They wanted us to be happy and do well in our lives but didn’t pressure us to achieve academically or push us into careers. 

We were born at a time when we had huge amounts of freedom as children and teenagers. We were also able to go to college for free and get full grants to live on – all without worrying about what came next. I think we were extraordinarily lucky to have had this level of freedom. I wish this was available for young people who come from families like mine now. 

My husband and I met, aged 18, when we started our Foundation course at Goldsmiths. We have grown up together and supported each other. Of course it hasn’t always been easy, but any difficulties just made us more resourceful and resilient. 

I was asked once why I became an artist, and my answer was because no one stopped me. That’s still true.

Teaching confidence

One of the things I enjoyed most – and found most difficult – about making my Stitch Club workshop has been breaking down my everyday processes into steps in order to teach them to others. 

When in flow, most artists make hundreds of micro decisions every day without realising it. What shall I make? What composition do I want? Where shall I make a mark? How shall I cut the cloth? What size of stitch? And so it goes on. 

If there are long gaps between making sessions it can be hard to get started again. This is because the speed of decision making slows down and becomes clunky and uncomfortable. However, I hope I’ve given participants a technique they can use to get started and quickly tap into their creative flow. 

Once their decision-making starts to happen in the background of their thinking, participants can begin to respond to their own work. They begin to notice their own likes and dislikes without fretting over each step or worrying about getting something wrong.  

The beauty and power of the piece exists in its strength of character not in its technical perfection – unless of course that is the character. I really hope participants gain the confidence to trust their instincts and allow their artistic personalities to show in their finished pieces. 

I’ve demonstrated a few rudimentary painting and stitching techniques, but I’ll consider the workshop successful if participants invent their own. I’ll be truly delighted if someone employs a technique they love that I don’t personally use.

“For me, a good piece of work becomes good in the making, not in the planning stage.”

Myra Stimson, Mixed media artist

Learning from experience

I’ve gone from being someone who creates sculptures to paintings to textiles. Most recently I’ve reintroduced paint – and I’m trying out printing too. 

I’ve learned a lot on the way. The key things are:

Keep your eyes open – anything and everything is interesting and can be incorporated into your work. 

Trust your instincts – your brain will do the work for you and there’s no need to overthink it. 

Be willing to try new techniques – but maybe not all at once. 

Connect with others – I really value feedback from other artists. I’ve worked hard to build a network of supportive people around me who’ll talk about my work with me. They’re not all textile artists but they’re all creative people.

I think artists need to adapt what they do to suit their circumstances. As I’ve aged, I’ve come to accept what I’m like as a person including all my talents and shortcomings. My work will reflect that regardless so now I don’t strive to improve as such. 

I trust myself more. This is very freeing for a creative person. It allows the work to develop, because it’s not something you can force. Rather, you must make the environment right for it to happen. 

“I’ve got much better at getting the environment right and allowing the work to make itself.”

Myra Stimson, Mixed media artist

Nature sits at the centre of her work. She looks closely at how we currently relate to the natural world and how that relationship may shift over time. Her work holds both beauty and unease, inviting us to notice what we value and what could be lost.

She’s an experimenter at heart, believing real breakthroughs happen through play. She also views embroidery as a kind of ‘punk’ practice that intentionally steps outside the daily pull of speed, consumption and constant digital noise.

Be sure to check out Heather’s prayer flags and seed bank quilts. They’re further proof of how fabric and stitch can deepen our connection to the natural world.

A tangle of textile memories

Heather Kerley: I have a tangle of childhood memories about textiles: my maternal grandmother giving me a knitting lesson, and my mother and grandmother always sewing and doing embroidery projects.

From a young age, I loved to work with my hands. For a while, it was pot holders, and then I got a little quilting kit. Of course, in the 80s, I went through a friendship bracelet phase, and I also dabbled in cross stitching.

I was lucky to have a good high school art program and a very supportive teacher who introduced me to batik-making. I became obsessed. I made batik designs and then embroidered them. My series landed me a scholarship to Columbus College of Art and Design in Ohio. 

Unfortunately, the programme didn’t really focus on textiles at the time, so I got away from it for many years. Then about 10 years ago, I picked up embroidery again and fell in love with it. I’m mostly self-taught from books and occasional YouTube videos.

I had also always wanted to learn quilting and got my chance during the pandemic. I reached out to quilter Lauren Kingsland, who agreed to mentor me, and one of my last trips out of the house before lockdown was picking up a sewing machine. 

Nature calls

The wonder of nature is my greatest inspiration, and I thank my father for instilling that in me. He took our family camping, canoeing and hiking. Everywhere we went, he encouraged us to look closely at everything, whether it was stones on Lake Superior’s shores or spring beauties coming up in the Appalachian foothills. 

Because of those experiences, when I now walk into the woods, I don’t just admire the trees. I imagine everything underground as well: the soil, the microbes, the mycorrhizal networks, the roots and the water. All of that is in my body too, and all that I create reflects my desire to deepen my integration with the world around me. 

Rewilding & kinship

My textile art and paintings explore regeneration, co-creation, and the process of re-kinning ourselves with the natural world. As I watched climate disasters unfold during the pandemic, I realised we risked losing parts of the planet’s diversity each day. 

I was overcome by grief, but it also gave me a sense of urgency.

Writers Robin Wall Kimmerer and Doug Tallamy helped shape my response. Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass emphasises kinship and reciprocity with the natural world, while Tallamy’s Nature’s Best Hope shows how even small spaces can support ecosystems. Their ideas led me to focus on the land right outside my door.

I planted native species in my yard and then moved towards a process of rewilding, in which I let certain plants grow and allowed natural processes to unfold. It gave me permission to live more freely and to not fight battles I can’t win – though I do sometimes need to remove invasives, poison ivy or saplings growing in unrealistic places!  

My Maryland home is on the ancestral land of the Piscataway people, who were forcibly displaced. It’s also a land where many people came from other places, some against their will.

For me, the process of land acknowledgement is key to the idea of re-kinning, because it creates an opportunity for reciprocity, healing and understanding.

“I realised that to truly honour and heal the land, I had to acknowledge its suffering and history.”

Heather Kerley, Textile artist

Experimental approaches

I am someone who relies on intuition and improvisation. Of course, some projects require planning, and for that, I’m grateful for my art school education. It taught me that there’s always a way to create whatever vision I have, but I might need to work it out in steps and acquire new skills along the way.

I’ve had so many fits and starts in my artistic journey, and I have come to view experimentation as part of the process. William Kentridge said, ‘It’s always been in between the things I thought I was doing that the real work has happened.’

When I consistently show up for the experimentation and play aspects of creating, I gain ideas for more focused projects while making lots of discoveries. I also gain important skills and experience.

I’ve also found ways to turn provisional experimentation into projects that embrace that mode of working. That includes my paper collages, for which I recycle other artworks, and my prayer flag project.

Everything I make builds on everything that came before and lays the groundwork for what’s to come.

“Time spent messing around when the stakes are low is the time that’s most creatively fruitful.”

Heather Kerley, Textile artist

Multiple artistic styles

Early in my career, I used to agonise over not having a particular look or steady style in my work. Now I bounce between three or four different consistent modalities and lines of inquiry. 

There are many ways to be an artist. Some artists find one way of working, while others are endlessly exploring. 

We should create the things that spark our passion and feed our curiosity. And if you follow a spiritual tradition that touches your work, it becomes part of your point of view that is inseparable from your art. 

“I think it’s important we artists view everything that we do as part of our art.”

Heather Kerley, Textile artist

The power of embroidery

Hand stitching has a wonderful tactility, and it slows down my racing thoughts. I enjoy the creative arc of working intuitively and improvisationally, watching the creation evolve, change and then come together.

Embroidery is also endlessly varied. I love how there’s always a new stitch to learn.

I think textile art is very ‘punk’. It exists in a space out of reach of algorithms, surveillance and consumerism, especially when I use found materials in my pieces.

“Stitching is an antidote to all the ways that society and corporations try to capitalise on every waking moment of our lives.”

Heather Kerley, Textile artist

Favourite stitches

My favourite stitches are like my favourite colours: they keep changing. 

I’ve been expanding my repertoire a lot lately to challenge myself. In particular, the entire family of chain stitches is fascinating. I also enjoy hunting through my books for the best stitch for a particular detail or use.

I work with all kinds of threads. Recently, I’ve been doing more traditional crewel work, so I’ve been using Appleton’s wool. I also enjoy Threadworx thread, but I use DMC and Splendor too. 

Upcycled materials are my fabrics of choice, usually cotton, muslin and linen. I use linen for my traditional embroidery.

I’m excited about sharing some of my techniques in a Stitch Club workshop. Members will create a nature-based design that will evolve rather than following a fixed plan. After simplifying and transferring their image, they’ll experiment with a range of embroidery stitches combined in intuitive, unexpected ways. 

I’m hoping they’ll embrace their creative flow as they create a unique interpretation using a more relaxed approach to stitching. 

Mourning our kin

In 2021, the United States Fish and Wildlife Service proposed 23 species for delisting from the Endangered Species Act due to extinction. That meant no more resources would be used to find or study those species.

The quilt Mourning Our Kin honours each of those species. I chose Redwork embroidery because the outlines denote absence, while the red suggests the violence involved in species destruction.

