A Life in Needlepoint by Kevin Drake

I learned needlepoint, knitting, and crochet during a childhood where I did not have a lot of friends.This was a way of amusing myself, and my grandma and mom encouraged me. I actually did a lot of things, from weaving of potholders to macrame. Mom and grandma eventually taught me cross stitch initially and I think my grandma and great aunts also did some crewel embroidery. During this time I was simultaneously learning crochet and knitting (of course I wanted to knit an aran sweater in bright colors in fifth grade, not quite comprehending the scope of the project!)

Between a lot of scarves and small blankets, somewhere along the lines I found myself at the public library investigating this thing called “Needlepoint.” I wish I could quote the book but I have not refound it yet. I remember this book had a very colorful bright coverjacket — probably what caught my eye! — and all of a sudden I was asking my mom about this “canvas stuff.” Though this one volume with bright flowers on the cover was the basis of my learning (I wore that book out) and then I remember moving into more and more books. Erica Wilson and Beryl Dean eventually were names I knew by age 12.

Right away, the use of color drew me in. As a child who loved his crayons (the more colors the better) but who never did too well at “neat” coloring ( “Stay inside the lines!”), I found needlework a way to truly paint with thread/wool. (Let’s not talk about the attempts to do paint by number — ask my mom, it was disastrous, and the paint smell did not sit with me.)

There were not a lot of needlepointing resources in my hometown, but I did find a kit at the local craft/fabric store It was a bright owl in a tree, a small (6×6) sized canvas. I dutifully taped the edges with, of all things, black electrical tape (it stuck well!).

Such was the mind of an enterprising 5th grader with access to a well-stocked garage!

Anyway, I got a kit and remember trying to put my reading into action. There were a lot of experiments with stretching canvas on homemade frames (my dad was a good sport for helping his son’s rather unique hobbies!) and eventually I think I made do with some embroidery hoops. Like I said, resources were limited, and this was in the 70′s — no Internet to go to like today. Each “thing” I acquired for my hobby was a major triumph. I still remember buying my first large wooden embroidery hoop — like dying and going to heaven!

Another source of encouragement were the nuns in my grade school. In middle years (5-6th grade), where we were allowed to do needlework during some of our lessons (like during reading hour we could stitch and listen). Imagine this! I was one of 3-4 guys who did it also. In fact in 6th grade my first needlepoint project– an owl –  won FIRST PLACE (beating all the girls)! Equal Rights reversed I guess. Of course, looking back, it was really remarkable that those 4 guys — half the boys in my entire class at the time — were all doing needlepoint. I wonder if my classmates still do it!

In high school I got more and more into design, and moved at times into crewel and goldwork (couching mostly). During this time I was exposed to some friends at the churches where I played (I substituted all over the city), where there were Altar Guilds with ladies who regularly did needlework for the church. These women, and a couple of them in particular, opened my eyes to a whole world of ecclesiastical embroidery.

Meanwhile I had exhausted the needlework section of my public library (sometimes paying hefty late fees for overdue books!) and I had found a store or two in my city where needlepoint was more familiar. . . . I remember the first day I bought a piece of blank canvas and took it home. I was ectstatic. Died and gone to heaven again!

Mind you, before I found this shop, I had done several experiments at needlepointing on other non-canvas fabrics. Little did I know this might be okay. In fact I even remember designing and making an Easter basket cover (just a big napkin basically) combining petit point words from an Easter hymn with Hardranger geometic work. All needlework just fascinated me. . . of course I wanted to design Anglican copes and frontals from the get-go. I even did some professionally finished projects (thank you church ladies!) which are hopefully still in use at my high school.

After high school I dropped needlework quite by chance. I was so busy with college and all, I guess it just got away from me, or I from it.

I think one unique side of needlepoint for me, besides picking it back up after about 26 or so years (44 minus 18), I had thought of the relaxation of needlepoint and was loathe to buy premade pillows when I could do it myself, so I went to a store in Wellesley (The Needlepoint Connection) on a weekend when we expected a blizzard and bought a project to keep cozy at home with. Since then I’m becoming more and more drawn in.
 
Needlepoint is especially great for dealing with my kidney disease. I currently spend almost 15 hours a week on dialysis, and so I try to do that as soemthing to pass the time beyond just napping (even that gets old). Needlepoint focuses me and distracts me from sitting in a chair with tubes hooked up to me for that amount of time. Ironically, last fall I received a kidney transplant, which ultimately did not take and was removed, but during that extended hospital stay (Aug 28 through Dec 6) , I found great solace in needlepoint. I remember taking my needlepoint everywhere — to tests, to dialysis, to radiology. . . It also gave me something to talk to nurses, doctors, etc. about. Some would stop in just to see my progress. It’s really great therapy, and I find the creative element incredibly rewarding. Getting into design is an interest, a brave new world which I am getting closer to trying. I mostly want to do liturgical/ecclesiastical design, that is where my heart lies (In my career I am a church organist/choir director).

