Needlepoint Art, Bringing Canvas To Life

I recently decided to revisit an artistic endeavor I enjoyed eons ago. When my kids were little, I needed some creative hobby to remind me I could do more than sing the patty-cake song and smash bananas for spoon feeding. My inspiration was my mother-in-law who was a master at needlepointing. Through needle and thread, she was able to bring canvases alive with color, texture, and artistic landscapes that would take your breath away. I have a three dimensional “lion king” needlepoint masterpiece that, for years, rested on a table near the entryway to her home. Her craft and creativity met you upon arrival. Now, that “lion king” sits in my home, a constant reminder of her manifestation of art via thread.

Fast forward 30 years, my daughter has taken up needlepoint. She remembers her grandmother teaching her the art of weaving, and now as a young mom herself, she is stitching her way into creative pathways to fuel her spirit. When my daughter finished her first project, I was inspired. Basketweave was like riding a bike, right?

It’s been a couple of weeks since I took up the needle again, and let’s just say, my reunion with the canvas has been rocky. Literally. All you need to do is study the backside of my floral-patterned canvas to see that behind the scenes my work is a bit jumbled, imperfect, and flawed. My mother-in-law’s needle work looks like a rhythmic and steady swimmer floating long distance in sync with the waves. My work, on the other hand, looks like a toddler splashing in the baby pool. It’s no wonder I traded needlepoint for raggedy quilting where seams don’t have to be perfect, and the yumminess of warm flannel is enough.

After trying to get back in the rhythm of the stitch, I found myself going down an existential rabbit hole of self-admonition. Well, maybe it’s not quite existential because I’ve known my flair for imperfection for a long time. You know those people who don’t combine silver with gold jewelry, or never wear a brown belt with black shoes? That would not be me. I’m a bit more eclectic forward. Just study the backside of my needlepoint canvas and you have tangible proof of my philosophy in life. Missed stitch or two? No problem. You can always fill in shortcomings by simply revisiting them with some new thread. Even Michelangelo intentionally added imperfections to his sculptures. Such flaws add to the humanity of his art. Let just say, in comparison, my needlepoint work thus far is very, very human.

I’m happy to share this generational craft now with my daughter. Already I can tell she has inherited the same talent for flowing thread as her grandmother. The backside of Holly’s canvas is orderly and quite impressive. In no time, she’s nailed the basketweave and has made it her mission to tutor me. More important, however, is I love how both of us have been channeling my mother-in-law with renewed admiration and appreciation for her legacy of needle work.

Someday within the next few months, I hope to complete my new needlepoint project. I will frame it and hang it somewhere where I’m able to appreciate the color, texture and yes, the artistry of my imperfections. Bringing to life any blank canvas through creativity is life-giving and can connect you to others with rich inspiration. I think it’s better to stitch with flaws than to not stitch at all. And when it’s all put together flanked by a fancy frame, I’ll smile in knowing the finished and colorful image woven into the canvas would be nothing without the messy efforts to make it whole. And that, I’ve learned, is the beauty of art.