It was a normal subway ride
for me as I sat in my favorite corner seat and passionately stitched. I
was possessed by the piece of embroidery on which I was working. I had
always wanted to do an abstract ‘sketch’ of autumn leaves. I put
together a wide range of various types of needles and threads, some fine
weight garment canvas, and took a deep breath, then thought, “let’s see
what happens”. I get the most pleasure as a needlework artist when I
work as spontaneously as possible. This particular way of working allows
me to experience the greatest sense of creative freedom.
At this
point, I had about two-thirds of the piece done, which had been
completed during numerous subway trips. As I continued to work on this
piece, I heard a woman’s voice ranting and raving further on down in the
car in which I was riding. She slowly walked towards me as I silently
wished that she would not. As she got closer to me, she continued to
yell and scream. Her words made no sense to me and I felt from her tone
that she was potentially violent. My first thought was that she might
indeed take my piece of embroidery away from me and perhaps do something
awful to it.
Finally, we were face to
face. Her long fingernails were encrusted with dirt and she wore a large
wooden cross around her neck. Her large dark eyes stared angrily at me.
She had stopped her ranting and raving (a noise which seemed to go on
forever to me, but actually lasted no more than a minute or two). At
that moment, she gently took the embroidered piece out of my hands and
smiled at me. She said something to me in Spanish, blessed me with her
hands, and handed the piece back to me.
At this point, I was filled
with so many emotions that I quickly put on my sunglasses (as I never
wanted anyone to see the tears in my eyes), and continued to sit quietly
for the remaining twenty minutes of my trip.
It has been approximately ten
years since I have worked on that piece. The reaction of this woman to
my work gave me stronger feelings about this project than anything I
could have possibly experienced while working on it.
Recently, I decided that I
very much wanted to finish it and have it framed. As I look at it now, I
know I made the right decision.
But, I still often wonder
what happened to that woman and if at some point, in her tortured
memories, she had ever experienced that magic and pure sense of joy
that comes from the simple activity of laying a needle and thread to
canvas.
If you would like to view this
finished piece online, visit:
