boro by boromagazine

boro issue 001, summer 2020

Welcome to our first issue! boro is a quarterly magazine celebrating contemporary make do and mending. We spotlight the craftspeople who are carving a boundary-pushing and inspiring approach to their artistry. The focus on slow craftsmanship is a thread which runs throughout the publication, in the form of specialist journalism and curated visuals. We hope you enjoy.

boro derived from the Japanese boroboro, meaning something tattered or repaired, boro refers to the practice of reworking and repairing textiles through piecing, patching and stitching, in order to extend their use. â&#x20AC;&#x201C; V&A

Contents

An unravelled heritage

Reworking rural roots

Unpicking craft education

Homespun

The art of visible mending

Kate Seuklesâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s guide to radical mending

Darn it! How to mend a hole

Knitted artistry

Why customising is cool again

Patched and pieced

The healing power of sewing

A moodboard by Hannah Stote for her final collection, A Sirenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Call

An unravelled heritage Meet the designer who has reinvented the classic seaman’s sweater WORDS KATY WIDDUP

British fishing villages served as the backdrop to fashion graduate Hannah Stote’s final collection, an idea kickstarted by her foray into machine knitting during the summer before her final year. The Dorset-based designer graduated from Bath Spa University in 2019, presenting a sustainably knitted six-garment collection, titled A Siren’s Call, which rightfully bagged her the 2019 Graduate Fashion Week Knitwear Award.

Her deep studies into gansey spanned across the north east of England. From which Hannah gained an intricate grasp of its heritage, expertly expressed in her innovative reworking of the seaman’s sweater. Cable and rope patterns are reimagined in chunky knitwork, interrupted by soft sculptural puckering. Unravelled yarns in harmonious pastels serve a visibly distressed look which conjures coastal imagery.

Upon her inceptive studies into knitting, Hannah discovered the fishermen’s gansey, a seamless jumper that was an unofficial uniform for 19th century fishermen. Designed to protect fisherman across stormy seas, gansey was knitted by the wives and daughters of each village, “the folklore is that a drowned fisherman could be identified just by the patterns on his gansey,” explains Hannah. Admiring the idea of a garment fulfilling both a functional and personal purpose, Hannah continued to unearth a rich history of the traditional style. Photographs by Frank Sutcliffe, a Victorian photographer, filled her moodboards, featuring the townspeople and weather-beaten fishermen of Whitby. Hannah also managed to dig up a book dedicated to gansey patterns in her university library, an untouched gem which fortified her concept.

In order to create a knitted collection which delivered on style and substance, sourcing high-quality, sustainable materials was central. Though Hannah’s knitting experience extends to working with yarns including cotton, silk and linen, she reflects that wool was the first fibre she worked with on the knitting machine, “I always find myself returning to wool.” She continues: “Choosing to use British wool was an almost unconscious choice – if I was basing my whole collection around an item that was so individual to the British fishing industry, it felt natural to work with wool that was from British sheep and spun in the UK, adding to the history that knitting already has here.”

Hannah’s considered approach to materiality also extends to her mindfulness around the amount of waste created in the fashion industry – particularly at post-consumer level. “I initially tried to work waste woven fabrics into my garments, but instead found a much better option in charity shop jumpers,” she explains. Hannah unravelled these time-worn knits to repurpose as part of her collection, a rewarding albeit lengthy process which introduced her to new yarns and familiarised her with the intricacies of knitted construction. This sentiment comes full circle, as Hannah integrated natural fastenings into her designs, like knitted ties and drawstrings. Therefore, the whole garment can be unravelled and reknitted into a new garment. “In the end, the collection ended up being around 75% virgin British wool and 25% recycled yarns,” she tells. It is this circular design and production that Hannah thinks is the direction the industry needs to move in, “I used to cringe at the amount of calico I’d waste when making woven projects at university, so if there was anything I could do to reduce it in my knitwear I wanted to commit to it fully.” The hands-on process of creating a fabric from scratch is one which Hannah revels in, “I will happily spend hours at the machine working on creating different textures and experimenting with different yarns.” Additionally, she notes that making large samples and toiles on the machine is when she truly got to grips with knitwear design. This circular craftwork Hannah fosters is tribute to what sustainability means to her: a traceable supply line, as little waste as possible and a design process untethered to the conventional trend cycle.