At the time they were being de-listed, I happened to come across a historical picture of a Redwork quilt featuring beautiful botanical imagery. Most American Redwork is on the cutesy side, but this work had a seriousness that I thought would be a perfect container for the project.

I also learned Redwork embroidery was very popular at the time when many North American species were being pushed to extinction, including the staggering near-eradication of the American Bison that had numbered in the millions at one time. Our modern conservation movement began as a result, as well as the notion of ‘last animal’ imagery.

Redwork involves just a few easy stitches: outline, backstitch and running stitch. The stitching was fairly easy, but constructing the quilt was a challenge. I was not an experienced quilter!

Quilted prayers

In the tradition of Tibetan prayer flags, I created my own versions to offer healing prayers for lands scarred by centuries of exploitation, colonialism and environmental degradation.

My first little banner hung in the elements all winter in 2023. I then took it apart and added other found elements. These continued to commune with each other and the elements as they hung from the crab apple tree outside my studio window.

I used cotton twill binding tape to string the flags the second time around. The flags themselves are made from all kinds of odds and ends stitched together with running stitch and few other embroidery stitches. Some of the fabric incorporates mixed media, including nature printing using leaves from my yard.

I’m now in the process of taking the prayer flags apart and reconfiguring them into finished pieces. Sacred Connection is one of those new finished works. 

I’m also taking a few pieces from the original prayer flag to include in a new flag with new material. It’s kind of like a sourdough starter!

Seed bank quilts

My mini seed bank quilts are love letters to the thousands-year-old practice of saving seeds for next year’s crop. I collected seeds and nuts from the native plants and trees in my yard and then preserved them in a tulle capsule. Each piece references the regeneration of life and how nothing in nature really ends. 

Each composition is somewhat linked in my mind to the feelings I hold for each plant. I’ve collected goldenrod seeds, echinacea, milkweed, acorns and beechnuts.

Experimental books

My little textile books are an extension of experimenting and improvising. They serve as a sort of sketchbook for trying out ideas and playing with different techniques and stitches.

Like most of my improvisational work, I start with a palette. I sift through my on-hand fabric and materials such as ribbons, yarn, buttons, beads and shells. I choose whatever is calling to me. 

I throw all the bits and bobs into a little basket, and usually a story or theme comes to life by that time. Even if it’s just related to a pattern or colour, it starts to suggest itself to me.

By the time I’m done stitching one page, there’s usually a plan of some kind. But I leave it open ended.

I’ll also sometimes incorporate fabric paint, block printing, stamps and more.

For the cover, I usually use a thicker piece of upholstery fabric or the like. Three to four rectangular pieces serve as the pages, and I make a simple two-stitch binding in the middle. 

Maker space

I create my art in a room on the back of the house. It has good natural lighting and looks out onto the back yard. I’ve set up different work surfaces and lots of storage, so I can switch between projects and still have room for the virtual classes I teach. It’s an amazing space.

Still, I think you can create in most any space. I do a lot of stitching in front of the TV at night. And when my husband was in the Air Force, we moved around quite a bit. I always needed to set up a new space. With all the supplies and stash I’ve collected over the years, that would be tough to do again!

Her creative process starts by tinting papers with watercolour, letting the pigments pool and fade like the sky. The papers are torn and rebuilt into collaged landscapes. Dense layers of machine stitching help to amplify the colours and shadows of spectacular sunrises and sunsets.

Anita is also exploring the myth of Persephone, imagining fragments of clothing she might have worn. Using the same process, layers of colour and thread suggest folds and movement, blurring the line between paper and cloth.

Discover how paper can become a powerful foundation for textile art.

Enticed by embroidery

Anita Bell: My earliest memory of stitching is making a tiny apron for a doll from scrap material and adding an embroidered face. I also made a peg bag at school and took O-level needlework classes.

My mum was partially sighted, and she did a lot of handicrafts. She especially loved macramé. All her sisters did some type of textile art, like patchwork or knitting, and an aunt on my father’s side taught me to knit at a young age. We knitted red mittens, but because I hadn’t mastered tension, my pair was huge. 

I always enjoyed art at school, but because it wasn’t considered to be important, we couldn’t take examinations. So, it wasn’t until my children started school that I enrolled in an evening course at a local college to study for a General Certificate of Secondary Education in art.

After that, I went on to an Access Art and Design course at Portsmouth College, followed by completing a degree in Art and Related Arts at the University of Chichester. At the time, Carol Naylor, a well-known textile artist, was the Head of Art at Chichester, and she encouraged everyone toward the textiles department. Once I tried free machine embroidery, I was hooked.

Painting with thread

I’d describe my work as painting or drawing with thread on paper. Each work is a one-off piece made using a variety of papers, often recycled or handmade. I paint or dye the papers, and then tear, layer and embellish them with stitch. 

Using this process, I’ve created hangings, framed and mounted pieces, handmade paper, vessels and books. 

“Embroidery helps make colour come alive – blending threads makes momentary memories more vivid.”

Anita Bell, Textile artist 

Multiple inspirations

My earliest works were inspired by the frescoes and architecture of Romanesque churches. My technique evolved to reflect the colour in the natural pigments, along with depicting the peeling paint and faded imagery. 

More recently, my art is inspired by text or stories. Persephone’s Dress is based on the Greek myth that, along with many other readings, explains the changing seasons. It explores ideas about the fragility of the natural world, femininity and vulnerability. 

My Borrowed View and Colour Field series evolved after a visit to Monet’s house and gardens. I sought to capture the reflective qualities of the water. The underlying Japanese influence left an impression of tangible colour and vivid views.

I looked at Japanese garden techniques, particularly ‘shakkei’, which means ‘borrowed view’ and ‘ikedori’, meaning ‘captured alive’.

Horizons and Skies is a continuing series of artworks looking toward the horizon, an imaginary line where earth or sea meets the sky. Those pieces reflect the changing light, particularly at dawn and dusk. This series also led to my Fired Earth and Imaginary Landscapes series.

Working in series

I have many ideas, and sometimes while working on one, I’m inspired to do something else. Or I might spend a whole day on one piece, only to feel like I haven’t taken it forward. At those times, I find it’s best to leave it to another day and come back with fresh eyes.

I also tend to work on several pieces at the same time and rotate them. Some pieces come together quite quickly, while others may be in a pile for many years before I know how to finish them. Other pieces grow steadily as I add bits I think they need along the way. 

Sometimes when working on something quite large, I may end up only being happy with one section, so I cut it up and go from there.

“I like working in series because there is never just one response.” 

Anita Bell, Textile artist

Layers of process

There are quite a few steps in creating my art. After coming up with an initial idea, I colour or make the paper, then tear and reassemble it into a collage. I add free machine embroidery, followed by hand stitching.

I mostly work intuitively and through making samples. I don’t use a sketchbook as such. I tend to sketch or paint on odd bits of paper, add notes, and then put them in a pile. Sometimes I put them together in a sketchbook. 

When I’m inspired by something, I set about researching and gathering lots of information in mind map styles with lots of lists. I use a highlighter to pick out the main ideas. I love researching, and it can take quite a bit of time.

For example, for my dawn and dusk works, I observed many sunrises and sunsets, and took countless photographs, often just seconds apart. I made watercolour studies to try to capture the atmosphere and constantly changing light of a fleeting moment in time. 

Then, using a thin thread as a medium, I transfer those ideas onto paper. Details are drawn out using dense lines of stitch that are overlaid like paint to build up depths of colour. 

Wonderful watercolour

My favourite colouring medium is watercolour, simply because it’s transparent and I love the way it stains tissue paper. It’s simple to use and does not require lots of cleaning up afterwards. I can also overlay the painted papers to change the colours.

Mainly, I use Pelikan brand watercolours. I water them down quite a lot, so they last a long time. I also take them on holiday if I want to sketch. I’ve also tried watercolour in tubes, and I recently found some liquid watercolours in large bottles at a charity shop that have been quite successful.

The watercolour paint makes the paper cockle slightly, adding to the texture of the work, and the layers of stitching creates even more depth.

Garden dyes

For my Persephone’s Dress series, I work with natural dyes created from plant materials from my garden on paper, fabric, threads and fibres. I like the soft apricot from brown onion skins and soft greens from nettles. At the moment, I’m enjoying experimenting with dark red hollyhock flowers. 

I use solar dyeing in jars on the window ledge of my studio, as well as buckets in the greenhouse. The goal is to not use chemicals or energy to create my colours. 

To add interest, I use shibori techniques like Itajime (folding and dipping the papers), or I scrunch them quite tightly so some areas remain pale. At times, I’ll overdye the papers in another colour after they dry.

Stitching on paper

I try to use as much recycled paper as possible, but I do buy white acid-free tissue paper and handmade tissue paper from online art suppliers. I also use sustainable plant papers made from plants that are harvested and then regrown to provide another crop.

My Bernina 1001 machine is 30 years old and still going strong. I bought it while I was at university. I also have a Bernina 1005, just in case.

I feed the paper into the sewing machine, holding it on both sides. I’ll sometimes use a round wooden embroidery frame to hold the paper taut if I’m working on a particular area or making a repair.

The stitching gathers up the paper and can shrink it by about a third, so I must bear that in mind. If I get a tear, I add paper to the top or below and carry on stitching. 