I find that I am more and more drawn to household projects, thinking about ideas for projects is a whole additional activitiy above and beyond stitching. While I’m mostly at the thinking and planning stages, I do look forward to beginning to execute some of these ideas. Meanwhile, I have found great joy in making things that build my core stitching skills and looking for tips etc that improve the quality of my work. There’s nothing like a really smooth, even field of basketweave stitching, each little stich adding to a huge mosaic of life.

About Kevin
Sentence or two about myself — Kevin Drake is a classical musician/attorney/renaissance man from Ohio who now lives in the Boston area, his adopted home. To support his needlepoint addiction (it is, after all, the focus) and his voluntary servitude to Gracie, The Original Cuddly Kitty ™, Mistress of the Universe (hehehe) he works as Music Director in a church. Drake, a dialysis patient for several years, also advocates for people in the areas of patients rights and pain mangagement.

A Story with a Point by Gail Carolyn Sirna

The phone rang as just as I entered the house, the phone call every woman dreads–from the mammogram clinic. My heart plummeted as I waited to hear what she had to say–but the caller was chuckling, so my panic lessened.–a bit. “Are you aware that you have a sewing needle in your left breast?” she asked. Well— NO ! ! ! I wasn’t aware. Nothing hurt. I hadn’t felt a needle poking me. How in the world did it get there? I laughingly rejoined: ” If anyone is going to have a needle there I am the likely candidate. I have devoted my life to needlework!”

My friends had lots of ideas –and jokes– about this condition. But no, I don’t stitch in bed (everyone’s first theory on how it got there) I don’t even stitch in my nightgown. I never pin a needle into my clothing–that’s what magnets are for. But that got my local stitch group to thinking–maybe I had a crewel 8 needle (for that’s what it was) parked on a magnet, and turned the canvas around, and tucked it up against my body right under my breast. And then the needle somehow worked its way into my breast. That seemed to be the most likely scenario, so now it’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

Caela Tyler, always quick with the quips, called to say I was the only one with needlework shrapnel! Debbie Stiehler, also a jokester, asked to have the doctor check for the scissors she lost when sitting next to me in a class last year. My lifelong friend Mary Kay said she knew needlework was close to my heart, but this was ridiculous. A girl at the gym suggested I tell the TSA people at the airport that it was where I kept my spare. The woman who called from the local radio station wanted to know if I kept a thimble in there, too. Nanette Mathe wondered if this was a strategy to take a needle with me when I die. My nephew presented me with a pillow that says: “Real women don’t use pin cushions”.

I am probably the only patient who went to the breast surgeon laughing. She laughed, too, as did her receptionist who could hardly contain her mirth as she booked the OR for my surgery. “We’re looking for a needle in a haystack,” she chortled.

Well, the needle has been removed in a surgical procedure just like a lumpectomy. And I’m being very careful from now on; I refuse to be a human needle cushion any longer. As Mary Ann Jones noted: “Stitchers should always use a purchased frame weight–not the ones nature gave you.”

About Gail

Gail Carolyn Sirna is a well known certified embroidery teacher & judge from Rochester, Michigan. She has been teaching needlearts for over 30 years. She has also completed her Honors research with NAN, and is author of a book In Praise of the Needlewoman: Embroiderers, Knitters, Lacemakers, and Weavers in Art. 

Gail is a former Great Lakes Region Director, and is a past chairman of EGA’s Certified Teacher Graduate Program. She currently serves NAN as its Treasurer. Gail regularly exhibits her work, and has won many ribbons throughout the country.

There is an on-line show of her wonderful work at the NAN site. My favorite piece of hers is the second “Birds of Missouri,” which is just magnificent.

Sudberry Stories by Judy Beers

For years, starting in the early 1970′s, Sudberry House has held a ” Garage Sale ” the first four Saturdays in August. It started out as a sale of the errors made in the production of Sudberry trays, boxes, mirrors,footstools, and luggage racks. We were located in a small building in Westbrook, CT. The company soon outgrew that facility and built a new building on I-95 in East Lyme in 1975.

When we moved we asked other manufacturers in the needlework industry to send their second quality merchandise to us “on consignment”. Everyone liked the idea, and soon we had crowds of customers lining up on our driveway ,especially on the first Saturday. It got to be such mayhem that we’ve had to rope off the entrances, and with a horn warn people not to run for the bargains. Bus trips from Boston, New York, and Long Island are part of the crowds. Our most famous attendee was the Governor of Connecticut who loved to do needlework and loved our bargains!

We have a special staff of past employees who still enjoy working for the Garage Sale. Mary sets up the garage with needlepoint canvasses stapled to the wall the week before the sale. Natalie and Jeannie join Mary in adding up the totals and checking out the people they see every year that say ” You should see my stash of things from past years sales! ” Several area businessmen attend every year, one who stitches needlepoint rugs and another who uses oak boxes by the dozen for resale with his art added.

Our funniest among many stories are-

1.Two women wanted a Lois Caron designed rug and both had their hands on it from either end. The staff could not not get either one to give it up, and called the owners of Sudberry who were at a trade show to resolve the spat!

