When I first saw Greek folk embroidery, I couldn’t believe my eyes! I had traveled to Greece to purchase brocades for my tailoring business when the wife of one of my suppliers invited me to their home in Thessaloniki. We were sitting down to a cup of Greek coffee when my hostess brought out a large box. She began pulling out a variety of elaborate embroideries — table runners, little mats and cushion covers — each one stitched in stylized geometric patterns and vibrant colors that reminded me of finely woven carpets. I was familiar with the Greek custom of the prika, a collection of heirloom wedding embroideries passed down through the generations, but I had never seen one quite this lavish.
I gazed upon the textiles, fascinated by the intricate stitches and unique colors. There was interlocking knotwork reminiscent of Byzantine mosaics, lush floral sprays with curling branches, small repeating motifs with a mid-century modern flair — the variety of artistic styles was remarkable. As I looked closer at each embroidery, I had the biggest surprise of my life: These stunning textiles were cross stitch! Cross stitch?! I had no idea cross stitch could be this! I had only seen cross stitch in small projects on aida cloth. Yet here I was, holding the most amazing examples of all that a cross stitch could be on the finest of fabrics, and I was utterly captivated! Throughout the rest of my trip, I asked everyone I met about folk embroidery, and they enthusiastically shared their treasured textiles.
Returning to my native Oregon, I began adapting the designs people had shared with me on graph paper so I could make folk embroideries for my home. I stitched large squares of linen with elaborate borders, table runners with vases of stylized flowers, and cushion covers with small repeating designs. There was something about the restful repetition of the traditional motifs combined with the energy of the striking color palettes that I found completely engaging.
Having grown up surrounded by the forests of the Pacific Northwest, these designs seemed somehow familiar — the stylized branches of a tree motif or a repeating chevron border reminded me of the silver firs and mountain hemlocks I had played under as a child — and I fell in love with this craft that was from a world away yet somehow rooted in my own experience.
I wanted to share my designs with others, but I needed to be able to produce patterns with photos and charts, and I didn’t have any graphic design or photography experience. I longed to share how folk embroidery was a part of daily life in Greek homes, displayed with pride on tables and furniture and surrounding the inhabitants. I had adopted this custom in my own home, and I delighted in the feeling of warmth and color that my embroideries brought to living spaces.
I wanted others to experience this, too, and be able to stitch useful items for their homes. I found a graphic designer who could make my patterns and charts beautiful and eye-catching, but after trying several professional photographers, the photos still weren’t communicating the everyday cozy vibe I wanted. I slowly realized I needed to photograph my embroideries in my own home.
So, in my late 40s, I picked up photography. It was an entirely new creative medium for me, and everything was so frustrating and mysterious — the equipment, the lighting, the editing! Many days I would feel tears spring to my eyes, but then I’d look at the beautiful embroidery I was trying to photograph and remind myself that the goal was to share this beauty with others. I think a lot of people see my photos and think the embroidery is the most impressive thing, but if they knew my struggles, they’d realize the photo itself is the real achievement!
Now when I’m designing or stitching an embroidery, I’m thinking about the story I want the photos to tell with that embroidery. Last summer I stitched a table runner with an ornate fig tree motif, and I wanted the photos to evoke a Mediterranean feast filled with fresh fruit, glasses of crisp wine and people gathering to relax on a summer day.
I think it’s this multimedia approach to my work that keeps me so creatively engaged. It’s like a jewel with many facets and I get to explore each one — designing the chart bit by bit; seeing the embroidery come to life in my hoop; choosing how I’ll display it; setting up the lighting; and creating a story for each embroidery. I want the “stories” of my embroideries and the photos to inspire other stitchers to enliven their spaces with the vibrancy of folk embroidery.
I usually have about a dozen designs in process at various stages. Each design starts with something old: a vintage embroidery or old needlework booklet from my ever-growing personal collection, a family heirloom someone has shared with me, or a photo I’ve taken on one of my trips to Greece. I begin by looking at each motif and working outwards, figuring out which elements I find compel- ling and thinking about how I might want to use them.
Many old embroideries are very large and impressive and because their scope can be intimidating to modern stitchers, I like to find a balance between honoring the original elements and using them in a way that harmonizes with modern life. Elaborate Greek island cushion border designs from the 1800s would have taken months to stitch and are probably too large for a modern home or too unwieldy for a new stitcher, so I see my work as finding a way for stitchers to experience the color and repetition found in the original design but in a format that is approachable and accessible for a variety of skill levels. It’s a bit like being a translator — I’m searching for that perfect motif “phrase” that is rich in meaning yet easy to execute.
After I’ve worked up an initial chart, I begin choosing fabric and floss, which is the playful part because there are so many options! Folk embroidery can be stitched on different kinds of cotton and linen evenweave fabrics, each with various characteristics. Some are soft and plush; some are crisp and polished; and some have a finer thread count for a more heirloom, classic effect.