I’ll also sometimes deliberately distress and tear the paper and then make visible repairs using darning, either by machine or by hand. 

“By stitching directly on paper, I create a mesh structure, making the paper more fabric-like and stronger.”

Anita Bell, Textile artist

Bits & bobbins

I use an embroidery foot, and I rarely change my needles. I’ve used many types of needle brands, like Smetz and even needles from a local supermarket. I’m currently using some Bernina needles I bought on an auction site.

I mainly use Madeira threads, usually a rayon 40 or 30. They kindly sponsored me during my degree and gave me a lot of threads. The choice of colours is incredible.

For bobbin threads, I use up any threads I may have obtained from charity shops or auction sites. Sometimes I work double-sided and turn the work over and stitch from the back. This means I don’t have to keep changing the colour on top. Mostly I wind metallic thread on the bobbin and work upside down. 

I’m excited to help Stitch Club members experiment with stitching on paper. They’ll use a variety of papers and hand embroidery stitches to create abstract samples. I’m hoping they’ll enjoy stitching on paper and be open to experimentation and play. 

Their samples might also prompt new ideas for future work. 

“Sampling is a great way to take the pressure off thinking you need to create something spectacular.”

Anita Bell, Textile artist

Knowing when to stop

With so much stitching, it can be difficult knowing when to put the needle down. If I have a deadline for an exhibition, I know I must finish a piece. But without a hard deadline, a piece could lie for ages waiting for me to return. It’s also not unknown for me to further work on exhibition pieces after having them returned to me. 

I don’t have set rules as to when a piece is finished. I keep going until it seems to look right and achieves a kind of balance.

Display techniques

For display, a lot of my work is put into a mount and then framed. If a piece is going to be surface mounted, I attach it to another piece of paper first, then stitch that to a board that’s ready to frame.

Some pieces are stitched onto a canvas board that is not seen, to make them easier for a gallery to hang. Some of my older fresco pieces are attached to wooden battens with Velcro, similar to the way quilts are hung. 

Some of the very fragile pieces from my Persephone series have hidden loops on the back for hanging, and then I thread fishing wire through the loops so I can adjust the height. 

Persephone’s dress

The Persephone series is a body of work I hope to exhibit soon. I’ve been working on it for many years, so it’s quite a large collection. 

As with most of my work, the inspiration came from a collage of ideas. Whilst on a camping holiday in Italy, I saw Sandro Botticelli’s Primavera at the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. I later saw Alexander McQueen’s Savage Beauty exhibition in London, and I started to look at ideas linked to spring and autumn. 

As a child, I’d read the myth about Persephone. She was abducted by her uncle Hades, king of the Underworld, and later wed to him. The story of her abduction and travel between the Underworld and earth symbolises the cyclical nature of spring vegetation followed by autumn harvests.

Upon further research, I learned she had been picking flowers when she was taken to the Underworld, and one of her handmaidens was left holding a tear-stained piece of her dress. That led me to thinking about what that dress might have looked like. 

The idea is that Persephone will need new clothes when she appears in the spring, and she may also leave fragments behind when she disappears in autumn.

Greek costumes at that time would have been simple rectangles that draped the body. I also looked at how Persephone had been depicted in art over the years, particularly the Pre-Raphaelite painters Millais and Rosetti. I also explored Zeng Chuanxing’s Paper Brides series.

At the same time, I was trying to make my practice more sustainable. After looking at the materials I was using and their sources, I decided to experiment with plant papers and natural dyes. I started sculpting the paper with stitch and exploiting the sewing machine’s tensions to create paper wall pieces that suggested garments or fragments of fabric.

I also imagined what Persephone’s wedding dress might have looked like when she got married in the Underworld.

Twilight magic

My first creative space was my kitchen table, and then I moved into a spare bedroom. Today I have a separate studio in a unit in a business centre in Portsmouth. It’s on the fourth floor of an old brush factory and has windows on two sides. 

It’s an incredible place to be, and I often get to view a sunset from my window. 

I’ve always had a fascination with the sky and looking toward the horizon. And I particularly enjoy twilight. 

My Fired Earth series is inspired by sunsets, especially the last flare of colour before the sun disappears below the horizon. I’ve observed and photographed many sunsets, and sometimes they’re particularly beautiful experiences.

The work features multiple papers stitched together. I layered and collaged the top piece of paper and painted the back of some pieces with gesso. The bottom layer was made using soluble fabric, and then both bits were stitched together, with more paper added behind to change the colour. Fluorescent stitching suggests the last rays of sun at sunset.

I have a passion for colour, and I use a complementary colour palette. With any paints or dyes, I mix using the three primary colours. I allow the colours to mix randomly on the paper and use the dried paper colours to guide my thread colour choices.

Glorious sunsets

Dusk was inspired by watching the sun go down over water near my home. I used white acid-free tissue paper painted with cold water dye and watercolour. Painting the two directly on paper allowed the colours to bleed. 

When dry, the papers were torn and layered to make a collage. They were pinned onto a piece of Lokta paper from Nepal. 

I started stitching from the left across the sheet to hold the papers in place, then added more stitching to enhance certain areas. The final stitches are the metallic threads, where I have used tension techniques to pull the red thread up from the bottom. 

“In my sunset works, I am trying to represent something that does not actually exist, as the sky is just infinite space.”

Anita Bell, Textile artist 

Needle felting embellished with stitch is just one of the techniques Lydia uses to deliver her message. Her work references how interconnected we all are. And her practice shows how collaboration can drive reflection, growth and collective impact.

A lifelong maker, she combines experimentation and play with in-depth research, creating a balance between intuition and a strong conceptual foundation.

Lydia Needle: I create eco-conscious art that uses reclaimed materials and collaboration to explore environmental interconnection through gentle, reflective activism. My aim is to raise awareness about issues like biodiversity loss, especially pollinators, as well as textile waste. 

My approach is subtle – it’s a ‘gentle protest’. I invite reflection as opposed to demanding it through confrontation.

I’m drawn to the quiet, often overlooked relationships between people, places and the natural world. We are all interconnected. 

“I allow my process to be guided by place or weather or creature.”

Lydia Needle, Eco-conscious artist

Guided by the natural world

My work emerges from a need to pay attention, particularly to native bees and their fragile, specific habitats. Materials and process are integral to that attention. I work mostly with waste fabric and old threads, and I use a lot of stitch. 

I tend to work in ways that are slow and responsive, often shaped by the environments I’m focusing on. This might mean observing, gathering or working directly within a site. 

What attracts me most is the tension between visibility and disappearance. For example, how something as vital as pollination can remain largely unseen and unknown to most of us. 

Through my work, I try to hold space for those small, essential presences, while also finding ways to engage and inform others. I’m inviting closer observation, sparking curiosity and encouraging a deeper understanding of our shared environments.

I’m interested in how creative practice can inspire greater awareness and care, opening conversations about how we notice, value and coexist with the natural world.

Flexibility in process

How I plan and create my work varies depending on the project and the stages within it.

For example, for the Fifty Bees The Interconnectedness of All Things project there are months of planning, admin and research. I have to decide which bees will be included, as well as select and support the companion artists. 

Then there’s the research about the bees themselves. If I want to create a work of art that resembles an actual bee species, I must ensure that the foundation, the bee’s body, is anatomically correct. Only then can I build the colour and character on top. 

Although this labour and time is invisible in the work or the exhibitions, it’s like scaffolding; without it, the work isn’t as strong. 

However, the execution of work is very different. At the start of making an individual bee, I don’t know how it will look, how the wings will be positioned, the threads or even the container it will be presented in. That evolves once I start. 

For much of my other work, I don’t plan how a piece will end up. I clear my desk, assemble my materials, along with a thread of an idea and then I let my hands and intuition take over. 

“As a work builds, I begin to learn how it will look, and then I react, adding in stitches or other materials as it grows.”

Lydia Needle, Eco-conscious artist

Leaning into uncertainty

Like many people, self-belief and letting go have been my biggest challenges. Learning to release control has been difficult but also a real joy. 

Allowing my work to evolve intuitively, rather than trying to resolve it too quickly, has been both an education and a liberation. 

Over time, I’ve embraced a more open and responsive way of working, trusting that the process itself will lead to stronger outcomes. In turn, this has helped build my self-belief. 

Once I stop trying to create work that feels ‘safe’, pretty or marketable, I create something more authentic.

“When I lean into uncertainty I make work that connects more deeply with people.”

Lydia Needle, Eco-conscious artist

The importance of junk

My early experiences have had a lasting impact on my practice, particularly in my use of textiles, found materials and an ongoing interest in process and making. Two people were especially influential – my mum and my maternal grandmother.

My grandmother was a prolific stitcher and embellisher. Although she never formally taught me, I watched her. I was fascinated by her work, her relationship with textiles, and her constant drive to keep embellishing.

My mum was, and still is, a huge inspiration. No matter our financial situation, she made sure we always had space to create and access to materials, whether that was paper and pencils, paint and packaging for junk modelling or a sewing kit. 

We expected to make mistakes. It was during this time that I began to develop my intuition and honed my skills in 3D making and construction. In fact, junk modelling was a massive influence and educator. 

Later, my mum went on to complete an art degree and became a brilliant abstract painter. This was a real inspiration and reinforced for me that creativity can evolve throughout life. 