Look four of A Siren’s Call - felted knit jumper and lace knit wrap skirt with weaved details

which she used to create her entire collection. “For me, that investment of time during creating really becomes part of the garment’s story and makes the pieces so much more than just clothes – I hope other people can see that in my work too, she says.” “Throughout the making process of my final collection, I knew I wanted it to be a collection that lasted beyond the season it was first shown in,” says Hannah. This commitment compelled her to think about the traditional techniques used to preserve our clothing, such as darning and patchwork. True to form, the designer considered how she could reinvent these for her knitwear.

The result was a collection imbued with a sense of authenticity, history and craft. Her designs are awash with soft tones reminiscent of washed-up ropes and fishing nets. Relaxed silhouettes exude a carefree mood yet upon a closer look, the intricacy, variation and technicality of the knitwear sings. The knitted coat – Hannah’s favourite piece – took over 120 hours at the knitting machine. The yellow loop dress was another huge time investment, she explains that it took her 20 minutes to knit one row using a domestic knitting machine – the 200-needle machine

Though Hannah explains that she did not have the time to explore mending in her graduate collection, it is a concept she would love to bring to fruition in the future. She is also flirting with the idea of reproducing her final garments as a capsule collection. On the future she notes: “I hope to continue exploring and improving the craft of knitting both within the industry and as a young designer.”

Look three of A Sirenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Call - partial knit loop dress weave details. And a moodboard

An illustration by Sarah Thompson of look two of her final collection, The Farming People

Reworking rural roots Meet the designer fashioning from farmer-wear WORDS KATY WIDDUP

“The rural North East is who I owe my creativity too, the community around me, the rolling hills, the freedom of thought and naïve ways,” says fashion designer Sarah Thompson. It was her roots in the remote North Yorkshire Moors and upbringing on her family farm which provided the inspiration for her graduate collection titled The Farming People. The Sheffield Hallam University fashion design graduate showcased her final designs at 2019 Graduate Fashion Week.

This patching and piecing of material took direct inspiration from the historic Japanese boroboro technique. Sarah avoided all uses of machinery to achieve her desired crafty finish, harnessing meticulous hand processes which allowed her to cultivate a greater connection to her garments. The outcome? A collection which veers between the personification of a staunch country dweller and your archetypal fine art student. Expressively pieced together, denim boiler suits are casually layered over frantic floral bodysuits, a pop of fluoro for every other patch adds to the contemporary spirit. A charming eclecticism is pulled off through the traditional workwear influences which have been elevated in clashing colourways. Agricultural accessories come in the form of neon coated pesticide containers. Sarah particularly hones in on the countrified timeworn comforts, a visibly mended jumper, a floor-sweeping frock and gardening clogs paired with thermal socks.

While the British farming scene is not exactly considered a seedbed of style, Sarah, 23, attests that it is the relationship that the community have to their clothing “the value they place upon practical attire and attachments they gain,” which became her impetus. Through this observation the theme of sentimentality emerged, sourcing family and farmer remnant clothing which she was able to “deconstruct, mend and reform into new pieces.” By reworking these old garments Sarah transformed workaday clobber into a contemporary ode to her upcountry heritage. Creating her six-garment collection proved a labour of love, comprising of multiple details and layers, “the patchworking alone consisted of five layers, each worked on and layered up to achieve the overall aesthetic,” she explains.

The designer shares that by applying a series of surgical style techniques, she was able to create an awareness of considered craftsmanship and “establish a silhouette that celebrated these incisions and scars that have years of history, love and wear

throughout.” Reflecting on her roots, Sarah explains that she wanted to do the farming community proud, adding “using the farmers of the North East old garments gave me even more drive to make the best I could from the clothes I had been donated.” Over the course of her design studies, Sarah became increasingly aware of the irrefutable negative impact the fashion industry has on both people and the planet. Her worries concerning waste and pollution particularly spurred her to question her own role within the industry, steering Sarah to adopt a proactive and circular approach to her practice. However, Sarah notes that this is only half the battle, “my worry is, in this new world, where fashion is so accessible, are we forgetting what it is to love our clothing?” And so, it became her mission to rebuild these lost relationships, “I want to make people fall in love again and build the relationships back between garment and owner – which is why the farmers of the North East have hugely inspired me.”