I stitch mostly on white, ivory, and natural undyed fabrics, and each fabric interacts differently with the floss colors, so I think about the look I’m going for: Do I want that crisp, polished effect with high contrast colors like red and black? Or do I want a Mediterranean vibe of terra cotta, olive green, warm blue and gold on an undyed fabric? I have a 15-foot wall of DMC embroidery floss in my workshop, and I start choosing colors by setting the cones on the fabric to see which ones work best together.
I stitch about three-quarters of the embroidery samples, and for the remainder, I have a lovely group of stitchers — friends and customers who have become friends! — who love to stitch and want to help get more folk embroidery out in the world. Once a sample is completed, I choose how I’ll finish it (typically as a cushion cover, wall hanging, or with a drawn thread hem) and it’s during the finishing that I’ll take how-to videos and step-by-step photos so I can share how to use folk embroidery in daily life.
After that, I stage the embroidery with glassware, fruit, plants and fresh flowers in the sunporch of our century-old home, which is my photo studio since it has a wall of windows and gets great light. I love photographing with natural light, which is definitely a challenge in the often gloomy Pacific Northwest. During the winter, I keep a pile of embroideries ready for photos; and on those rare sunny days, I drop everything and take photos!
I love the variety I have in my creative work, but my favorite part is still stitching the sample. I stitch several hours a day and I love sitting down to my hoop at the end of the day and feeling any tension slowly ebbing away as the needle goes in and out, in and out. As I’m stitching a little diamond shape or working on a bit of outlining, I think about all the people who have stitched folk embroideries through the centuries and I feel very connected to them.
My dream is to honor the stitchers from the past who embroidered these designs. I want to pass folk embroidery on to a new generation of makers and help them enjoy it by adapting it to fit today’s lifestyles. I want to see this generation taking it and making it their own so they can continue to pass it along.
Folk embroidery not only roots me in my time and place in history but allows me a wonderful panoramic viewpoint through history. I get to look into the past with gratitude and wonder for all the stitchers who came before me and kept these designs alive, and then look to the future with excitement and anticipation for what new makers will continue to do with these historic designs.
It’s this sense of connection and community — getting to work with historic textiles and designs that have stitched us together through the ages — that gives me such joy in being a folk embroidery designer.
When I first saw Greek folk embroidery, I couldn’t believe my eyes! I had traveled to Greece to purchase brocades for my tailoring business when the wife of one of my suppliers invited me to their home in Thessaloniki. We were sitting down to a cup of Greek coffee when my hostess brought out a large box. She began pulling out a variety of elaborate embroideries — table runners, little mats and cushion covers — each one stitched in stylized geometric patterns and vibrant colors that reminded me of finely woven carpets. I was familiar with the Greek custom of the prika, a collection of heirloom wedding embroideries passed down through the generations, but I had never seen one quite this lavish.
I gazed upon the textiles, fascinated by the intricate stitches and unique colors. There was interlocking knotwork reminiscent of Byzantine mosaics, lush floral sprays with curling branches, small repeating motifs with a mid-century modern flair — the variety of artistic styles was remarkable. As I looked closer at each embroidery, I had the biggest surprise of my life: These stunning textiles were cross stitch! Cross stitch?! I had no idea cross stitch could be this! I had only seen cross stitch in small projects on aida cloth. Yet here I was, holding the most amazing examples of all that a cross stitch could be on the finest of fabrics, and I was utterly captivated! Throughout the rest of my trip, I asked everyone I met about folk embroidery, and they enthusiastically shared their treasured textiles.
Returning to my native Oregon, I began adapting the designs people had shared with me on graph paper so I could make folk embroideries for my home. I stitched large squares of linen with elaborate borders, table runners with vases of stylized flowers, and cushion covers with small repeating designs. There was something about the restful repetition of the traditional motifs combined with the energy of the striking color palettes that I found completely engaging.
Having grown up surrounded by the forests of the Pacific Northwest, these designs seemed somehow familiar — the stylized branches of a tree motif or a repeating chevron border reminded me of the silver firs and mountain hemlocks I had played under as a child — and I fell in love with this craft that was from a world away yet somehow rooted in my own experience.
I wanted to share my designs with others, but I needed to be able to produce patterns with photos and charts, and I didn’t have any graphic design or photography experience. I longed to share how folk embroidery was a part of daily life in Greek homes, displayed with pride on tables and furniture and surrounding the inhabitants. I had adopted this custom in my own home, and I delighted in the feeling of warmth and color that my embroideries brought to living spaces.