Never too late

I grew up in the Midlands, but aged 13, we moved to Somerset. The transition was a complete culture shock. I struggled at school and often skipped classes. As a result, I didn’t pursue further education until I was nearly 30. 

I then went on to study for a Creative Arts degree at Bath Spa University, focusing on Fine Art and Creative Writing. My art involved large textile sculptures. Later, I achieved a PGCE for teaching qualification in Art, followed by an MA in Fine Art, also at Bath Spa University. 

In 2023, I attended a residency at Brisons Veor in Cornwall, where I focused on the topic ‘Where do the bees go?’. I developed work that explores and is situated within the places where our native bees hide at night or exist out of season.

“My skills are rooted in the conception and delivery of larger projects.”

Lydia Needle, Eco-conscious artist 

Time to play

I’ve developed my making skills through play and experimentation. I use everyday inexpensive materials that I collect, scavenge or repurpose. I’ve honed my craft over time through trial, error and failure.

The idea of ‘make do and mend’ is central to my practice. It’s shaped as much by necessity as by intention, particularly during the many periods of financial constraint in my life.

However, my artistic development lies as much in the realisation of ideas as in the making process itself. 

My skills are rooted in the conception and delivery of larger projects, such as Fifty Bees and my work with the Seam Collective. These have evolved through ongoing and often challenging processes of thinking, discussion and dialogue with peers and exhibition visitors.

Even all these years into Fifty Bees, I’m still refining my ability to communicate its concept, purpose and accessibility succinctly. 

Growing and evolving 

Being part of textile communities is invaluable for sharing knowledge and for building confidence and a spirit of experimentation in my work.

Working collaboratively with Seam Collective is inspirational. You are sharing ideas from the initial spark of what the group wants to achieve through to the making of individual work. The members create while being supported by peer feedback and constructive critique. 

The Warped and Wasted project gave me the opportunity to finally process my ‘stash’ into work I would never have made alone. It afforded me the time and space to create sculptural forms. 

I transformed what was once waste into pieces that invite touch, interaction and reflection. It also satisfied my own desire to work in three dimensions.

The collaboration allowed me to exchange ideas, encounter new approaches and challenge my own ways of working. It created a supportive environment that encouraged experimentation and kept my practice evolving.

“You rise to the challenge together, pushing each other into less familiar territory, whether in methods, materials or ways of thinking.”

Lydia Needle, Eco-conscious artist 

Bee-ing collaborative

For Fifty Bees, the collaboration takes on a different dimension. The project started in 2017, and in five exhibitions I made 250 bees from wool, stitch and vintage containers. For each exhibition, I invite 50 collaborative artists to make work in response to the ecology of one bee. 

I realised from the start that collaborating with other artists would strengthen the message I wanted to convey.

Throughout the process, I support the companion artists through mentoring where needed. More often, I introduce them to ‘their’ bee and then step back as they research, reflect and create, rising to the challenge of becoming advocates for their species.

While I focus on producing 50 small individual bee artworks, they respond in diverse ways. Using paint, print, poetry, song, sculpture and more, they create a rich narrative between art and ecology. 

Together, they form a mosaic of responses that helps audiences better understand our pollinators and recognise how vital they are.

“What the other artists bring to the project is entirely different from what I could offer alone, and I learn a great deal from their perspectives.”

Lydia Needle, Eco-conscious artist

Embracing imperfection

In my workshop for Stitch Club, I explore needle felting combined with expressive stitch techniques. I focus on mark-making, layering and working intuitively with the wool and thread. 

My main hope is that participants let go of perfection. I want them to respond to these simple materials in a more open, playful way. 

I hope they come to understand that if you’ve tried needle felting once, you can do anything with it. Members can use this workshop to gain confidence in their own unique creative style and a deeper appreciation for the possibilities of stitching needle felted forms.

Guided by intuition

My work has become increasingly intuitive and process-led over time. I’ve moved away from trying to tightly control outcomes and work towards a more exploratory approach, so I allow my materials and techniques to guide the direction of each piece. 

I work from my small home studio in Somerset, where the upstairs window looks out across the Somerset Levels, an important wetland area. 

I am surrounded by discarded and second-hand materials – cast-offs, remnants and waste accumulated over many years. My studio is filled with the quiet history of these items: moth-eaten wool blankets, hessian, old threads and yarn, as well as natural fibres sourced from small-scale producers.

I no longer attempt to make work that doesn’t fit my hand. This has led to richer, more layered work that feels closely connected to my thought processes and the messages in my work.

Working with paper, print, paint and stitch, her textile art bears witness to displacement, silenced women and the damage that authoritarian regimes impose on ordinary lives.

Batool’s mixed media wall pieces are incredibly striking, but her artist books truly set her apart. Printed imagery of family photographs, birth certificate documents and her own Farsi handwriting are complemented by intricate machine stitching and paint. 

Of special note is the way Batool uses the folds of her books’ pages to hide and reveal clues to her narratives. Viewers are invited to interact with the pages to discover what happens next. 

Batool’s art grapples with identity and loss, after leaving and being displaced herself because of war and religious restrictions imposed on women. Her stories can be hard to listen to, but they need to be told.   

A love for mixed media

What are your earliest memories of working with textiles? 

Batool Showghi: My mother was a good tailor. She used to sew all our clothes on her Singer sewing machine. When I was 14, I made my first skirt and then embroidered all around the hem. I remember feeling so happy about the entire process. 

By the age of 16, I was designing and making my own clothes. I also loved drawing and painting.

Did those experiences lead you toward the textile art you create today?

I specialised in photography and printmaking at both London Guildhall University (BA Honours) and the University of Westminster (MA). I loved mixing different media from the start, and I always used elements of stitch, thread and textiles in my practice. 

In 2018, I decided to use my sewing machine as a drawing tool to create my characters.

“Women have long been fighting for their rights in Iran because of religious boundaries and Islamic traditions.”

Batool Showghi, Textile artist 

Tackling oppression

Your portfolio focuses on women facing discrimination and displaced peoples. Tell us more…

I was born in Iran and have lived in England since 1985. There is always some form of crisis happening in the Middle East, and my textile art responds to devastating wars, immigration issues and the many discriminations against women. 

I was brought up under those restrictions, but things got even worse for women in 1979 after the Islamic government came into power. There was more discrimination regarding divorce, the right to their children, travelling abroad or making the simplest decisions for themselves.

In 2022, a young woman named Mahsa Amini was beaten and killed for not wearing a head covering (hijab) properly. People protested across Iran and fought bravely. Since then, the government has not been able to push women back to where they once were. 

Women now work side by side with men. And why not? They’re as intelligent and hardworking as men. How can you tell a female lawyer or doctor or scientist that they are lesser than a man? And these women are supposed to obey their husbands? 

The government still tries very hard to control women, but they have not fully succeeded. 

How does Iran’s government treat women artists?

Both female and male artists find it challenging to express themselves freely. They are heavily censored, so they must find different ways to express their artistic voices. Artists, writers and film-makers are watched closely, and they cannot exhibit, publish or release anything without getting a license from the Ministry of Arts. Those applications are usually rejected. 

A layered approach

How would you describe your approach to using mixed media?

I like to use photography, printmaking, paint, drawing and collage to create my images for my books. Then I add stitching and textiles on top of my images. On some of the canvases, after adding stitch and textile, acrylic or coloured pencils are applied to enhance my work.

I like to layer my images and create collages which relate to each other and convey my narratives. It’s important to keep a consistent transparency that allows all the layered elements to be seen. I make sure nothing is obstructed as I layer paint, writings, textile and stitch.

“Stitching on my illustrations, photographs and prints gives me an immense sense of fulfilment.”

Batool Showghi, Textile artist

Where did your passion for making tactile, interactive artist books come from?

When I was working on my undergraduate degree, one of my lecturers taught us how to use printing to make artist’s books. It was my first time seeing that format, and she was a very good influence. 

I view my artist books as objects of art. A book’s design, layout and content all play an important role, especially the content and cover. 

When a viewer opens one of my concertina books, it’s like seeing a performance come to life. They instantly become involved in creating the book’s meaning. 

“Each book illustrates a process or event that takes viewers on a journey.”

Batool Showghi, Textile artist

Tell us about the first artist book you made. What did you discover?

For my early artist books, I experimented with different formats. I felt free to cut windows out of pages, to hide sections of the pages, add collage, stitch straight into the book and fold the pages creatively. 

I also tried many different papers, fabrics, and transparencies. I had a lot of fun. 

Now the content has become most important to me when making my books, as well as exploring how a fold in a page can reveal or hide information. When a fold is opened, or a page is turned, the viewer is confronted with something like a surprise or discovery. 

“The physical interaction with the book is very important as viewers open and enter the pages.”

Batool Showghi, Textile artist 

Meaningful page folds

It sounds like the folds in your artist books play quite an important role. Tell us more… 

The way pages are folded not only adds to the meaning of my books, but they also engage the viewer in discovering the book’s content.

The folds of a concertina artist book are especially appealing to me. I love how both the even and uneven folds open like a fan, and only one side is revealed while the other is hidden or in shadow. 

Viewers need to look carefully at those hidden parts where other images and stories are revealed. 

I often fold smaller papers into larger pages to create new chapters with new stories. The larger pages refer to the past, and the smaller insets reflect current times. 

