Once upon a time,
I didn’t know anything about needlework of any kind.
So I researched
it. It was 1966; there was no
internet. Therefore, I went to the
Minneapolis Institute of Art, jumped a rope when nobody was looking, and lifted
the edge of a medieval tapestry to see how it was made. I didn’t learn much before I was discovered
and thrown out. The second time I tried
that, while enduring a Bum’s Rush to the exit, I protested. “But I want to learn!” “Get a book!” was the prompt suggestion.
So I did. The closest I could come to “How To Make a
Medieval Tapestry” was a McCall’s publication, “How To Do Needlepoint”. It was (and still is) very simple – get a
canvas, put the needle down in here, bring it up there. OK.
Off to the local
five-and-dime, the only store in town that carried yarns, notions, and
fabrics. The tapestry needle and wool
(not specifically “tapestry yarn”) were no problem to find. But the clerks didn’t know what needlepoint
canvas was. They showed me the available
canvas fabrics. Well, it didn’t look
like the mesh canvas in the book, but I wanted to get stitching, so I bought a
half-yard.
I drew a picture on the canvas and counted
the threads of the weave to achieve decent-looking stitches – two threads to
the right and three threads up. Of
course, it isn’t real needlepoint; it’s counted thread embroidery and very
wobbly since the fabric was definitely not an even-weave. But I finished it because I wanted to hang it
above my first son’s crib. When my
mother-in-law (an exquisite needle-worker) saw it, she first laughed and then
educated me about the characteristics of a proper needlepoint canvas, proper
tapestry yarns, and where, properly, to get them. My second piece was much more correct.
But not more
appealing. This, my first piece, shows
heart, determination and ingenuity.
Stitching it taught me many things, not the least of which is the beauty
and efficacy of impropriety.
Don’t worry about
doing it "right" – just get it done.
Stitch in
Peace! Karlin (© 2012)