2. A group arrived in a camper and parked in the parking lot and slept in it the night before the sale.

3. Two women flew in a husband’s private jet into Hartford, left their husbands there and drove down to the sale in a rented car,

4. A woman brought binoculars so that she could see some of the items up close while standing in line.

5. And every year, there are customers who arrive at closing time always with the same line -the traffic held me up for hours, so PLEASE stay open a few more minutes!

About Judy & Sudberry House

My husband was a frustrated corporate executive and I was a surburban wife and mother busy as a bee in 1967! He wanted to start his own business and had wild big capital ideas, so I thought of making Bermuda handles for matching a skirt fabric with a bag! So we started the part-time business in our basement making handles then moved to our garage in New Jersey for four years. Needlecraft was taking off and our handle customers wanted more things such as trays, footstools, and luggage racks to display needlepoint, We moved to Connecticut in 1972 and Sudberry House grew to a business with 30 employees in the 80′s and 90′s! Tom retired in 1996 and our son David and I now run the business. Our new address is 323 Boston Post Rd. #3 Old Saybrook, Ct. 06475. You can find them on the Web at: http://www.sudberry.com/.

The Credit Goes to Elaine by Leigh Richardson

Before Leigh Designs was founded, in 1978, I was a designer/custom artist for two other needlepoint companies, neither of whom are still in business. I was painting and designing needlepoint years before knowing how to stitch – contrary to the popular notion that this is not possible. I’ll always remember the late Tish Holland, of Sundance Designs telling me “Leigh, if you do one canvas, you’ll be hooked”.

Sometime in the late 1980’s a close friend, Elaine Warner, founder of Needle Necessities, offered to stitch up a LD canvas and teach it at an upcoming local trade show. It sounded like a pretty terrific idea and I chose the Thunderbird canvas, a Northwest Indian design for the project. Elaine’s favorite color, at that time, was pink and shades of pink, from light to hot, showed up in everything she wore, decorated and, of course, stitched. Those who remember her, will also remember her hair of an apricot hue which sometimes, as a result of a happy-accident with L’Oreal, took on overtones of pink!

It was actually a stunning color on her, but, not on a Northwest Indian design. The Indians of the our historical Northwest used deep jewel tones with a lot of black and white. It was Elaine’s nature to ‘push the envelope’ so perimeters had to be set. I made it clear; “Elaine, NO pink on the canvas!” She laughed her infectious laugh and said “Okay!” I didn’t like the sound of the easy agreement so I warned “I mean it, Elaine! One bit of pink and it’s ripped out!”She smiled and nodded, “Absolutely!”

Several weeks later, the Thunderbird was finished and as I opened the tissue enveloping the piece, yup, you guessed it! Pink! The entire background was beautifully stitched in a blaze of pink! Pale pink but, it was pink, nonetheless! I said “Elaine! I said ‘no pink’ and you promised!” She said smiling, very patient with my obvious color-blindness, “Leigh, it’s peach.”

The weekend found me ripping out the offending color while cursing the day I first heard the name Elaine Warner. My husband, Robert, asked “So, you get it all ripped out, then what?” Between my teeth I growled “I get a book and I stitch it!” Son-of-a-gun, I picked up a copy of Father B’s Book of Stitches and did, indeed, re-stitch the Thunderbird’s background in the Linen Fold Stitch using a dove gray cotton. I loved every moment! I couldn’t wait to start on the next canvas! And the Thunderbird design is still in the line – with the dove-grey background!

Yes, Tish smiles down on me from above and Elaine and I continued to bicker like the sister’s we always were until her passing several years ago. Father B’s Book of Stitches is still my favorite book and the thread-laced needle hasn’t dropped from my hand.

About Leigh

Leigh Richardson is the delightful designer behind Leigh Designs.

The Last Stitch Is the Most Fun by Midge DeSart

“Is that fun Grandma?” Rachel asked.

“Yes.” I replied.

“Then why don’t you look happy?”

“I’m concentrating.”

“Can I help you?”

“No. It’s only for one person.”

And so it went as I tried to accomplish something on my needlework while babysitting for my grand-daughter.

I thought about this conversation and realized stitching is not that much fun all the time. It is fun finding a pattern, selecting the threads that will go into the project, and taking the first stitch. All of that is exciting and it’s what makes me start another piece after struggling for weeks to finish the last one.

It’s been said by some ancient person who doesn’t own a car that, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step.” I always think of that when I start a new project. A needlepoint picture of a million stitches starts with the first stitch. And after that the work becomes tedious and time consuming—one stitch at a time—until it’s almost complete. At that point I become like a run away train. Just a few more stitches consume my thoughts into the wee small hours of the night until the last stitch is taken.

“A stitch in time saves nine.” This is a quote I often remember after making an error because I’m impatient. “When all else fails consult the instructions,” is another quote that plaques me as I’m feverishly trying to complete a project.

When I get in a hurry is the critical time when those world shaking problems come up–like when I discover that I’m off by one stitch. I did not see that coming. Now what do I do? Should I take out two rows of stitches or keep going and pretend I did it on purpose, you know the American Indian tradition of making a mistake so the art work isn’t perfect. I fall back on that one a lot. Or do I get creative?