A Visual Reflection on Displacement is a good example of that technique. It was based on my family’s experiences in the war in the 1980s, and I used their pictures and documents in the book. The smaller inserted chapters represent the people who are now displaced and reflect their need to start a new life in another country or place. 

What types of paper and other materials do you prefer?

I mostly use Epson archival matte paper, but I also experiment with textured papers.

Many viewers comment on how they enjoy seeing the backside of my artist books. They come across as simple drawings against the white paper.

There’s a lot happening on the main pages, so some of the stitching can be lost or not properly seen. Each page’s white backing isolates those images and shows off the delicate stitching. 

For fabrics, I normally use silk or thin cotton cloth. I buy them from fairs such as Knit & Stitch, but I also look at charity shops. Friends who are textile artists will also give me their unwanted pieces.

Tell us about how present your artist books… 

The covers of my artist books are very important. For me, it’s an extension of the book. The inside cover is also important. Some books are inserted into a cover sleeve.

My book covers have to be practical and creative while at the same time add to the overall meaning of the book. We can’t separate the cover from the pages. It’s all related and connected.

The size of a book can add to its meaning, so I use a variety of sizes. Some are over two metres long! Some have a square or rectangular format, and I’ve made small books too. 

Once I’ve planned a design and brought the materials together, I’ll decide on the size of the book. It all depends upon the narrative I’m trying to tell. 

Gathering photos & artifacts

Do you plan ahead or work more intuitively?

All of my illustrations are carefully planned. It may take a year or at least a few months for a new book to be born. Much of that time is spent collecting materials, including old photographs, patterns taken from tiles or textiles, and copies of documents.

I start by using Adobe Photoshop to layer some images or photographs to create the layout of the book. Then I add to that design in the studio. I might use paint, textile and stitching as well as writing on them. Sometimes, I take photographs of a mixed media piece that I have done on canvas and then turn it into a book.

For my bigger works on canvas, I work on the layout first because coordinating the colour palette and composition is very important. Of course, some changes are inevitable during the creative process by adding or subtracting certain elements. 

Your work often includes text written in Farsi. What kind of messages do those inscriptions bear?

All of my art has a theme, and the titles are chosen very carefully to give a hint. I start with a key issue, such as a women’s uprising or immigrants. Then I often write a poem or narrative about that issue. 

I take lines from what I’ve written and rewrite them in Farsi on my art works. I use permanent felt-tipped marker pens. I also post an English translation for each piece.

You pack a lot of visual imagery in, so how do you know when a work is complete?

Before I consider a work finished, I need to live with it and constantly look for any further improvements it might need. I also want to see what type of impression it makes on me. I usually decide after a few days if the work is finished.

Resilience & upheaval

What inspired the ethereal imagery in Visual Reflection on Displacement?

This work was made in response to a book art project called Enfolded Journeys that examined issues of migration, travel and borders. It took me a while to decide on the format of the book, and I explored a new way of presenting the book. 

I usually don’t print on both sides, but I decided to do so for this book. One side has fading colours, while the other has more sombre colours. There’s a lot to see and tell in this piece because the displacement of people creates a lot of disturbance and is a life-changing experience. I wanted to show that upheaval through my layered photographs and documents.

Why did you use intricate cutout shapes in your Portraits of Resilience in the Land of Ruins?

This art book was in response to the war in Palestine. I was struck by how the women had to remake their homes over and over in different camps with so many difficulties. 

I’m inspired by iconography and the way religious icons are displayed. So, the book opens like a screen that stands and confronts the viewer with the women’s strength and togetherness. 

In a world fractured by loss and amid shattered homes and desolate landscapes, the textile portraits celebrate the enduring spirit of the women whose strength blooms amid destruction. 

Who are the women in Here I Am No More No. 1, which has an incredible mashup of colour, pattern and personality? 

In December 2025 and January 2026, I had to make some pieces for the Collect Art Fair. During those months, there were demonstrations happening in Iran. The Iranian people across many towns were critical about the state of affairs and economic hardships. 

They were demonstrating peacefully, but on the 7th and 8th of January, it was reported over 30,000 families were massacred at night! It was the worst killing in the history of any country, let alone Iran.

Like any other Iranian, I was so devastated, and I had to somehow respond to it. I put all my sadness into this piece. It shows the many desperate women who cannot believe what has happened.

I included a poem written in Farsi that talks about the love and hope between those men and women, their dead bodies and the immense sorrow befalling them all. 

What is your maker space like?

I work in a studio that was built for me, which is situated in our garden. I have a view of our pond and the fish, birds and some trees. I’m happy I don’t have to travel far and can work until late at night. 

In terms of my tools, my computer and sewing machine are most important. For my materials, my must-have items would be textiles and different papers. 

What can Stitch Club members look forward to in your workshop?

Members will create a concertina style book made from their experiments with lots of media and materials. Hand and machine stitching options can both be used. 

It’s a very open workshop with respect to the subject they choose; I’ll share the construction process and then members can choose a theme that’s important to them and tell their story using this creative and surprising format. 

I’m hoping they’ll push the boundaries of what an artist book can be, while having fun in the process!

Jo embraces a slow stitching approach to her art, in which the process matters as much as the finished piece. The gentle pace gives her time to consider colour and mark making, and the final pieces are perfectly personal. 

She’s also a fan of simple stitches. Running stitches dance across her compositions, shifting direction, stacking and repeating into patterns full of movement and depth. You’ll be amazed by how a simple needle and thread can create such incredible texture. 

‘Small but mighty’ is the name of the game here. Each of Jo’s small collages packs a punch of colour, design and glorious stitchwork. 

“I love the variety of textures that can be achieved with hand stitching. They’re unlike anything else, and it’s those textures that keep me coming back.”

Jo Morphett, Textile artist

A love of slow stitching

Jo Morphett: I define ‘slow stitching’ as enjoying the slow and relaxing process of sewing by hand without worrying about perfection or precision. The end project is not the sole goal. The making and creating process is equally important. 

The pace of slow stitching suits my working style. The time it takes to create hand stitched artwork allows me to think deeply about colour and mark making. I believe that working slowly gives me space to infuse feeling and emotion into a piece. It gives an artwork something intangible and unique. 

I’m very inspired by nature, including flowers, trees, mountains, oceans and rivers, and animals and birds. I also find patchwork patterns to be an inspiring way to organise shape and colour.

Increasingly, I’m drawn to using abstract shapes to explore my more personal ideas. Abstract artwork allows me to work on two levels: my own specific idea and what the viewer sees and interprets.

“From a young age, I saw sewing as an act of independence, creativity and personal expression.”

Jo Morphett, Textile artist

Artistic influencers

Both my mother and grandmother introduced me to creativity, colour and textile art. My grandmother sewed clothing and household items, and she was an avid knitter and crocheter. Her making process sparked my love of fabric, yarn and thread.

My mum painted ceramics creating sculptures, bowls and housewares. I have several of her pieces that I treasure. Her use of colour and attention to detail greatly influenced my own use of colour. 

Aside from skills learned from my grandmother and sewing skills in high school, I’m largely self-taught. I started hand embroidery as a teen working with embroidery and cross-stitch kits. I later created freeform embroidery on fabric and clothing.

A light bulb moment

As a young mother, I taught crafts to children which led me to start a personal art practice. I added collage and mixed media to my exploration of embroidery, which then grew into more than a hobby.

Several years later, when the internet was new, I started selling my art online. I was exposed to so many types of creativity, including someone who was combining machine sewing with mixed media. A light bulb switched on in my mind, and I decided to explore adding stitch to my mixed media work. It felt like coming home. 

Almost immediately, my painted and stitched work changed, and fabric became my default material. I began to create mixed media art quilts and, over time, I chose fewer mixed media elements. Today, only occasionally do I add a hint of mixed media to enhance a work. 

Politically stitching

Spinning, weaving, sewing and stitch have been considered women’s work for centuries. Much of today’s clothing and textiles are primarily made by women in factories. They’re paid extremely low wages, and they work within terrible conditions. Clearly, their labour isn’t valued.

I had a similar experience as a younger person at a small-scale workshop sewing custom sails for sailboards. I was one of three female sailmakers. Initially, I enjoyed the job, but the work environment quickly became intolerable in many ways, due to the smoke and fumes and exposure to harmful chemicals. 

Fortunately, it was a summer job, so I could walk away. But I’ve never forgotten how people working similar jobs are real people. That’s why I consider working with fabric and stitch to be a political act that reveals the beauty, labour and intention behind jobs that have historically been sidelined and undervalued. 

I also learned that I come from generations of women makers on my mother’s side, including shirtmakers and collar turners. And now as a grandmother myself, my granddaughter is learning to sew by my side. I humbly embrace the role of knowledge keeper, and I aim to freely share what was passed on to me. 

“My process is completely intuitive. I usually just show up, pull out fabric, and start moving pieces around.”

Jo Morphett, Textile artist

Working intuitively

My inner editor or critic is not part of my initial process. I simply gather some fabric and start moving them around. 

Sometimes I’ll start with an idea, such as a bird I saw on a walk. Or an emotion will come up, so I’ll choose a colour that captures that emotion and build a collage from there. 

To start building my collage, I select my main fabric colours. I choose dark, medium and light tones of each colour. I thread baste the collage pieces in place using threads that coordinate with the fabrics.

