Bunny Christmas Stocking

Why would you have a Bunny on a Christmas Stocking?
I'm not sure either, but Jane-Beth picked this canvas up at the Silent Auction at the ANG Seminar in Lexington. I think she put in a bid because no one else had and she felt sorry for the Bunny.

Was she ever going to stitch this?
Probably not, so I did.

The Bunny is a painted canvas on 14 count. It came with no stitch guide, and no indication of the designer. If you recognise the designer please feel free to leave a comment so that I can give them the credit.

I had to make my own decisions about stitches and threads. First off, I didn't want to lose the fine shading on the canvas, so it called for lots of different threads. Looking back, I think I used nearly twenty different threads and braids. Because I didn't want to lose detail I used tent stitch on the carrots and the Bunny, except on his tie, weskit and hat band.
I used Fluffy Stuff and Appletons Crewel for the ears face and paws. The rest of the stocking was worked in Appletons and Silk'n'Ivory which I had purchased in Lexington for the good reason that I liked the feel of it and thought I'd like to try it. It's mere co-incidence that it worked with the stocking. There is also Kreinik gold braid and a bit of DMC perle.
For the egg in the Bunny's paw, I wanted just a slight sheen, so I used 2 strands of Appletons, lightly twisted with two strands of Décor.

The name band is tent stitch and satin stitch, the long stitches are held down by a grid of Kreinik gold braid, couched at the intersections with a blue Kreinik braid to match the letters.
The name is not is some strange Pictish script, it's the name of a Bear (Grumpy) who, being a bear, does not feel restricted to common conventions on the direction of letters or spelling.  His stocking, so of course I had to do it the way he signs his name.

Fawny of Eight

Bedroom Games was a bit of a marathon, but I didn't work exclusively on that. I stitched a number of other projects during the same period.

There was a time when I only ever worked on one project. "You can't be a real embroiderer until you're working on a number of projects at once," I was told. (No names, no pack-drill!)
So this may have been about when I became a 'real embroiderer'! It certainly helped me get past the 'godai'* of Bedroom Games.

I needed something smaller as a change from the quilt, and I knew that I really needed to increase my repertoire of stitches. I didn't want to do a traditional band or block sampler, so I came up with this.

I decided to call it "Fawny of Eight", a play on the heraldic "Gyronny of Eight" as it was all done using the same hank of Appleton's Crewel wool and it contained eight different stitches, not including the border.

Working round from the top right corner they are:
(Obviously) Basket-weave, Woven Stitch, Twill Variation, Horizontal Brick, Scotch Stitch, Florentine, Byzantine and Upright Brick. I have since learned that some of these stitches have different names in different places, and some of the names can be applied to another stitch - that's life!
Whatever the names you may know these stitches by, it was an excellent exercise in learning new stitches and working out how to compensate them.

I stitched this between March and July 2002. I think of it as a 'stash' piece because nothing new was purchased. The canvas was already in the house, and the Appleton's was left over from the chair I posted about in October 2018.

* 'godai': The point you hit on any large piece of work, no matter how much you love the design. Extrapolated from the phrase "God I hate this". It hits me at least once in every project, but the trick is never to let it overwhelm you because you know that if you push yourself past that stage and complete the project you (or someone else) is going to love it.

Back to School

And back in time.

Do you remember the Chalet School stories by Elinor M Brent-Dyer? I had never heard of them until I met Jane-Beth, who has a large collection. The first book in the series, and there are many, is called "The School at the Chalet". I have not read the book, but I did like the cover. It has a deceptively simple design, with a mellow water-colour feel to it. In fact I liked it so much that I wondered if it would translate into needlepoint.

I worked on this from June 1998 to March 1999 and probably spent as much time creating the chart as stitching. I found the most difficult part to chart was the clothing on the two figures. It took a number of attempts to get the folds and wrinkles in their dresses close to the shading of the original. Selecting threads to maintain the feeling of water-colour was not easy either, particularly on the "white" dress which, after long consideration was really shades of blue.
The canvas is 18 count, the yarn is two strands of Appletons Crewel wool. The picture is worked entirely in tent stitch and measures seven inches by eleven inches.

The Chalet School books have a large following, including embroiderers. Soon after completing this I was fund raising for the National Osteoporosis Society. One of the ways I raised money was to sell charts through the magazine run by Friends of the Chalet School (who also own the copyright to the cover art).

I get Crewel

Any visit to a craft show brings shoppertunities. In October 1998 just such an opportunity arose - a Knitting and Stitching Fair. As any good Vogon Space Marine will tell you, "Resistance is Futile". I went, I saw, I purchased.