When all else fails—embellish. A well placed bead can hide a multitude of imperfect stitches.

Working on a project isn’t as time consuming as the perks that go with it like dropping my needle in plush carpet. Getting down on hands and knees isn’t half the challenge of getting back up when I find my needle. I consider it a creative way to burn calories. A lot of people pay good money to go to the gym all I have to do is drop my needle a half dozen times for the same benefit.

Knots always happen when I have one more stitch left on the thread, or my husband is standing at the door waiting for me to join him on an exciting trip to the grocery store.

Working with a piece of thread that is fraying before my eyes can cause nightmares. “Don’t break, don’t break,” I say while trying to glide it through the fabric while causing it the least amount of stress possible. The “Ahhh” effect happens when it can be finished off without the terrifying snap that signals, pulling out stitches, working the thread into the project and threading the needle once again.

Another perk, I say facetiously, is when my piece is almost finished I suddenly discover the color I need is all gone. I dig through the waste basket to see if there is a strand big enough to complete the task. Now in panic mode I dial the local thread shop (which has probably closed since I purchased the original colors). The trek from store to store results in miles of driving and the willingness to pay anything for the precious matching color which I buy in bulk just to make sure I never run out it. Can you say FUN?

One of the happiest places in the world can cause a stitcher the most anxiety. While demonstrating at the fair with a number of samples displayed on a table my heart skips a beat when a happy go lucky fair-goer—not a stitcher–admires my work with a cup of coffee in their hand.

At our annual Spring Fair a child with cotton candy in one hand reached for my work with the other, “Pretty.” She said.

Pulling the work back I asked if she could read. She nodded, and I pointed to a sign. I could read her lips as she read, “Please do not touch.” She jumped back and scurried away. Who knows where Mom and Dad were. I felt like the Grinch that stole Christmas but nothing is more discouraging than removing a stain from an unfinished project. It took me a while to figure out a simple remedy would be to put the samples at the back of the table where little ones can’t reach. Adults are another issue. I am now an older and wiser stitcher.

While all these things hinder the work in progress I swear to never do another piece. It’s time to hang up my needle and threads. Maybe I should retire and do the dishes, the vacuuming, or weeding the garden. On second thought I don’t think so.

If I quit doing needlework I’d have to admit that I use handwork as an excuse to watch television. Or do I watch television to have an excuse to do handwork? It’s as confusing as the chicken and the egg.

I’ve decided the best thing for me will be to continue what I’ve been doing and not ask too many questions. All the trials and tribulations of doing needlework is forgotten on the last stitch because everything is right with the world, the birds are singing, the sun is shining and I am smiling. That’s the fun part.

Those who admire my needlework often ask, “Is it hard to do this?”

My reply is always the same, “No, anyone can do it if you take it one stitch at a time.”

When all is said and done and I have a beautiful piece of artwork hanging on my wall I am totally satisfied that my time was well spent.

Now it’s time to start a new project.

About Midge

Midge DeSart is the author of “Maintaining Balance In A Stress-Filled
World,” and essays in five other books. Two more essays will be
published in April in “Cup of Comfort for Mother’s and Daughters” and
“Love Is A Verb” by Gary Chapman. In addition to being an author Midge
is a quilter, stitcher and Bead Embellishment Artist and teacher. She
has dozens of blue ribbons from the Western Washington State Fair for her
needlework.

Stitching & Writing by Monica Ferris

    I grew up surrounded by stitchers. I never had a store-bought pair of mittens – and very few sweaters not hand made – until I left home. My mother and my paternal aunts, among whom we lived back when I was a small child, were always knitting, crocheting, cross-stitching, or embroidering something. My mom used to take very fine colored thread and crochet beautiful lace edgings on linen handkerchiefs to give as gifts. She made a crazy quilt of her old dresses and my and my brother’s old summer clothing. I can remember searching among the patches on the quilt for an old sunsuit and my mother’s best Sunday dress – I was probably four or five years old. The quilt was lost in a house fire, along with almost everything else we owned.

    Every grownup female I knew stitched.

    So you’d think I’d have picked up a needle as a child and never put it down. And you’d be wrong. I was a tomboy, I wanted to run around outdoors, climb trees, play Indians (never was much interested in cowboys, I liked the Indians), catch frogs and turtles, build snowmen. My indoor interests lay mostly in books. I was an early reader and remain an avid one. My mother tried to teach me to knit, but I wasn’t interested.

    And it turns out this was a good thing!

    Reading a book with technical details in it can be difficult if you don’t share the technical level of the author. My technical level in needlework consisted of threading a needle. Oh, and I had some pretensions to French knots. That is, I knew what they were, and about half the time I tried, I could make one.

But when I was asked to write a series of needlework mysteries I was so flattered at being approached I said, “Sure!” Then, coming to my senses, I started asking around. How hard is it to pick up needlework techniques? And it was proved to me that stitchers are liars, every one of them! 