Look six of The Farming People - patchwork dress over a floral bodysuit and a farming container accessory

As part of her dedication to community and sustainability, she developed her own printing process, using vegetables and scrap wire to dye and print fabric. Additionally, Sarah enrolled in a screen-printing induction course where she experimented with sustainable methods, she later employed these to acknowledge each farmers name on the garments throughout her collection.

marked the culmination of her fashion design studies. Here she was approached by Fashion Crossover London and invited to join its Graduate Talent Programme. She soon received the opportunity to showcase her collection on the Graduate Fashion Week Presents stand at London Fashion Week 2020, which took place earlier this year.

“Immersing yourself within it, developing and learning new techniques along the way is what I feel being a fashion designer is,” imparts Sarah. This closeness she forged with her collection is conveyed through the handcrafted patchwork of plaids, checks and denim, illustrative of “years of hard work, the journey the garment has been on, and the connection and love it has developed with its owner over the years.”

Sarah currently works as an in-house design assistant at a major UK retailer, over the course of which (and beyond) she aims to continue developing new techniques and exploring innovative ways to make her mark in the sustainable sector. She shares that her dream job would be running her own label of ethical, high-quality garments. With passion, motivation and enthusiasm for her craft by the bucket load, there is no doubt Sarah’s future ventures will be just as rich with heart and nostalgic sentiment.

She continues: “Although deemed ‘old fashioned’ this community have inspired and brought me up and it’s their strong sense of identity that has given me my concept, I hope in the future more people can learn from communities around them and feel inspired too.” A far cry from pastures, presenting her collection at Graduate Fashion Week 2019

The Farming People full collection at Sarahâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Graduate Fashion Week show in 2019.

Unpicking craft education: What role should schools and colleges play in teaching clothing make do and mend? Where is Miss Sew-and-Sew when you need her? WORDS KATY WIDDUP

As our earth heats up so does the conversation around minimising waste and keeping our clothing in use for longer. Nifty efforts aimed at extending the life of our clothing – think reuse, repair and recycle – are being adopted with increased fervour as more seek to channel their creativity into a craft which aligns with their sustainable values. This is reflected in recent data by Mintel which reveals nearly three quarters (73%) of people either have or would be interested in repairing damaged clothing.

This void in the curriculum is illustrative of many student’s experiences, including that of fashion textiles student, Jasmine Williams who despite specialising in needlework, shares that she has never repaired an item herself, adding: “I still don’t feel confident enough to be able to mend my own clothes. I think there’s a lot of people in this generation that don’t know basic mending skills.” “As a sewing teacher in primary and secondary schools I agree that it is a lost skill,” explains Fiona Parker, co-founder of Sew What? “Although they cover the basics in secondary it is not always done in an inspiring way.” With a belief that all children should learn the art of needlecraft, Sew What? was established in 2013 to teach hand sewing in schools. Parker tells of the enthusiasm for the craft among students, at odds with the undeniable absence from the national syllabus.

Yet while interest in handicraft is perceptible, a report by ING which examines the circular economy in 2020, reveals that 48% of consumers do not repair clothes because they lack the skills to do so. With this disparity between interest and education, fingers consequently point at the school system and the practical, creative skills which are barely accounted for in the national curriculum. “It is incredibly important that children leave school with confidence in their understanding of basic mending and they will be able to pass this skill to their kids and grandchildren,” says Katya Essery, founder of London sewing studio Sew Pretty. “Many secondary schools are slowly replacing design technology and textiles with more academic subjects.”

Clothing mending and maintenance skills have seen a revaluation in recent years, a response to worsening environmental degeneration partially caused by the impact of our collective buy, throw, repeat attitude. As part of the parliament’s inquiry into fast fashion it outlines that extending the lifespan of clothing by an additional nine months could cut carbon, waste and water footprints by around 20 to 30%.