One of the exhibitors was Phillipa Turnbull of the English Crewel Work Company. (Now The Crewel Work Company.) She had a large frame with a partly worked length of crewel work on it and was inviting people to try. Who could resist? Well me for about two minutes until the devil at my shoulder (or perhaps it was Jane-Beth) urged me on. So I sat down at the frame. That brought some expressions of surprise from a group of 'ladies of age' who were also inspecting the embroidery. I threaded the needle, they murmured doubtfully. I chose my spot. They made a comment about moving away "so as not to embarrass the young man". Now one thing I don't get easily embarrassed about is stitching in public. There followed a shocked silence as I stitched a flower petal. I'm not saying it was perfect, but it left a few mouths gaping. I don't think I'd worked out that 'men don't do embroidery' (same as women don't become motor engineers!?!)

Anyhow, having tried it, I decided I wanted to try more so I purchased a kit with a good variety of stitches and a simple stitch guide and took it off home clutched to my heaving chest.

I think I was actually patient enough to wait until the following weekend to start! At that time I was not counting hours, but I know it took three months. I finished it in January 1999 and made it into a wall hanging.

I learned a whole bucket full of new stitches. Chain Stitch, Satin Stitch, Fly Stitch, Seeding, French Knots, Couching, then there was Stem Stitch, Short and Long Shading and Padding. (Rod for own back, I did select a kit with pretty much all the standard stitches.)

Did I enjoy it? Yes.
Would I do more Crewel Work? Yes

Knocking on a year or so, I was attending a talk given by Phillipa. I'll not say where. Questions were invited and I asked one. I can't remember the question now but I still remember the reaction.
I had barely finished asking the question when a stentorian voice from the far side of the room boomed out "A MAAN?"
For a moment I felt as thought I was in a performance of "The Importance of Being Earnest". Next thing a woman actually walks round the hall and looks at me to see that I really am a man. I really couldn't help laughing.
Perhaps I should have been angry, perhaps I should have said something, perhaps someone from the group should have sought me out and apologised for the sexist behaviour of their member. None of the above happened.
But maybe that evening was the spur I needed to start entering exhibitions, to prove that a man can be the equal of a woman in the needle arts.

Tea Anyone?

Inspiration can come from all sorts of places. In 1987 I was given a present of a small book of examples of Japanese woodcuts in the Ukio-e (Pictures of the Floating World) style. One of the woodcuts was by Utagawa Toyoharu (1733-1844) and was titled "Interior and Winter Landscape: A gay party, men and Geishas".

Despite my lack of experience I decided that I would like to render the image in needlepoint.

I began this project in March 1988, starting from the 6 inch by 4 inch, postcard sized picture in the book. Not quite as clueless as heretofore, I realised that the figures were very detailed and that to do them any justice they must be stitched on a high count canvas, with a finer thread. The rest of the picture did not feel, to me, as though it needed the same level of detail. Somewhere along the line I made the first design decision. I would work the figures on 22 count and the rest on 11 count. Not being particularly aware of other flosses or yarns, I stuck with Appletons Crewel and DMC Medici.

Back then, with no computers, limited access to photocopiers and no digital nothing, it all had to be done by hand. I have alluded to my lack of ability to draw, but if you seek hard enough you can find a solution. My solution was the pantograph. Using one, I traced the outlines of the figures onto graph paper expanding them to the size required, and filled in the detail by eye. Each figure was charted and stitched separately apart from the two overlapping figures on the right which were completed as one piece. All the figures were worked in tent stitch on 22 count canvas using 2 strands of DMC Medici and appliqued to the background.

The background was drawn out on graph paper by hand and eye. It was stitched on 11 count using 3 strands of Appletons. The background is mostly tent stitch, but with a flash of bravery (or boredom?) I essayed into different stitches for the Tatami matting and the bamboo porch behind the figures. The completed project, not including the mount and frame, measures 27 inches by 13 inches. The standing Geisha is about 11 inches in height.

Was there a lesson to be learned?

First, let's start with frames. Scroll frames are a pain. At no time can you see the whole canvas, and every time you move the canvas you have to re-lace it, and keeping it suitably taut and even is not as easy as it looks. I found that the further on I got with the project the more I was struggling to stop the canvas going out of shape. I partly solved the problem by padding the unstitched areas, but only partly! It was some time later that I discovered the joy of stretcher bars and thumb tacks.

Secondly, there's size. Size matters! I failed to leave sufficient extra space beyond the area to be stitched. At times I was working so close to the side bars that I had difficulty in controlling the needle and ending threads. (Of course that might just have been me.) Now I always leave at least a two inch space between the edges of my design and the edge of the canvas on all sides. (That extra couple of inches also means that you can do quick doodles in the corners if you don't have a doodle cloth handy.) That extra two inches can mean the difference between satisfaction and frustration.

I also learned how fiddly it is to try and join two pieces of canvas invisibly, though I did cheat by planning (or more likely by luck?) to have the join run vertically behind the standing figure. I also discovered that in general, picture framers have little experience of framing needlepoint.

I started "Tea Dance - Nippon Style" in March 1988 and did not complete it until June 1989. I learned so many things about designing and stitching during this project, and though today I can look at it and see many things I would do differently now, it still hangs in our sitting room and I am still proud of it. One day perhaps I will revisit it. I still have the original design sheets somewhere!