I wanted others to experience this, too, and be able to stitch useful items for their homes. I found a graphic designer who could make my patterns and charts beautiful and eye-catching, but after trying several professional photographers, the photos still weren’t communicating the everyday cozy vibe I wanted. I slowly realized I needed to photograph my embroideries in my own home.
So, in my late 40s, I picked up photography. It was an entirely new creative medium for me, and everything was so frustrating and mysterious — the equipment, the lighting, the editing! Many days I would feel tears spring to my eyes, but then I’d look at the beautiful embroidery I was trying to photograph and remind myself that the goal was to share this beauty with others. I think a lot of people see my photos and think the embroidery is the most impressive thing, but if they knew my struggles, they’d realize the photo itself is the real achievement!
Now when I’m designing or stitching an embroidery, I’m thinking about the story I want the photos to tell with that embroidery. Last summer I stitched a table runner with an ornate fig tree motif, and I wanted the photos to evoke a Mediterranean feast filled with fresh fruit, glasses of crisp wine and people gathering to relax on a summer day.
I think it’s this multimedia approach to my work that keeps me so creatively engaged. It’s like a jewel with many facets and I get to explore each one — designing the chart bit by bit; seeing the embroidery come to life in my hoop; choosing how I’ll display it; setting up the lighting; and creating a story for each embroidery. I want the “stories” of my embroideries and the photos to inspire other stitchers to enliven their spaces with the vibrancy of folk embroidery.
I usually have about a dozen designs in process at various stages. Each design starts with something old: a vintage embroidery or old needlework booklet from my ever-growing personal collection, a family heirloom someone has shared with me, or a photo I’ve taken on one of my trips to Greece. I begin by looking at each motif and working outwards, figuring out which elements I find compel- ling and thinking about how I might want to use them.
Many old embroideries are very large and impressive and because their scope can be intimidating to modern stitchers, I like to find a balance between honoring the original elements and using them in a way that harmonizes with modern life. Elaborate Greek island cushion border designs from the 1800s would have taken months to stitch and are probably too large for a modern home or too unwieldy for a new stitcher, so I see my work as finding a way for stitchers to experience the color and repetition found in the original design but in a format that is approachable and accessible for a variety of skill levels. It’s a bit like being a translator — I’m searching for that perfect motif “phrase” that is rich in meaning yet easy to execute.
After I’ve worked up an initial chart, I begin choosing fabric and floss, which is the playful part because there are so many options! Folk embroidery can be stitched on different kinds of cotton and linen evenweave fabrics, each with various characteristics. Some are soft and plush; some are crisp and polished; and some have a finer thread count for a more heirloom, classic effect.
I stitch mostly on white, ivory, and natural undyed fabrics, and each fabric interacts differently with the floss colors, so I think about the look I’m going for: Do I want that crisp, polished effect with high contrast colors like red and black? Or do I want a Mediterranean vibe of terra cotta, olive green, warm blue and gold on an undyed fabric? I have a 15-foot wall of DMC embroidery floss in my workshop, and I start choosing colors by setting the cones on the fabric to see which ones work best together.
I stitch about three-quarters of the embroidery samples, and for the remainder, I have a lovely group of stitchers — friends and customers who have become friends! — who love to stitch and want to help get more folk embroidery out in the world. Once a sample is completed, I choose how I’ll finish it (typically as a cushion cover, wall hanging, or with a drawn thread hem) and it’s during the finishing that I’ll take how-to videos and step-by-step photos so I can share how to use folk embroidery in daily life.
After that, I stage the embroidery with glassware, fruit, plants and fresh flowers in the sunporch of our century-old home, which is my photo studio since it has a wall of windows and gets great light. I love photographing with natural light, which is definitely a challenge in the often gloomy Pacific Northwest. During the winter, I keep a pile of embroideries ready for photos; and on those rare sunny days, I drop everything and take photos!
I love the variety I have in my creative work, but my favorite part is still stitching the sample. I stitch several hours a day and I love sitting down to my hoop at the end of the day and feeling any tension slowly ebbing away as the needle goes in and out, in and out. As I’m stitching a little diamond shape or working on a bit of outlining, I think about all the people who have stitched folk embroideries through the centuries and I feel very connected to them.
My dream is to honor the stitchers from the past who embroidered these designs. I want to pass folk embroidery on to a new generation of makers and help them enjoy it by adapting it to fit today’s lifestyles. I want to see this generation taking it and making it their own so they can continue to pass it along.
Folk embroidery not only roots me in my time and place in history but allows me a wonderful panoramic viewpoint through history. I get to look into the past with gratitude and wonder for all the stitchers who came before me and kept these designs alive, and then look to the future with excitement and anticipation for what new makers will continue to do with these historic designs.
It’s this sense of connection and community — getting to work with historic textiles and designs that have stitched us together through the ages — that gives me such joy in being a folk embroidery designer.