   “Oh, it’s easy!” they’d declare with a straight face. “If you can count to five you can do Handanger.” Lies, lies! It isn’t easy and despite three classes in it, I still can’t do Hardanger.

   But by the time I realized this, I’d already signed a book contract. Then it came to pass that my lack of expertise was actually an asset. Non-stitchers weren’t confronted by language they couldn’t understand, beginning stitchers sometimes picked up a hint or two they could use, and advanced stitchers could enjoy the feeling of superiority – or sympathy – with the rank beginner character I was forced to create and use.

    The problem: I am becoming more familiar and at ease with needlework. Not by any means an advanced stitcher – I am too busy writing the novels to get really serious about needlework – I am no longer the scared novice I was at the start. So far it doesn’t seen to have put off my readers. Perhaps they start at the beginning and progress with me.

About Monica Ferris
Mary Monica is an “accidental Hoosier” – Terre Haute, Indiana, had the nearest meternity hospital to her parents’ Marshall, Illinois, home. She grew up in Illinois and Wisconsin, then served six and a half years in the U.S. Navy before attending the University of Wisconsin at Madison. She married Dr. Albert W. Kuhfeld in 1979 and moved to join him in Minneapolis.

Mary Monica sold her first short story to Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine in 1983, and has since sold more than two dozen short stories to various anthologies and magazines, including some in Germany, England and France. Her latest short story appeared in Silence of the Loons.
Her first mystery novel, Murder at the War, appeared from St. Martin’s Press in 1987 and was nominated for an Anthony as Best First Novel. Four mystery novels in the Peter Brichter series followed, then Berkley published six medieval mysteries writen in collaboration with Gail Frazer under the pseudonym Margaret Frazer. The Servant’s Tale was nominated for an Edgar as Best Original Paperback of 1993.

In 1998 Mary Monica began writing a new series for Berkley featuring a needleworking sleuth. The titles are: Crewel World, Framed in Lace, A Stitch in Time, Unraveled Sleeve, A Murderous Yarn, Hanging by A Thread, Cutwork, Crewel Yule, Embroidered Truths, Sins and Needles, Knitting Bones, and Thai Die. She has finished Blackwork and has begun Buttons and Bones.

Mary Monica studies the medieval period as an amateur, and does needlework. She collects (and wears) exuberant hats.

For cover pictures, sample chapters, and pictures of Mary Monica in some of her hats, go to Monica-Ferris.com.

    One thing I really do wish, is that I could take a year off writing to take classes and stitch, stitch, stitch! Because, after all those years of avoiding it, I have discovered that I love the creativity, the sense of meditation, the feeling of accomplishment I find in the needle arts!

Needlepoint Christmas Stockings & Memories by Julie Paukert

One of my hobbies is needlepoint, which is a form of “painting” on canvas mesh with fibers. I have been avidly pursuing this hobby for 35 years, at times being addicted to it as an addict is to dope! Then too, during periods when I’ve been working full time, the passion for it has decreased. Needlepointing is not onlyl just a hobby with me, it’s also my therapy and a means of “journaling on canvas”.

Over the past few years I have made needlepoint Xmas stockings for my husband and 2 kids. The interesting thing about the product I turn out is that it not only is beautiful and unique, but that each stitch, each finished product has a memory. For instance, my duaghter’s stocking which depicts a little girl sitting amidst a mound of Xmas presents, was stitched in 1990. I can remember stitching it as I flew to Germany to meet my long lost relatives for the first time. That stocking traveled with me through 4 countries and was shown to inquisitive Europeans who were curious about what I was working on, opening the doors to conversations I might not otherwise have had. Thus, it became not only a conversation piece, but a vehicle for meeting people and a means for breaking down the language barriers to communicate with other cultures.

My son’s stocking was partially stitched while driving through New England during the fall of 1987. The memories of the sights and sounds of that beautiful area are subconsciously etched into every stitch of the forest creatures at Christmas – the theme of his stocking. Stitching also provided a diversion and an outlet during that years’ troubled times. My thoughts and worries were woven into the mesh as I pushed the needle filled with colorful yarn in and out of each square creating a unique tapestry while affording me an outlet for working with my hands as my mind was filled with worries.

My husband’s stocking, entitled The Christmas Goose, was started during the beginning of the Persian Gulf War. I remember the security I felt from stitching that stocking as I watched with fear and apprehension the instant relay of events on television and wondering if my son would be called to service. It provided me with a safe feeling as if being with an old friend. It was an effort to stitch away my tension. I noticed that the tension in my stitches was tighter during that period, reflecting my mood. Later in the year, that project traveled with me to Burmuda where I stitched my way through Hurricane Grace, again with apprehension and fear. THe Christmas Goose stocking with the green and yellow plaid background has the tightest stitches of them all! It symbolizes memories of terrifying times.