Achieving Harmony

It's like this. There was this old tatty chair I had inherited from somewhere. It could only be described as having reached a state of "well loved". The cover was more fray than fabric, the stuffing was coming out and at least one of the springs had sprung. Then there was the loose arm and the shoogly leg.

But it was my favourite chair!
What should I do?
Well there was this design of a duck in Gay Ann Rogers book!
What is it they say about fools and brave men treading?
Yes, I decided that if I could embroider a cushion I could just as easily embroider a chair back, and if you're going to do the back, you might as we'll do the seat too.
Well you do, don't you?

It took me two years, from January 1985 to January 1987, but I did it. I don't know how many hours I spent on this, back then I didn't keep a note of time. When the back and seat were ready I stripped off the old cover, sorted the springs, reset the leg and secured the loose arm, then I sanded it all down, varnished and re-stuffed it, and attached the embroidery.

I call this piece "Harmony". 

The Mandarin duck on the back is taken from Gay Ann Rogers "Needlepoint Designs From Asia" and is based on a detail from a painting by Ito Jakuchu (1716 - 1800). In Japanese art the Mandarin duck is a symbol of married happiness. The seat is my design and is based on the kanji for household harmony.
(If it's not, please don't tell me, it would break my heart.)
Both roundels are worked in tent stitch, the outer background is a woven stitch and the rest of the chair is covered with gold velvet (left over from a pair of curtains). I used Appleton's crewel wool and 14 count canvas for both parts.

I should have taken a picture of it at the time! This one was not taken until a few years later when the chair had seen daily use. You live and learn.

What did I learn?
That anyone who embroiders a whole chair is either highly dedicated or slightly nuts, possibly both. If you have embroidered a whole chair I take my hat off to you!
That Libraries are great! I found books on furniture restoration and upholstery and Japanese and between them I felt I had the confidence, if not the skill, to design the seat and complete the project.
That steady application of patience gets the job done;
AND that miles of background might be boring, but it's necessary to do it with the same attention to detail as the design.

Thirty years later it looks a little more aged and there are a few catches on the stitching, but it's still a darn comfortable chair.

And before you ask, yes, I made the curtains too, but they only lasted thirty years and two apartments.

I discover

Tent Stitch.

You thought what?

I had tottered on the edge, but had not yet fallen. For a start I had to work for a living, moving to London, then Edinburgh, then Aberdeen. That was where fortune smiled on me and I met JB, my Better Half. I had wandered away from embroidery and then suddenly there was someone in my life who could knit and sew and, poor delusional child, she seemed to like me.

One evening she was stitching on something and I asked how it was done. She showed me how to do Tent Stitch and the jaws of the embroidery demons began to close around me, dragging me into the depths of their warm flossy maws.

Having discovered the soothing flow of yarn through canvas, having stitched line after line of tent stitch, I wanted more. Then she showed me Gay Ann Rogers. "Needlepoint Designs from Asia, ISBN 0 7090 1554 2. I chose a pattern I liked the look of. 
Thunk! The trap was sprung.

Did I have a clue where to begin? Of course not.
Was I worried? Of course not. I knew nothing, but how difficult could it be? There was a chart, and a list of colours with little symbols to show what colour went where. It's only when you start to learn that you realise how little you know and fear of the unknown creeps in. So off I set, to Christine Riley's embroidery shop in Stonehaven (now closed - the shop, not the town) and purchased the required Appletons crewel wools.
Fortunately JB had been a customer there since childhood and when she explained to Miss Riley what I was looking for, Christine could not have been more helpful.

The design is based on a Japanese Imari porcelain bowl of the late Edo (Tokugawa) period, and is worked in three strands of Appleton's Crewel wool on 14 count canvas.

Framing up was fun, NOT. I didn't know any better, but JB came to my rescue and after a couple of attempts I had the canvas square on the roll-bars and the roll-bars fixed in the ends of the frame.
Heart Stopping Moment.
Where should I put my first stitch? Which colour first?
The learning curve was steep.
The first thing I learned was that I am always going to have that 'First Stitch Fear'. It doesn't matter what it is, I always end up sitting staring mindlessly at the frame for a good ten minutes before I make that first plunge of needle through canvas.
The second thing (unintentionally) was that shoving a tapestry needle under your finger-nail can be painful.
Really, I learned so many of the basics when stitching this. How to start a thread, how to finish a thread, what order to work in. I didn't know until it happened that bringing a white wool up in a hole it was to share with a dark coloured wool, already stitched, had a good chance of bringing some shreds of the coloured thread with it. Lesson, do the lighter colours first, starting with white.
I also learned one of the most important lessons - how to rip out without destroying the stitching you want to keep. How do you do that? Carefully!
And I learned how relaxing it could be.

Hook, line and sinker!

I stitched two of these between January and October 1986, one for my mother and one for Senior-Sister-In-Law, and once I had turned them into cushions I was on the hunt for my next project.