THE TOUCH OF WORKING HANDS.

 

Why do you spend so much time stitching? It’s a simple question and typical of one that more often comes from the innocently observant mind of a child. A close look at my hands would tell you that stitching is not the only thing I do.

My stitching is certainly not done for the money, but it’s also not for any form of notoriety or fame. Along with this is no urge to create something worthy of admiration or wonderment. The answer is more than simple, it is for my own amusement and enjoyment. Passing a needle from one side of the fabric to the other is a form of rhythmical relaxation. The past few months has seen me working on a ticking samplers, depicting a banana beaked creature as “The moth catcher”.

Once stitching is completed, to then share what I’ve done seems only natural in a world that encourages us to share everything about ourselves, so why should I be any different from others in that sense of self obsession. Not only do I chose to illustrate the finish item but to show that process of stitching in order to convey the time involved and maybe unravel the mystery of such intricate work. Anything that is made by hand has an inherent quality that draws the observer to want to touch, to obtain more than simply the visual. I’ve noticed during exhibitions of my textile work that the people will without thinking touch anything that isn’t behind glass, despite any do not touch signs. The drive to touch is primeval when it comes to fabric. During a stop off from Western Australia, at Doha airport the entire cabin crew watched me with admiration, as squatting on the ground, I stitched one of my more complex pieces. They were all very impressed and made no comment about me carrying a needle onto the plane, but one of them did ask me if he could touch the embroidery. I remember from my childhood the same sensation when observing my great aunts silk embroidery and wanting to touch those minute nobly french knots and the perfectly regimented smooth chain stitch.

If something is made by hand then it would seem only natural to want to touch it. I have always been fascinated by hands and the marvels they are capable of, and so I felt it a true and spontaneous compliment, when the male nurse who was taking my blood pressure and pulse noted that I had real working hands.