I stitch in layers, adding stitch on top of stitch. For the first layer, I use seed and running stitches to secure the fabrics. I continue to add mostly seed stitch, varying the length of the stitches. I don’t worry about my stitches being uniform. 

I also alternate stitch placement to create thick and thin marks. Sometimes I add beads depending on the texture and colour I’m looking to create. 

Throughout the making process, I pay attention to colour balance, moving colour around to create a blended harmonious piece. For smaller works, I usually finish the work with a blanket stitch along the edges as a border or frame.

“I’m drawn to filling a small space with a lot of information by way of colour and stitch.”

Jo Morphett, Textile artist 

Working small

I mostly work small because of the intense stitching in my work and the time it takes to accomplish all the stitch layers. 

The physicality of being able to hold the entire work while stitching also keeps me in the creative flow. Being able to see everything at once is also what keeps me working small. 

I prefer to work no bigger than what will fit on my tabletop. That way I can see the entire work and continue to be inspired about what and where to stitch next. 

Working small does pose a challenge, though, when sharing my work. Small works lack grandiosity and require viewers to get up close. Also, photographs and the internet don’t fully suggest the scale of my work. When viewed online, people often assume my work is much larger than it is and are shocked when they learn the actual size. 

My larger works use the same principles and aesthetic as my smaller pieces, but they tend to have less stitching. I’m also forced to step back to view the entire piece, which can break the flow of creativity and make it more challenging.

“I think it’s only by showing up and continuing to explore the process that my colour sense has become something I can trust.”

Jo Morphett, Textile artist 

Fearless use of colour

I’m drawn to bright colours. I particularly love blues and greens, but they always need an accent to shine. That’s where oranges and fuchsias come in. 

I love other artists’ use of neutral tones and have experimented with quieter colour palettes. But I get stalled midway and the work never feels like ‘me’. Part of developing my personal style was embracing my colourful approach.

After years of practice, I rely on my instincts and intuition to guide my colour choices. 

When it comes to fabrics, I like to recycle, reduce waste and be kind to the environment. I’ve built my fabric stash over the years from a combination of gifted, thrifted, recycled, deadstock and store-bought fabrics. Other than buying felt by the yard, I rarely buy fabric. 

I prefer cotton, and most of my fabric stash is cotton with some silk, linen and wool. Because I mostly hand stitch, I avoid fabrics that are too thick or too tightly woven. 

Making marks with stitch

Mark making is my primary goal, so I prefer simple straight stitches to make marks and build up texture. I mostly use seed stitch, satin stitch, running and blanket stitch. I also enjoy using french knots. 

My number one thread choice is DMC stranded cotton embroidery floss. It’s beautiful, the six strands are divisible, and it comes in so many colours. It’s really all I need, and it’s widely available.

I also like perlé cotton size 8, and occasionally I use sizes 5 and 12. DMC and WonderFil are my favourite brands. WonderFil Spagetti 12 weight cotton and Sulky 12 weight cotton come in many colours. They’re available online and in sewing and quilting stores. 

I introduce students to my techniques in my Stitch Club workshop. The artwork I created for this workshop is called First Bloom, and members learn how to build up simple stitches with slight variations to create bold and subtle marks. I’m hoping they’ll find that no matter their stitching experience, they can create a piece full of beautiful depth and texture.

Putting down the needle

Because my work features so much stitching, the most important step of my creative process is knowing when a piece is finished and allowing myself to step away. 

I’ll often set a piece down and leave it for a day so I can come back with fresh eyes. It’s surprising how much that helps. And if I’m still not sure, I just keep repeating the process. 

There are times, though, when I can’t make a piece come together no matter what I try. I think this happens to all artists, and that’s completely okay. It’s just part of the creative process and knowing what doesn’t work is good information. The only way to get there is to keep making and creating.

Purple Martin

As a birdwatcher, I’ve observed several birds with feathers that flash an iridescent purple. I find purple difficult to work with, so I rarely feature it in my art. But I wanted to capture a colour I admired in nature, so my plan was to incorporate purple stitching in both the background and on the bird.

For Purple Martin, I built a collage on top of a violet blue fabric, adding magenta for warmth and bright blue and pale green for a cool colour balance. The bird is cut out of black fabric and stitched in black and violet. 

White running stitch was added from top to bottom, and the other thread colors match the background fabrics. Black yarn is couched on the edge with blanket stitch, and seed beads offer extra texture and catch the light for that iridescent element. 

I was happy to use purple successfully and capture some of that striking purple glow I saw in the wild.

Working on fabric

Stitch Dictionary Birds explores an urban bird’s world. It’s a mix of what’s important to humans, such as knowledge and progress, with the realities of a bird’s life amongst buildings, concrete, and power lines. 

In many ways, this was a transition piece from creating mixed media pieces to textile only works. For years, I had created stitched work on vintage book pages, so this piece started with a vintage dictionary page printed on fabric. 

I swapped stiffer paper for soft fabric. The piece has both hand and machine stitch, and I used some paint to add details on the small bird and the eye of the big bird. 

Even though this work features birds, I think of it as abstract art. It’s all hinting at the meeting of nature and human urban life.

Moving toward abstract

Hiking is inspired by summertime hikes in the woods. Aside from the past few years, I’ve lived most of my life amid a lush, mostly evergreen rain forest right on the edge of the water. The shapes in this work suggest rocks, trees and the feeling of being immersed in such a grand landscape.

I’ve been steadily moving my work toward abstraction. It appeals to me as I can use it as a shorthand to suggest things. For example, a simplified line shape can suggest a tree, or a rounded shape can suggest a hill or rock. 

This not only allows the viewer to add their own interpretation, but it also allows me to conceal. I can create a shape that signifies something very specific to me, but the abstraction allows it to be more general and open to viewers. 

Studio space

My studio space is small but well organised. I work at two tables. One is used for cutting fabric and stitching, but it also doubles as a desk. The smaller table has folding sides that I use for stitching, ironing, filming and photographing.

A vintage dresser drawer stores larger pieces of fabric, batting, felt and embellishments. A slim IKEA storage shelf with pull-out bins is handy for storing mid-size fabric pieces, as well as works in progress and completed work. 

Rolling carts store my threads and needles, and I have a peg board on a wall that is ever-changing. I use it to display stitched work and to hang supplies like scissors and rulers. 

I also converted a long, skinny storage closet into a space that holds a small desk with my sewing machine.

My must-have tools are a sharp needle and embroidery scissors. I want my needle to glide through fabric smoothly, so my needles must be sharp and the right thickness for my thread. My favourite pair of stork embroidery scissors is like an old friend by my side as I work. 

Her intricately collaged surfaces are filled with life’s small moments. Bits of landscape, shifting seasons and familiar wildlife merge seamlessly to tell stories inspired by her daily walks and travel.

There’s always a playful twist or two with stitch, paint, paper and image transfers. Cheeky animals often take centre stage. Wonky text meanders across the cloth. Even an inherited badge tells part of a story.

Thrifted fabrics and found notions bring extra charm, while machine and hand stitching build rich, textural surfaces.

Suzette’s art is packed with delicious small touches, and we can’t get enough of it. Look once and you enjoy it. Look again and you’ll likely see something new.

Narratives & memories

What is it about storytelling that captures your interest? 

Suzette Smart: My work is rooted in narrative and memory, drawing on the landscape, wildlife and lived experiences that shape my everyday life.

I get excited when there’s something new in the landscape to portray. I’m looking for connections and a way of bringing that something new into a piece of work. I carry motifs and themes into the next piece which creates a seamless story. 

“For me, storytelling feels instinctive.”

Suzette Smart, Textile artist

What is one of the first textile artworks you remember creating? 

My paternal grandparents lived on the island of Ynys Môn in North Wales, and I’d stay with them during the holidays. I always remember sitting at my grandmother’s feet, sewing or making something. She bought me a concertina sewing box. 

My grandfather had worked in textiles manufacturing at Courtaulds, and his father had been a cotton mill director in Oldham, Lancashire. I wish I could go back and find out more, but I think this is where my textile journey must have begun. 

I’ve kept a small piece of embroidery I made when I was six or seven; I stitched my initials onto my marble bag. It reminds me of sitting and creating with my grandmother.

Years later, I included some of that marble bag in a child’s dress piece I made. It’s called Ble rwyt ti’n mynd, aderyn bach syw?, which means ‘where are you going to, little laden bird’? It comes from a traditional Welsh nursery rhyme. 

What was your route to becoming a textile artist? 

I took a vocational qualification (BTEC) in General Art & Design, where I had some fantastic tutors. They widened my viewpoint of how I could draw with collage. That stayed with me and is now a significant part of my process.

From there, I went to the University of Ulster in Belfast and studied for a BA (Hons) in fashion and textile design. I had every intention of swapping courses to embroidery, but it never happened.

It took another few years and probably a bit of life experience before I started stitching again. Thankfully, the stories had been waiting to be made. I joined a network of local artists, which I’m still part of, and I’ve been a practising artist and tutor for the last 20 years.

Embracing imperfections

Tell us about your favourite fabrics and threads. 

I’m drawn to older fabrics, which may be a little worn or have a social history. I’ve always enjoyed the imperfections, as it gives me something to work with. It’s harder to work with new cloth, as it doesn’t blend so easily when I’m stitching. 