While the lacklustre attention paid to creative arts in schools has long been up for debate, enduring sustainability concerns highlight the importance of practical subjects which foreground a do-it-yourself ethos. An inquiry published by the UK parliament last year titled Fixing Fashion which investigates the social and environmental impact of fast fashion, serves as a call to action for improved craft education, specifically the role schools and colleges should play in teaching practical clothing making, mending and maintenance skills. Over the past decade there has been a significant decline in the number of students studying creative subjects at GCSE and A-level. This is echoed in 2019 government data which evidences that the entries in design and technology subjects – encompassing textiles – has seen a 22% fall since 2014. Largely a result of funding cuts and a narrowing curriculum which prioritises core, EBacc (English Baccalaureate) subjects, leaving schools with little time and resources for sufficient creative arts education.

Founder of Leeds sewing café Workshop, Aliss Lucy, stresses the significance of needlework skills: “It is important that we do not have a disposable attitude to clothing but are willing to put in the time to learn how they are made and how they can be repaired.” She adds, “I believe a shift in consumer values is moving people to become more interested in learning.” However, definite change is not yet tangible, Essery notes that she is not seeing a desire to sew amongst young people, an issue she believes is rooted in lacking education. With the curricula devoid of a clothing maintenance and mending based subject, the first port of call is likely to be grandma. To shift that perception, craft education should pique interest at a practical level and inform on why these skills are not only necessary now but it in the future.

“When we ask our young people to measure something and add seam allowance, they don’t see that as doing maths,” says sewing teacher and co-founder of South East London based Make Mee Studio, Tracey Mee. “It puts all the theory that they learn in school into practical use.” Mee explains that she teaches in a “fun, relaxed and friendly way,” to encourage and build confidence in students, adding “if you don’t understand how something was put together then how can you understand the value of the item?”

merits, Cowley explains that there are undeniable drawbacks. “The main challenge is providing some of the things that students would miss from not attending a course, so things like being shown how to do a technique and getting support from their tutor and the camaraderie of others studying with them.” In response to the pandemic, the school developed a free video course for a slow, mindful stitching project to provide respite to those struggling with stress and anxiety. Cowley reports that the course has proven “very popular.” The meditative virtues of sewing spotlight an additional factor as to why the skill is beneficial, particularly to young people struggling with mental health issues.

While spending on schools and colleges in England is higher than it was twenty years ago, a population surge coupled with decadelong cuts on public spending has meant spending per pupil in England is lower than it was in 2010. As highlighted in the Fixing Fashion report, the UK government is calling for the education of practical skills associated with clothing but not providing schools and colleges with the means do so – a detrimental all mouth no trousers approach.

Raising sustainability awareness and inspiring students to foster the skills and habits necessary to create, mend and care for clothes is paramount to understanding the value of our clothing and thus harnessing a less wasteful approach to fashion. It is clear government policymakers need to take affirmative action as the cumulative impact of the fashion and textile industry necessitates a system change from the roots up.

The possibility of action has been further threatened by the Covid-19 crisis which has upended the education system in its wake. As teaching has moved online and in-home, practical subjects are expected to fall to the wayside in some households given they typically require specialised resources and on-hand support.

However, for this to happen, a wider public debate is necessary to assert accountability and raise awareness of the importance of this education. Professor Dilys Williams, director of Centre for Sustainable Fashion, has been helping drive change in this sector, as part of the Fixing Fashion inquiry she supports the view that practical clothing repair skills should be a mandatory part of the curriculum.

However, in terms of clothing mending and maintenance skills, the home can be the perfect place to practice. Parker thinks sewing could be encouraged more in the home, though she notes “I have found that it is ‘grannie’ teaching them and buying sewing machines, it has skipped a generation.” She informs, “it is very hard when the teachers have limited time, resources and training.”

A comprehensive approach to implementing this in the state sector should start with investing in schools and colleges so that staff have the funds, resources and training to provide students with inspiring craft education. Further to this, small-scale grassroots programmes which specialise in teaching and encouraging clothing make do and mend skills require financial support.