As I look at the finished stockings hanging from the mantel every Christmas, I am not only proud of the end result but reminded of the events that were occuring during the time I worked on each one. Times when world history was being made before my eyes. Times when my family members were making their individual histories. During happy times or sad times, my needlepoint was like a safe, constant old friend. The stockings were stitched with love for my son, daughter and husband knowing that that person would be able to look at theirs every Christmas and know that I gave them something uniquely theirs from my heart to show my love for them. But, in addition to my contribution to posterity, came a feeling of assuredness for me that my needlepointing had provided me a port in the storm, so to speak; a means of working through difficult times and a pleasant addition to happier times recorded in each stitch.

Knitting and Commuting by David Jacobs

I live in New York City and it’s
nothing unusual to see women knitting on the subway
trains during their commute. But this one day in
particular, it was a man. A thin, wiry
african-american male with shoulder-length locks and
rectangular spectacles that sat on the tip of his
average-sized nose. He was very focused and totally
oblivious to curious onlookers who couldn’t resist the
side show. Even I, myself, watched in amazement as
this guy boldly and feverishly knitted away as if he
was in his own world. “Man”, I thought, “This guy has
balls! Now that’s what I call being secure in ones’
manhood!” I mean, I’m a guy. Would I ever attempt
such an activity? On the train in public? And risk
being called a “fag”? One thing’s for sure, I can
just forget about any females desiring me or giving me
any play while carrying on with two crochet needles.
Well, there’s nothing wrong with a man crocheting, I
mentally concluded. Hell, if I wanted to crochet,
I’ll crochet. Who cares what people think. They’re
not paying my rent, I reasoned.

The guy continued to knit and looked very nonchalant
and cool about it all. But there was one thing I
found to be unusual. The ball of yarn that he knitted
from was on the floor – the filthy and disgusting
floor where hoards of people have walk. And who knows
what they have stepped on at one point or another in
their travels: saliva, excrement, sewage and I could
go on but I’m sure you get the gist of it. Not the
most sanitary thing you wanna do. So, as he sits
there knitting at his fast pace, the ball of yarn
turns and twiddles on the floor as he pulls for more
string.

Apparently, a young woman notices the ball of yarn and
suspects that the yarn has mistakenly fallen from the
seat or what have you.

“Excuse me, sir!”

The guy is unresponsivered and continues to knit.
“Sir!”

Maybe the guy is deaf.

“Excuse me, sir!”

His head finally turns in a mechanical fashion and
eyes this concerned blond-haired woman who has the
audacity to disturb him while churning out his
masterpiece.

“Sir, your yarn is on the floor.”

The man conjures an eerie grin and responds, “All the
time, baby! All the time!” And continued to knit as
if he had just shooed away a worrisome fly.

Wow! He’s actually okay with his yarn on the floor.
And although he seemed to be very skilled in making
what appeared to be a beautiful scarf, I couldn’t help
but to wonder if the recipient was aware of his mode
of operation. But whoever wears this knitted
creation, God bless em’, I thought, as I arose to make
my exit at Lexington Avenue, still somewhat disturbed
over the hygiene issue.

Magic Happens by Laura Perin

Do you remember the first cross stitch project you ever stitched?

I do. My first project was a small design that had a Victorian house in the background, with a garden and gazebo in the foreground. The kit contained a piece of white Aida cloth, a tangle of embroidery floss and a needle. I remember struggling to get the fabric taut in a small wooden embroidery hoop, tightening the outside screw and struggling over and over again to get just the right firmness in the fabric.

Then I read the instructions, threaded the needle, and started making Xs in the fabric
by following the symbols on the hand-drawn chart. Cross by cross, my needle and I hopped over the neat little Aida squares, counting my color symbols and following their mysterious trail across the inscrutable black and white chart. As I progressed slowly over the stark white fabric, my Xs began to merge together into little chunks of colors.

What was I stitching? It was hard to tell at first. But I was mesmerized by the pointillist effect of all the little Xs and I felt rather like an impressionist painter dabbing little dots of paint on a canvas. The effect was surely the same: up close the dots of color had no discernable pattern, but as you pulled back and viewed it from farther away, the colors became objects – doors, windows, flowers, paths.

After stitching in deep concentration for a while, I finally had a completed square of roughly an inch or so in the middle of my fabric. I stopped and stared at the small patch of speckled colors set against the rest of the blank white Aida cloth. The little crosses of plain embroidery floss glowed like tiny jewels. I was utterly captivated by their effect. They snuggled up against each other in tidy little rows, and they created a deliciously satisfying tapestry in miniature – a tapestry that was completely ordinary yet also provided a glimpse of something tantalizingly mysterious. How would it look when I stitched a little bit more? What would the next inch of stitching reveal? I had to keep stitching to find out.

In no time at all, I was totally captivated by this embroidered puzzle I was putting together. Instead of interlocking jigsaw pieces, I was working on a picture puzzle by stitching it, one small cross stitch at a time. I was hooked! And I learned then what every other cross stitcher eventually learns: that cross stitch is definitely addicting. You just can’t stop after one stitch – you have to keep stitching to see what develops next. “Just one more row,” or “just one more strand” becomes your mantra as you work row by row, color by color. You become addicted to the excitement of seeing the colors merge and blend into a larger picture. And you just can’t wait to finish your current project, so you can start the next one…and the one after that, and the one after that. Time is short, and there are so many lovely projects to stitch!