The free machine threads I use must be reliable and are the workhorse of a piece. I have a whole selection of light colours for blending and some favourite darks for drawn lines. 

My hand stitching threads are my pleasure and reward! They’re chosen for colour, texture and thickness for the line I want. I’m always open to using new ones too.

What are some of your signature motifs or themes? 

Most of my work focuses on landscapes, wildlife and lived experiences. Birds became quite significant in my work when I was part of an exhibition called Birds of Wales at Oriel Ynys Môn in 2016. They’re often the storyteller of a piece, and I can take them back to a time and place.

My husband and I are keen walkers, and I’m often picking up motifs along the way which then reappear in a couple more pieces.

A single glove on a post became central to my work called The Lost Glove, and then it became a pair again in Free to Roam. 

A Women’s Land Army badge from the Second World War has also made an appearance in a few pieces, and I’ve recreated it as a stitched brooch. It belonged to someone in the family, so there’s that connection too. The war led to shortages of workers on farms in the UK, so women stepped in to help grow more food and keep people fed. 

Are your pieces carefully planned or is it a more intuitive process? 

It’s probably something in between. I don’t tend to sample before working on a piece, but I will refer to previous works. The main components of a composition might be decided before I begin, but there are always new things to discover along the way. 

I do keep sketchbooks, which also serve as my walking and gardening diary. If I’m working on a piece, I might go wandering around the garden for inspiration and something seasonal to include. 

We’ve undertaken several long-distance walks in recent years, and I’ve recorded some of the places we visited. We stay in our camper van, so there’s a lot of time spent outdoors. I might get a quick line drawing and a few notes in over a sandwich, but I can lose a couple of hours sitting out sketching when we return from a day’s walking. 

I also have a few fabric scrolls on which I’ve begun stitching my walks. They’re an extension of my sketchbooks and another form of recording and mark making. 

“My two favourite months for garden inspiration are spring and autumn, beginnings and endings.”

Suzette Smart, Textile artist

Repurposed materials

How would you describe your creative process? 

I keep a basket of light-coloured fabric scraps to use for the background. I might paint onto some of them with gesso or tea stain to alter them. I prefer using thrifted and gifted fabrics, including linen, lace and fabric scraps. 

When I collect enough fabrics from which to choose, I start moving them around to create a size I’m happy with. I then tack them together.

I start building a composition with fabric and sometimes paper. I’ll use Bondaweb fusible webbing where necessary, glue stick, pins and tacking stitches. Whatever works at the time.

Once I’m satisfied with the overall design of the collage, I’ll swap back and forth between hand and machine stitching, adding extra fabric scraps as needed along the way. I love all aspects of my process, but there’s something quite satisfying about those final stitches. 

“I embrace reusing materials as both a creative and environmentally considerate practice.”

Suzette Smart, Textile artist

Each of your works is packed with many wonderful points of interest. How do you know when to stop?

I mostly know when I’m finished with a piece, but to make sure, I’ll take a picture and crop it. This either reaffirms my thinking or exposes something I hadn’t noticed. If this happens, I might leave it for a week before changing anything.

Typography & stitching

How do you choose what words to include, and how do you incorporate the text into your work? 

The words I feature come to mind when I’m working on a piece, but then sometimes they don’t come at all. 

I use a variety of methods to incorporate text and choose the one that best suits the work. I might use free machine stitching, but I also print various type sets to cut up and piece back together. Those manipulated letters are then transferred onto my chosen fabric by painting with gesso and then pushing the printed letter into the wet paint. After it dries, I sponge the paper away. 

If a letter somehow ends up being placed upside down or back to front, I might let it go. But if it’s jarring to the work, I’ll correct it. 

When including paper elements in your work, how do you attach them without damaging them?

I use Bondaweb fusible webbing to give stability to the paper and then attach it like I would a piece of fabric. If it’s a sample that gets handled at a workshop, the paper may tear. I don’t mind that, though, and I make the repair part of the story.

I also liberally rub on clear furniture wax to add a little more patina to the paper and help it better blend into the work.

When it comes to hand stitching, do you have any preferred stitches?

I like mixing up running, back and stem stitch to alter a line as if I were using a pencil. Sometimes a new stitch comes along, like the fishbone stitch, and I can’t get enough of it.

I’ll go down to a single strand if I have some fine detailing.

In this detailed image from A Turn in the Road, I’ve used long and short stitches for the dog and then running and back stitches to outline. 

The threads were chosen for their various thickness, texture and colour. The old crochet thread I’ve used adds depth to the dog’s coat with its thickness and the way it sits on the surface.

“I have threads I like at the moment, but I’m happy to mix up perlé, linen, wool, stranded, old and new.”

Suzette Smart, Textile artist

Inventive titles

What was the inspiration for Over the Grassy Bridge? 

This work features one of my favourite walks from home, and the grassy bridge takes me across the canal and through the field. 

There’s a badger in the story because we pass badger’s door on our towpath walk. Someone has carved the door and name into the bark of an old tree. 

The reds of the little cottages are a nod to the colour of the traditional brickwork in this area on the Welsh/Shropshire border.

Tell us about the lyrical name of your work Springtime Conversation: Sipit…Pipit…Sipit… 

The bird featured in this work is a Meadow Pipit, and the title is his song. We would see them perched on top of the heather when walking coast to coast in Yorkshire.

A path stitched with backstitch and running stitch creates a focus within the work. We had a backpack for our little dog, and when we let her out, she would run along the path with happiness.

The paper and fabric animals are a reference to the distinctive Belted Galloway cattle we’d seen on this part of the walk. 

The blues in this piece take me straight back to when the heather-coloured moors met with a perfect blue sky.

Developing personal narratives

Will you be sharing some of your storytelling techniques in your upcoming Stitch Club workshop?

Students will create a layered collage drawing on different elements from within my work. I’ll be presenting different ideas for collage, including how to create a new fabric from fusing special fabric scraps. I’ll also show how to elevate keepsakes into small treasures on a platform of layered fabrics.

I hope students will take away practical ideas for creating their own stitched collage. More importantly, though, I hope they find some ideas that lead to identifying their own motifs for creating narratives that are personal to them. 

Tell us a bit about your maker space…

My home studio has two windows that provide wonderful light in which to work. I’ve thought about getting a studio away from home, but if I’m working on a project, I’ll quite happily stay up until one in the morning, which wouldn’t work anywhere else.

I also have so many things around me that can serve as reference or are simply just waiting to be included. 

We’ve lived here for 21 years, and I have all the familiar of the outside space too. I head for the canal around the corner if I need thinking time during the day. 

What are your must-have tools, supplies or materials?

I love gifted fabrics, as they bring something new and unexpected to my work. They often take me on a new journey of discovery. I also have favourite dark and light threads for hand and machine stitching. I use them to draw, blend and highlight. 

I work on a Bernina 1008. It’s a real workhorse, and I’m always apologetic when taking it in for service!

You have a vibrant Instagram feed. What are your thoughts about using social media?

Instagram has given me incredible opportunities to grow my business, but I’m grateful I found my creative style when I did. Following your own creative journey can be challenging when there’s so much out there. It’s easy to absorb other people’s work without realising it. 

That said, social media is fantastic for networking and connecting with an audience. It’s also a great way to document your development as an artist. 

What excites you most about teaching, and what are some of the challenges students bring to your workshops?

My workshops are inspired by whatever I’m working on at the time. I love sharing the excitement of discovering a new material, technique or idea and then seeing students’ personal spin. Everyone brings different skills, materials and colour preferences, and that individuality really shapes the work that comes out of the sessions.

A challenge is that experience levels vary a lot, so I design workshops that can be accessed at different stages. I provide a starting point but leave plenty of space for personal interpretation.

I also always bring a wide range of samples and ideas, so students can work at a level that feels right for them. And I bring practical resources like motif templates, as drawing can sometimes be a barrier. I try to remove as many obstacles as possible so that students are free to focus on creating art with fabric and thread. 

Her creative foundations are deeply ingrained. Raised within an extended family of artists and makers, Ana was immersed in texture, colour, pattern, paint and stitch from an early age. Therefore, it’s no surprise that her practice embraces a wide range of mixed media. She selects techniques and materials that best express the narrative at the heart of each work.

Curiosity and experimentation are central to Ana’s practice. Working with layered images, textures and stitching, she embraces learning through making. 

Ana Buzzalino: My work is defined by layers and texture. I build these using a combination of surface design techniques such as painting, monoprinting, screen printing, collage and, of course, stitching. I love the discovery that comes from working in layers and allowing different processes to interact in unexpected ways.

In recent years, my work has increasingly explored the impact of history on our culture today. In a world where everything feels fast, new and polished, I am drawn to the quiet persistence of the past. 

Old buildings, weathered walls, peeling paint and rusting metal all carry the marks of passing time – marks that modern surfaces rarely hold. These traces of history have a soul, and I return to them often for inspiration. 

This interest led me to work on a series about grain elevators. The tall, imposing structures once dominated the North American prairie landscape. Many of them are disappearing now, and documenting that visual and cultural shift felt important to me. 

Their vertical forms, their textures and their gradual loss provided both visual material and conceptual grounding for the series. They exemplify the themes I return to often: memory, change and the traces left behind.

Look & look again

I aim to create pieces that invite the viewer to pause and look, then look again. I want people to slow down, to notice details, textures and layers that might not be immediately apparent. 