Nonetheless, the pandemic has spun everyone’s roles into question and will surely reshape education indefinitely. Founder of the School of Stitched Textiles the UK’s largest distance learning centre for textiles-based courses, Dr Gail Cowley, believes distance learning is a form of studying people were gravitating towards pre-pandemic. “We have noticed a trend for younger students in the last couple of years as textile education in school becomes very sparse and patchy,” she says. While virtual learning reaps a number of

While the simple act of sewing a button or darning a jumper may not seem like a revolutionary action, a collective shift in the way we look after our clothing will drive significant strides towards a circular economy – much to the benefit of our planet. Making, mending and maintenance education needs to start young to ensure the next generation have the skills to lead this change.

Boys learn to sew, darning and tailoring in secondary school, 1952. Image courtesy of Austrian National Library

Homespun Creating during Covid can prove a stretch; with work and play existing within the same four walls, the initial novelty may be wearing thin. Therefore, we have called upon five crafters to provide insight into their home workspace and practice in the hope that it can put the pep back into yours. INTERVIEWS KATY WIDDUP

Bryony Richards Hand embroidery artist, @tickover Could you introduce me to your home working practice and the art you create here? I use hand embroidery as a medium to raise awareness of global issues around social and environmental justice. The aim of my craftivism is to expose the fashion industry, which is a huge and exploitative machine that needs to be held accountable. Where is your workspace? Could you describe it? Bryony’s workspace

For my day job I work at a small independent tailors, sewing clothing alterations and repairs. In my spare time - days off evenings and weekends - I stitch at home in my narrowboat, mainly on my sofa or on the front deck when the sun shines. I don’t have a fancy workshop, and stitch at the same table that I eat and do everything else. Creating embroidery does not call for much space or expensive materials and it is also portable. A lot of my pieces are started or finished on busses and in pubs, cafes or launderettes.

What is the most recent thing you have created in this work space? Recently I have been working on asking fashion brands how they are protecting garment workers amid the Covid-19 pandemic. Since many brands are refusing to pay for completed and in-progress orders at great risk to workers. I am also working on an embroidery for a Sex Worker Solidarity Raffle a square for a quarantine quilt brought together by makers from the Bristol Textile Quarter.

What do you like about working here?

I like that it’s home, a small home, metres What does your from my kettle or my home workspace say bed. I can stitch in any about you? My home workspace says, I am weather, I can do as much as I want or take human and I am not Bryony’s embroidery art perfect. I have mess, I have piles of it easy. Also that every few weeks I move my boat home to a different area in threads and mending to undertake. I always the South West Of England and I get a slightly have lots of projects on the go at once and I different view. enjoy that.

Olivia’s workspace

Olvia Zisman Textile artist, @studio_gogo

Could you introduce me to your home working practice and the textile art you create here?

magazines, or family photographs, and then transfer my sketches onto fabric before embroidering. I love that with free-motion embroidery (as opposed to digital) I am able to fully manipulate the fabric and control the process, while still leaving room for chance. I don’t completely plan out my designs before embroidering them, I like to like to start and see where the process takes me.

With my textile work I am interested in finding contemporary spaces for traditional craft. I came to textiles through hand embroidery, then discovered free-motion machine embroidery about two years ago and quickly fell in love with it. My home working practice now mostly centers around my industrial sewing machine, which I use to do freemotion embroidery. I mainly draw inspiration from old family photographs and histories— I have a collection of old cookbooks from the 1960s and 70s, some of them belonged to my grandmother, some I have picked up in various thrift stores— and I love to flip through them to source images for my embroideries. I sketch directly from the cookbooks,

Where is your workspace? Could you describe it? I have my studio in the attic room in my apartment in Brooklyn. It has a skylight and slanted ceiling — it is a funky, cosy space that gets really nice early afternoon light. I have my industrial sewing machine and home sewing machine in the studio, as well as storage for

all of my fabric and materials, old clothing that I am planning on turning into embroidery projects, and lots of knickknacks and objects I have collected over the years. What do you like about working here? Because it is essentially an attic, it is significantly quieter in my studio than in the rest of the apartment (lots of street noise!), so it feels like a little enclave I can retreat to when I want to work on my art. I live with roommates — who I adore — but it feels really special to have a space in the apartment I have been able to cultivate for myself.

recording stitches and patterns. Instead of recording specific embroidery stitches or techniques, however, I am embroidering specific images that I often use again and again in my work. My latest piece like this is all embroidered images of pretty unappealing food I’ve pulled from cookbooks from the 1960s and 70s. Title: Best Foods Sampler, 2020, freemotion embroidery on silk, 14”x 36”. What does your home workspace say about you?

