Making Connections
On Friday mornings during term time I teach a class at a local community arts centre. "Slow Stitch Embroidery" is capped at ten students but occasionally stretches to eleven and is exclusively made up of women (we aren’t deliberately gender selective - there just hasn't been a male or non-binary enrolment yet!). Over the years, people come and go, but some have stayed and we have all become firm friends. When a new student joins they are welcomed into a group of warm, caring, supportive women where conversations range from the light hearted and laughter filled to the deep and emotional.
The latter is one of the most fascinating things I have encountered as an embroidery teacher. It’s especially true in my Friday morning group but I’ve observed it in other settings too. Put a group of people in a room “doing” something and the emotional barriers start to fall. It’s as though the sheer act of focussing on a task with the hands allows people to be more open and vulnerable, and in doing so the conversations run wider and deeper than they would if we simply met for coffee. Since 2015 my Friday class has discussed relationships, religion, education, the nature of work, gender issues, politics, the environment, the definitions of craft versus art, and the list goes on. More powerful even than the sharing of stories is the lack of judgement that accompanies them. I deliberately cultivate a safe space for creativity - there is no such thing as a wrong stitch in my class. This message seems to translate into these personal stories too. I don't mean to suggest that the atmosphere is always harmonious, but rather that a healthy dose of respect for the differing opinions enables deeply honest conversations to develop.
“The Sewing Group” by Nils Larson, 1909
I know of course that I’m not alone in this observation. Some of my fellow tutors at Tresillian Arts Centre report the same experience and many of the "making" books I have read allude to the same effect. One of my favourites in the latter category is a slim volume titled "Do Make: The power of your own two hands" by James Otter. James makes wooden surfboards in his workshop in Cornwall. He also runs classes teaching people to make their own wooden boards. He describes the deeply personal satisfaction he gains from his making process, but also writes that "..the biggest impact it has had on me is the way it has allowed me to connect with other people - which is surprising, given making is largely regarded as a solitary activity." He goes on to say, "Having such an effect on people, forging relationships between complete strangers and....strengthening relationships between family members, makes me feel unbelievably privileged and lucky....The act of making can have an incredible impact on us as individuals, but the real power found through working with your hands comes when it is also felt through your heart." I remember the first time I read these words. I was literally punching the air with delight. Here was another maker and teacher who was describing my own feelings exactly.
“…the real power found through working with your hands comes when it is also felt through your heart...”
James Otter
was fascinated this week to come across a book that sheds a more strongly academic perspective on this same experience. Tim Ingold is an anthropologist at the University of Aberdeen. His book "Making" was published in 2013. It's based on ideas that evolved from teaching a course he developed called "Anthropology, Archaeology, Art and Architecture". The course had its genesis in a seminar program at the University of Manchester where research students came together to share ideas. Tim writes that after a term "...we had reached some kind of impasse...it became clear that the issues that concerned us could not be addressed in a vacuum. We had to be doing things ourselves". The range of activities they chose ranged through basket weaving, pottery, drawing, and many others. The important result though was "...we were all agreed that the quality of the discussions we had while doing things was quite unlike anything experienced in an ordinary seminar, and that they were tremendously productive of new insights." These words had me dancing with excitement! It's not just teachers of the creative arts observing this phenomenon but educators in a wider range of settings too.
What do these ideas mean when I reflect on my own personal journey as a maker?
As I described in last week's post, I grew up in a maker family. Do we have such a closely knit family because we made things together? Or did we make things together because our family ties were so strong? Now there's a chicken and egg question for you. I do know that my strongest and warmest family memories are centred on the things we made. I remember with great fondness my sister's short but intense obsession with making gumnut creatures. My Mum and I share a passion for embroidery which started with her teaching me huckaback and cross-stitch from the time that I could hold a needle. I used a leather schoolbag made by my Dad for years, which only got better as it gained the patina of everyday use.
My old leather schoolbag, made by Dad
Outside my family, my early life as a maker was largely solitary. I made things at home in my leisure time as a way of relaxing and escaping from the world. As a confirmed introvert, this quiet making time was essential to my wellbeing. I didn't think about it very much. I just knew instinctively that I had to do it. It's only in the last fifteen years that I have stitched in social groups and come to value the important role they have played in my life. These are sometimes referred disparagingly as "stitch and bitch" groups, a name that I hate with a passion. In my experience, these gatherings are not places of negativity but rather the complete opposite. They are warm, caring, supportive and generous.
My first experience of a regular social stitching group was in Melbourne in 2006. Under the umbrella of the Embroiderers' Guild of Victoria, we were a group of six women who met in each other's houses once a month. I was younger than all my companions and benefited from their experience with both embroidery and child rearing. In 2008 we moved back to Perth. I couldn't find an embroidery group at the time, but there was a social group meeting once a week in a local patchwork shop. As luck would have it, two women whom I knew as parents from my son's former primary school were members and they warmly encouraged me to attend.
The clearest evidence of the connections we formed in that group came when someone passed away. Our first loss was a woman in her late eighties. Ruby was petite, kind and an extraordinarily beautiful embroiderer. She came to the group with her daughter, Sally, who felt her passing keenly. We rallied around and shared stories of the warm and beautiful memories we had of her mum. So when Sally passed away only a few short years later we now had a gaping hole, for not only had she gone, but she took with her our connection to Ruby as well. I remember vividly that no-one wanted to sit in Sally's spot for months. We almost included her in our conversations by physically acknowledging the space she left behind. Another member, Carrie, succumbed to a battle with cancer only a few months later. As soon as she received the diagnosis we made her a quilt, each member contributing a block. It was a literal, physical representation of the connections in the group and the love and support we were sending her way. I will never forget seeing that quilt draped over her coffin. It was that which brought the tight hold on my emotions undone.
We live in a world that is hyper-connected through the wonders of modern technology. And yet countless research studies report that we are feeling more lonely, more anxious, more disconnected than we ever have before. The ability to electronically connect with hundreds, thousands, or even millions of other people on the planet cannot replace the basic human need we have to share physical space. One powerful way to build stronger and more meaningful connections is to make something together. It might be a shared project, or individual projects worked side by side. It might be with friends, family or perfect strangers. Whatever you choose, shared making has the potential to forge truly rewarding connections with others.
**NB: I have altered names in this post for privacy.
This week’s references
Do Make: The power of your own two hands by James Otter (2020). Published by The Do Book Co - ISBN 9781907974861
Making: Anthropology, Archaeology, Art and Architecture by Tim Ingold (2013). Published by Routledge - ISBN 9780415567220
Comments from a previous platform….
Helen: As one of the long time regulars to the Friday stitching group let me add a few words. This past January in the absence of classes most of us organised to stitch together in various homes. The need to gather and stitch was strong. Not to meet for a coffee (although that was an added enticement) but to stitch and share progress whilst catching up on broken bones, travel plans, disappointments and successes. Everyone is working on a different piece, a different style of hand made but everyone rejoices together at progress made. Few, if any, of us would describe ourselves as mistress embroiderers but each of us takes enormous joy from fibres, colours, projects and conversations. Real communication. The moments of quiet as needles and threads work their magic, the moments of laughter as experiences and successes and disappointments with misplaced stitches regale the group. At the helm is our facilitator, teacher, guru, always looking for more inspiration that assists us create together. She is the glue who continues to show us the way towards making by hand, friendship, shared joy and lessened cares. Thank you AM to the power of 3
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