During the slow process of covering that first white Aida cloth with tiny cross stitches, I discovered two extraordinary things. The first was that I had fallen head over heels in love with cross stitching. I discovered that I loved starting a new project on a blank piece of fabric. Instead of being daunted by all that empty space waiting to be filled, I reveled in the initial excitement of starting out on a blank piece of cloth, and stitch by stitch, filling that space with colors, shapes and objects that revealed themselves slowly, an inch at a time. Every time you start a new cross stitch project, you are embarking on a new and different adventure, and only with time and patience – and many little cross stitches – will you reach the satisfying end of that particular journey.

And even though you are following a graph designed by someone else (someone who is probably as crazy about stitching as you are), it feels as if you are creating a world of your own. Indeed, as you progress, stitch by stitch, over the whole design, it DOES become your own special creation. And you are proud of yourself for having the patience to sit and make this magical creation appear before your eyes.

All the cross stitch journeys you take can be done in the quietness (or craziness) of your own home. You needn’t travel very far, or use expensive materials to enjoy the journey. You may cross stitch with silks, rayons, or metallics, but you can also cross stitch with ordinary cotton floss, like countless other women have before us. I like knowing that cross stitch is a humble craft, rooted in everyday living. It reminds me of the gingham aprons my grandmother stitched, placing her cross stitches in the white squares of the gingham fabric to create simple, yet pleasing patterns for the aprons she wore every day in her kitchen. I like knowing that because I cross stitch, I’m also part of the tradition of stitching that stretches back to the beginnings of civilization.

The second extraordinary discovery I made during that very first cross stitch project was that cross stitch is truly a magical process. Remember those coloring books that had drawings on plain paper, but when you washed a wet paintbrush over the page, colors would appear? Do you remember the sense of astonished joy and wonder you felt when those colors appeared on the page? It made you feel like you had actually performed a wonderful feat of magic.

Well, that’s exactly how I felt when I first began cross stitching, and saw those tiny crosses of color blossom into a picture. Magic happened. A spell of enchantment was cast, and I was never the same again. And although it’s many years and many, many projects later, today I still experience that same sense of astonishment, wonder and joy when I begin to stitch. I just can’t wait to see the magic happen yet again. We all know that the world today is a large and scary place. As adults, we seldom get the chance to escape into the childhood refuge of a fairy tale or coloring book. But when we pick up our stitching project, we can escape – even if it’s just for a little while – into a creative world of a quiet and satisfying beauty.

It’s a simple enough process, isn’t it? Take a needle and thread, make a cross stitch on a piece of fabric, and when you make enough cross stitches, a picture appears….and MAGIC HAPPENS. And as any cross stitcher knows deep down, that’s the real beauty of cross stitching: you have the power in your fingertips to make magic happen.

From Laura
I’ve been drawing, painting, sewing, and stitching all my life. While I enjoy all types
of stitchery, I’ve always been partial to working on canvas – which is why the majority
of my designs are canvaswork designs. There is something so exciting about starting
a new design on a crisp, blank piece of canvas that it always makes me eager to keep
stitching. There are so many tantalizing possibilities, so many ways to interpret an idea,
especially with so many different types of threads, canvases, and embellishments we
have to stitch with these days.

Color, composition, and pattern are all important elements of my work. Color – and the
use of variegated threads – is how I started designing the miniature quilt patterns in my
needlework “American Quilt Collection.” Combining quilt patterns with luscious
overdyed pearl cottons as become almost an addiction with me. Once I started stitching
them, I simply couldn’t stop! And once I started working with variegated threads of all
types, I found more and more uses for them so now, adding variegated threads into most
of my designs has become an important part of my signature design style.

Blackwork is another stitchery passion of mine. I love how the miniature geometric motifs
can quickly fill a blank space on the canvas. In some ways, blackwork reminds me of
the pen and ink drawings that illustrated favorite books I read as a child. Of course,
I’ve experimented with blackwork in all different colors and threads – including variegated
threads. I find blackwork patterns endlessly fascinating and adaptable to all sorts of projects.
I’ve had my own stitchery design company since 1994. I’m a member of EGA and ANG,
and have taught classes for both guild organizations for many years now. My designs
have been published in Stitcher’s World, Needlepoint Now, and ANG’s Needlepointer
magazines. My designs are distributed by Norden Crafts and Nordic Needle. You can
visit my website: www.ljperindesigns.com to see as online catalog of all my designs.
You can also visit my blogsite: http://two-handedstitcher.blogspot.com to read my
thoughts on stitching, as well as get glimpses of my on-going stitchery projects.

A Life in Needlework by Debby Leffingwell

There is peaceful silence in the room. Outside, an ice storm wreaks its havoc on the world and a bustle of activity takes place, but neither of the two people in this room is aware of it. One person is lying in bed, unable to speak, but communicating none the less. The other person sits in a chair next to the bed pulling needle and thread through canvas, stitching away the stress she feels, talking enough for both of them, trying to say all the things she knows she will wish he heard her say and remembering, with each stitch, the way things used to be.