Olivia’s textile art

What is the latest textile art piece you have created in this workspace? Recently I have been working on my version of embroidery samplers using free-motion machine embroidery. Traditionally, samplers were used as a means of learning and

My workspace is filled with old family photographs and a random assortment of objects and artworks that I have collected

from family, friends, thrift stores etc. — all of which I love dearly. I am definitely not a minimalist. I think my workspace shows the sense of humor, joy, and colour I am hoping to convey through my art.

Emily in her workspace

Emily Zarse Textile and collage artist, @emilyzarse

1. Could you introduce me to your home working practice and the art you create here?

been exploring, in particular the loss of agency over my time. One solution was to find a way to involve them in a small part of my practice. I was interested in creating handmade paper, so I included my children in the process. They loved the scavenger hunt of collecting paper scraps from around the house â&#x20AC;&#x201D; old art projects, toilet paper rolls, a cereal box, forgotten grocery receipts. Many happy hours were spent cutting and tearing up the paper into little pieces to be blended. They helped me mix the pulpy soup and pull the pages using a homemade mold and deckle.

I create art to document the conflicting experiences of mothering. Working with found textiles of daily life, my wall hangings and soft sculptures are layered both conceptually and materially as with the layers of a quilt. My studio practice has changed greatly due to quarantine. Before the pandemic, I had access to art making facilities like a dye lab and a large personal studio space. Moving my practice back into my home presented challenges, but I took the opportunity to shift my work in a new direction. One major challenge during quarantine was figuring a way to make creative work while simultaneously taking care of my children. It was a very real example of concepts I have

With the paper we created, I gave myself an informal challenge to make a daily collage. After the kids are in bed I make myself a cup of tea, sit at the dining room table, put on music or a podcast and set the timer for one

hour of “play”. I am using the new parameters of quarantine to allow for more freedom and less judgement in my work. Experimenting with paper and making many quick samples is not only pleasurable, low cost and low time commitment, it is helping me keep my creativity and ideas flowing even under stress. 2. Where is your workspace? Could you describe it? I love the messy chaos of creating at home. Spaces are cohabitated and surfaces serve dual duties. The dining room table is the site of breakfast, lunch and dinner and now my new work space. My work sits beside piles of play dough and a scattering of crayons. I create fun projects for my children and working alongside them. As small children they are uninhibited in their art making, and I feed off of their spontaneity and joy. I also have a small work space in the basement where my sewing machine and fabrics are stationed. For the most part however, I enjoy being in the heart of the home, creating in the mix of it all. 3. What do you like about working here?

can I work with quilts without making a large quilt or installation piece? Keeping my practice the same didn’t feel feasible — time, space or supply-wise. Working with collage seemed an accessible way to continue my conceptual work. The cutting apart and reassembling of found paper imagery seemed similar to the action of piecing fabric for quilts. I continued to sample daily, creating a body of over 30 collages. Using the language of quilts, I explore patterns of maternal expectations with my collages. The quilts represent the blanket of prescribed domesticity that is placed on mothers. I am hidden, weighted down by expectations, yet I am also free to move, question, rebel. Unlike the Victorian hidden mother photographs, my collaged figures are empowered to push back and express their emotions through movement. In sharing these images I have received so much positive feedback from other mother artists. They too feel like “hiding under a blanket” during this stressful time. 5. What does your home workspace say about you? I hope that my workspace sends the message that creativity can be found at the kitchen table as well as in a formal art studio. That the joy of process is just as important as the final work. That it’s ok to be messy. For me, having a home workspace reinforces the importance adaptability and creativity as a tool to thrive during stressful times. I feel so grateful to have the ability to be safe home with my family and continue my art practice.