While I often work with elements of realism, I am equally interested in capturing the atmosphere of a place or an image – the feeling, the light, the mood and the quiet stories embedded within it.

Storytelling is always at the heart of my work, even if the narrative is not immediately obvious. Each piece has a story in my mind. Whether it’s about a building, a landscape or an object, I try to convey its essence through texture, colour and composition. 

I enjoy the tension between what is visible and what is suggested, allowing the viewer to explore and form their own interpretations.

Ultimately, I hope my work offers a moment of reflection. In our fast-moving world, I want to create art that encourages people to consider the passage of time, the traces left behind and the quiet beauty in the ordinary. 

In the beginning

Every piece starts with an idea. Sometimes it comes from an image I’ve taken on a trip or from a texture that catches my eye. It might even be something as simple as a rock I’ve picked up. 

Researching and exploring new ideas is an important part of my process. I collect images, textures and colours. I cut papers and paste them into my sketchbook. 

I’ll take multiple photos of a place or object, exploring different views and angles. I’ll draw thumbnails or create small collages to test compositions and colour combinations. 

“Research helps me understand my subject more deeply and informs the choices I make in materials, composition and stitching.”

Ana Buzzalino, Creator and maker

Making choices

After time spent exploring an idea, I consider how best to bring it to life. I decide which techniques and materials will suit the concept and help me convey the atmosphere, texture or story I have in mind. 

This often means creating my own fabrics through monoprinting, painting or other surface design methods, so the materials themselves carry the textures and colours I want to explore. 

I may do this by literally bringing in the landscape. For example, in Abandoned, I rusted fabric by wrapping it around old metal pieces in a disused sugar mill factory in Kauai, Hawaii.

Creating layers

Imagery plays a huge role, and I use it in different ways. For example, I often merge multiple images in PowerPoint. In Where the Oceans Sing, I merged 17 images to get what I wanted. I made the final image into a digital file and had it printed by the company Spoonflower – I’ll often do this when working at a large scale.

Another method I use is image transfer. I print my own images onto transfer paper using my inkjet printer, then I use a hot iron to transfer the image onto the fabric.

Stitching decisions

When I feel the concept is clear, I move on to stitching. This can take different forms depending on the piece. For example, if I’m working with a digital image, I often begin with machine stitching to build structure and definition. I leave hand-stitching for the final layers to add texture, depth and subtle detail. 

In other works, all the stitching is done by hand, carefully layering vintage textiles, lace, ribbons and other materials to create rich, tactile surfaces.

Each decision, from the choice of fabric to the type of stitch, helps shape the story I want to tell and the experience I hope to give the viewer.

“I’m always thinking about layers, textures and how the materials interact.”

Ana Buzzalino, Creater and maker

Learning through making

One of the most important things I’ve learned is to trust the process and not make everything about perfection. 

Not everything you make has to be for show.  Every piece teaches you something, whether it’s about materials, techniques or even about yourself.  

I also don’t feel the need to finish everything I start. If a piece isn’t going the way I intended, I put it aside. I’ve learned that there’s value in knowing what doesn’t work. 

I’m not too precious about materials either. Some pieces are meant for the ‘wood pile’. Discarding materials that aren’t working keeps the mind uncluttered and allows you to start fresh. I like to begin each new project with a clean studio, so I can focus fully on the materials at hand, without distraction. 

“Allow yourself to make mistakes – or, better yet, treat them as learning opportunities.” 

Ana Buzzalino, Creater and maker

Creative roots

Creativity has always been at the heart of my family. I was born in the small seaside town of Necochea in Buenos Aires, Argentina, and my love of fabric began at a very young age. My mother, new to a small town and often sewing to pass the time, would let me sit beside her while she worked. 

My mother used to give me fabric scraps to play with. I would cut them into shapes, slit the centre, and magically have a poncho or skirt for my teddy bears. During those hours beside her, I learned how to handle fabric and thread. 

Visits to my grandfather’s cashmere and suiting business in Buenos Aires added another layer of inspiration. I was given fabric samples to explore. This sparked a fascination with texture, colour and the possibilities of textiles that has stayed with me ever since.

My grandmother was a milliner and an excellent seamstress, and my great-grandmother made wedding dresses for a living. I still have some of their pieces. Those treasures connect me to their skill and creativity.

Art was also a part of my life through my extended family. My tía Mimi, who lived in Santiago, Chile, was an internationally celebrated artist and etcher.

My aunt Yente and uncle Juan del Prete were both artists. I remember visiting their small apartment in Buenos Aires, with the smell of paint and turpentine, every surface covered with paintings, and my uncle’s sculptures everywhere. 

My favourite uncle, Eugenio, was a draftsman who made signs for local businesses. He would let me into his studio under supervision. I was amazed by the papers, rulers, pencils, scissors and colours all around – everything was done by hand then. Those visits filled me with delight and curiosity. They planted an early love of experimenting with materials.

My parents encouraged creativity in all its forms. They supported me in taking classes with a wide variety of materials and techniques. They fostered a curiosity and confidence that still drives my work today. 

Growing up surrounded by talented, creative family members taught me to value craft, experimentation, and storytelling through materials – a foundation that continues to influence my textiles and mixed media art.

Discovering fibre art 

After marrying young, I moved to Canada. This was a huge change for someone from such a close-knit family. Money was tight, but I managed to buy a sewing machine and began making clothes, which kept my creativity alive. 

One day on a lunchtime walk, I stumbled into a quilt store. The work that caught my eye wasn’t for sale, but the owner offered to teach me to make my own. That class changed everything. Within a year, I was teaching at the store, and my passion for quilting and fibre art had truly begun. 

Since then, my work has grown and evolved, blending fibre and mixed media, surface design and stitching. 

I work from a studio in my home in Calgary. There I can immerse myself in the layers, textures and stories that inspire my art every day.

Advice on offer

If I could sit down with my younger self, the one just starting out, elbows deep in fabric and ideas, I’d have a few things to say. Not about techniques or tools (though those matter), but about the mindset, patience and joy this path requires. 

Back then, I often looked outward for permission, compared my beginnings to someone else’s middle, and rushed toward finished pieces instead of enjoying the process. 

With time, stitches and many creative detours, I’ve learned to listen more closely to my materials, my intuition and the quiet voice that says, ‘this might be something’.

Here are a few things I’d whisper, gently and often:

Start before you’re ready. Waiting until you’ve learned more, cleaned your studio or ‘figured out your style’ can keep you stuck forever. Begin with what you have, and where you are. Confidence comes after the doing.

Try everything, but keep what resonates. It’s tempting to chase every new technique, but over time you’ll notice a few that feel like home. Keep your curiosity but honour your own preferences.

It’s okay to make ugly work. Really! The pieces you cringe at now are part of your growth. Often, they’re necessary detours that help you develop your voice.

Every stitch, every experiment, and even every discarded piece teaches you something, whether its about your materials, your techniques or, most importantly, yourself.

“I’ve learned to trust the journey, embrace mistakes as learning opportunities and allow curiosity to be the guide.”

Ana Buzzalino, Creator and maker

Fostering connections

Sharing ideas, learning from others, and seeing how artists around the world approach their work is both inspiring and motivating.

I am a member of SAQA (Studio Art Quilt Associates), an international organisation dedicated to promoting art quilts as art and supporting the education of artists. I also serve on the SAQA Board of Directors, which allows me to contribute directly to the organisation’s mission and support other artists in the global art quilt community.

Being part of SAQA connects me with a network of like-minded artists from around the world who share my passion for pushing the boundaries of fibre art. It provides opportunities to exhibit my work in international shows, participate in educational programmes and engage in meaningful conversations about art and process.

For me, this connection is invaluable. It reinforces that there is a place for experimentation and creativity in textile art, and it reminds me that even when a composition is unusual, unconventional and ‘out there’, there is an audience who will understand and appreciate it.

The passage of time

I began my journey as a traditional quilter, learning the techniques and structure of quilting early on. In 1993, my family and I moved back to Argentina as expats. Over the nine years we spent there, I began teaching quilting to the international community. 

While in Buenos Aires, I also took extensive painting lessons with two wonderful teachers, which opened my eyes to new ways of seeing colour, texture and composition.

By the time we returned to Canada, my work had started to evolve. The quilting world itself was changing. Artists were experimenting with all kinds of techniques and pushing the boundaries of fabric. 

I began exploring ways to incorporate painting into my textile work, which led to a period of experimentation. Some pieces were challenging or ‘ugly’, but each one taught me something. 

During this time, I also connected with well-known international teachers, whose guidance and feedback helped me refine my techniques and develop my own artistic voice. 

Over the years, my work has grown to combine quilting, painting, surface design and stitching in layered, textured and narrative-rich pieces.

Sharing my passion

Creating my Stitch Club workshop was such a learning curve. I picked up so much about videos, timing and all the technical details of filming. However, what I loved most was sharing my love of textiles with a wide audience, and especially my fascination with rocks, pebbles and stones.

That passion started when I was very young, walking along the beach with my dad. He would joke that it was impossible to take a walk with me because I’d keep stopping to pick something up, examine it carefully and if it passed muster, tuck it into my pocket to bring home. 

Thinking about those walks while filming kept me present and connected. It helped me bring that personal story – and my lifelong love of texture and detail – into the workshop.