As early as I have memories, I remember my Mother knitting, sewing; basically doing anything that involved needles and thread. There was always a bag of knitting in progress next to her chair. Many years ago, my mother taught me to embroider when I was five, making a dresser scarf embroidered in my favorite color at that time – pink. There are so many missed stitches and long threads drawn across the fabric that the design is unrecognizable, but the effort wasn’t wasted. The dresser scarf all these years later shows the signs of use and love, for my mother was proud of my first work and used it and showed it off as if it were a masterpiece created by a famous artist.

When I was 10, my mother embarked on a sewing craze – making all my summer play clothes that year – so proud of her reversible tops and shorts. I still remember feeling totally cool for having a mother who could make my clothes. Years and many crafts later, my Mother and I sat side by side on the couch, trying out the newest craft for us, latch hooked rugs, which were used in the bedrooms as floor rugs and wall hangings and enjoyed by us. My mother’s knitted afghan covers us as we work, holding in warmth and connecting us together.

When I was 15, we purchased kits of crewel work on a snowy day, enthused at the prospect of working on them together. But I gave up, being too absorbed in teenage angst, leaving my Mother to finish both kits, as mothers do. Through it all, my mother continued to knit, making afghan upon afghan, welcoming new babies, covering sick family members, bringing warmth to the home and peace in the evening as the family gathered to do homework and watch TV to the sound of her knitting needles clicking together.

Once I began to work, I tried dressmaking, quilting, counted cross stitch, crocheting, and many other crafts before settling on my favorite – needlepoint. My mother always provided praise and lovingly showed off my work to her friends and relatives. Always my mother was beside me. Even to welcoming my best creation yet – a daughter – and now my mother is a grandmother. There was a new generation to share this love with. The grandmother wastes no time introducing the new baby to the texture of yarns, the colors of the rainbow, the joy of starting with simple string and finishing with something beautiful and useful.

And then, in the year 2002, I knew there was something wrong with my mother. I sat beside her for doctor appointments and then beside my mother’s bed when doctors said there was nothing more to be done, talking about things to come and arrangements to be made. Even though it was difficult for my mother to take a breath, still she asked to look at the needlepoint piece I was working on, proclaiming it to be her favorite, as she always did.

That needlepoint piece took two more years to finish, even though only 50 stitches remained. Each glimpse of the canvas took me back to that day, sitting next to the bed, next to my mother feeling the love and the pain, knowing this would be the last canvas my mother would proclaim her favorite.

Not that needlepoint ceased to exist for me – on the contrary, many other pieces were started and finished – making plastic canvas play food items for my daughter to use and enjoy, making things to warm my home with color and texture. But I had gotten much busier. A promise made while sitting beside Mom was keeping me busy. I promised to take care of Dad and make sure he got food to eat and got out of the house once in a while. Since Dad doesn’t cook, I made meals every weekend, filling his freezer with food that Mom used to cook, trying to keep things the same for him.

But, as I know now, things don’t stay the same and Dad got sick too. Not in the same way as Mom, but with the same disease. His shows as a brain tumor which is mistaken for back pain. My husband and I saw him through a nursing home scare as doctors thought he had dementia, then surgery to remove a brain tumor, chemotherapy, radiation, two more surgeries, more chemotherapy, a trip to Boston for second opinions, more treatment, and, finally, to this peaceful room in a wing of the hospital set aside for the dying,

The constant through all of this was my needlepoint. Always with me – in my purse for simple doctor appointments because I’d learned that simple doctor appointments can lead to 5 hours of blood transfusions or hospitalizations. In my car going to Dad’s house to drop off food, because I’d learned that sometimes he needs to talk for a long time and what was supposed to be a 15 minute trip, turns into 3 hours of time with my Dad telling me stories about his childhood or mine. Knowing that he talks better when I’m not looking directly at him, but stitching and paying attention to every word he says.

And now, in this peaceful room, I begin a new needlepoint canvas – a rainbow, chosen quickly because it was simple to stitch and the colors were bright and cheerful. I stitch each curve of the rainbow in simple basketweave stitches – not able to think about specialty stitches. No unusual fibers here either, a rainbow of silk and wool is in the bag next to me – no metallics, no velvets nor rayons. Only sturdy and easy will do this day.

A chaplain and then a nurse come in to ask if we need anything, but before either gets the words out, they stop in the doorway and stare. At two different times, they both say the same words “there is such a peace in this room.” I knew it was because all the unrest I felt was being poured into the canvas. I was able to say what I needed to say, and Dad had said what he needed to say. Later that night my Dad passed away.

Two years have now passed and the rainbow is now complete. As with the piece I was working on while my Mom was ill, this one brought back memories of Dad’s illness. Time needed to pass before I could finish that canvas in peace.

But now that it’s done, I know it doesn’t belong to me anymore. It needs to be in a place to bring peace to others going through illness and loved ones coping. It now hangs in the Hospice Inn in memory of both of my parents. They live on as I do.

In my home, the background noise for evenings of TV and homework is thread being pulled through canvas.