Learning to Cross-stitch
I’ve recently taken up cross-stitch again after learning a bunch about tatreez, the Palestinian traditional style. I used to do them when I would find them at the Chinese toy store near the grocer I went to in Philadelphia, making cute little bag charms. I would say I’ve become a bit addicted, taking my cross-stitch supplies everywhere, including flights, train rides, parties… While I’m cross-stitching, my mind stills. I think about the path the needle is taking through the fabric in order to conserve the most thread. I think about the colors I want to use next. I think about where I should place the next knot. And slowly, as each motif becomes comfortable, my mind starts roaming freely.
There’s the old saying that “Idle hands are the devil’s work”. Conversely, do my thoughts and actions become purer the busier I become? It’s undeniable that my thoughts unwind, uncoil, become less hostile when I’m working with my body. Do you ever feel the pull of chaotic, spiraling thoughts pulling you down? While some people take up pen and paper or exercise, both of these are not enough for me to escape. Words have never quite expressed how I feel; no matter how much I read and how many languages I study, I always feel the inescapabilty of not being able to fully express how I feel. Moving my body helps, but the simple repetition of exercise leads me back down into my thoughts once again.
For whatever reason, the pace of cross stitch appears to be just the right combination of focus and freedom for me. The rhythm of stitching, the easy, simple calculations, distract me from any doubts or concerns that whittle away at my thoughts. I can focus more by splitting my focus, which feels a bit counterintuitive. Maybe I just have ADD. Whatever the reason may be, the freeing feeling it gives me, plus the simple contentment of holding a finished product in my hands, really cheers me up.
I find myself cross-stitching in front of the TV, while chatting with friends, enjoying the scenery on my deck, in the subway, pretty much anywhere. The small size of my projects (mostly I’ve been making keychains that I hope to sell for a fundraiser, but recently I just finished a larger wallet) means that I can take them anywhere. I’ve noticed too that when I’m out in public, some people take interest in what I’m doing. It’s flattering, even though I tend to ignore them because I don’t want to make them uncomfortable (and also I’m just anti-social). But it also gives me this sense of “properly using my time”; I’m not glued to my social media, I’m not twiddling my thumbs and worrying. Perhaps it’s that good old fashioned New England work ethic, but I hate wasting time. Nothing gets me more stressed out.
And the meaningfulness of cross-stitch across the globe has really spoken to me as well. While attending protests and learning about Palestine, I learned about tatreez and traditional garments. The beauty of the thobe (traditional woman’s dress) really impressed me, and I fell in love with the idea of women sitting together, chatting and working on their embroidery. Making something beautiful for themselves, imbuing simple fabric (typically deep indigo or white) with colorful stitches that they chose to represent themselves, their home, while they enjoy time with their family or friends just feels like such a beautiful example of what we are missing in our society today. We can receive beautiful things just by searching online and ordering from a website; we don’t see the work behind each detail. We may love how things look, but they are meaningless to us. We can only imbue our clothing, our accessories with meaning after using them; after receiving them as a present perhaps, or after wearing them to our graduation. But how must it feel to wear something designed with meaning, to represent yourself, from the very beginning? We shy away from this work, but isn’t it not only work, but also meaning itself? Otherwise, what is the point of all the beautiful things we adorn ourselves.
My family has ties to Poland, where cross stitch is also used as decoration on traditional clothes. I’m also aware of many beautiful examples from Ukraine. Some of the Ukrainian motifs are strikingly similar to some of the Palestinian ones. It’s so hard to understand people who think we are all so different, when clearly we are all so the same. Humans love beauty; they will take it if they cannot make it. So I hope more people will commit to making instead of taking and feel the contentment of seeing a product made by their own two hands. I promise you it’s worth it!