Emily’s collage

For me shifting my art practice into my home has been rewarding and affirming. Creativity needn’t be confined to professional places of art studio or school. For hundreds of years women have expressed themselves through the domestic handcrafts of sewing, making and mending in the home arena. Taking part in this tradition in my home “studio” feels like a practical solution but also great way to explore concepts of maternal labor and female empowerment. 4. What is the latest art piece you have created in this workspace? Once the realities of quarantine began to settle in, one of my first questions was: How

Amy Hastings Rug maker, @amyhastingstextiles

Amy’s workspace

Could you introduce me to your home working practice and the art you create here? I am a textiles designer and rug maker based in York, UK. I use a rug tufting gun to create my rugs tufted pieces and work with different textures and types of yarn.

around me. What is the latest art piece you have created in this workspace? The latest piece of work I have created in this space was my Pink Tiger rug, this was the final of a series of five rugs based on the theme of ‘collections’.

Where is your workspace? Could you describe it? I work in my dad’s shed at the end of my garden. We share it as he sometimes works from home, so I also work in the garden too when the weather is nice.

What does your home workspace say about you?

What do you like about working here? I really like having a separate space to go to Amy’s rug where I can create work, it sort of separates work and home life. Also, being in my garden I really like how peaceful it is to be surrounded my nature and there is always inspiration

I think my home workspace shows that I am able to work with the space I have. The shed I work from is only small, and my frame is quite big but I am able to work with that. If I need more room to work I just move to the outdoors.

Roberta Cummings Textile artist, @roberta.cummings

Roberta in herworkspace

Could you introduce me to your home working practice and the art you create here? I am an artist and maker. I make quilts and sew and mend clothes. Mending came out of necessity but for me has become an artform in its own right. I mostly darn socks and knitwear using a vintage speedweve darning machine. Where is your workspace? Could you describe it?

like no time is wasted because I do spend quite a bit of time waiting for people and things in the car. What is the most recent thing you have created in this workspace? Sock darning as I already mentioned, but most recently I have been embroidering elbow patches with chain stitching to be sold in my Etsy shop, which I enjoy. What does your home workspace say about you?

I have a workspace upstairs at home in the box room where I sew. Unless I require the sewing machine I rarely mend up there. As mending is generally small, portable work I tend to do it downstairs while watching TV or bring it in the car when under normal circumstances, we would be out for the day. What do you like about working here?

Roberta mending a sock

I like taking mending projects in the car because I can pick them up and set them down throughout the day when I have a moment and I like to be productive so it feels

My homework space says I am a collector who has a lot of haberdashery materials in her workspace who has to be very organised. Time wasted looking for things you have lost is infuriating, I need to have a handle on where things are, So all my materials are organised in boxes and drawers so I

know where to find things quickly. As time in my workroom is precious, I work two jobs, so it makes sense that my workroom has spilled into my car as well!

Sashiko from Mending Matters by Katrina Rodabaugh, photo by Karen Pearson

The art of visible mending

A stitched celebration of embracing garment imperfection: boro uncovers how the history of visible mending defines its beauty today WORDS KATY WIDDUP

As buying less and buying better becomes an ethos more of us are embracing, a shift has sparked in the way we care for and value the clothing we already own. According to a study by ING which examines the circular economy in 2020, more than eight out of ten (83%) consumers think their own actions can have a positive impact in addressing global environmental challenges – visible mending being one way conscious crafters are displaying their allegiance to the cause. Mending our damaged wares with a contrasting coloured thread may not appear radical, but there is a subtle and historic art to it which can imbue the most tattered of garments with a renewed significance

and life. Today, the visible mending hashtag (#visiblemending) on Instagram has corralled over 70,000 posts featuring the striking stitching in its myriad forms and colourways. “Mending conjures up so many images from broken bones to repairing relationships to fixing a leaky roof,” imparts author and artist Katrina Rodabaugh. “When we mend our clothes, we have a chance to accept how our bodies wear garments – how our thighs rub together to distress jeans, elbows press into table tops to create holes, and pant hems break because we walk on them.” The prevailing visible mending resurgence is

largely inspired by historic Japanese textile techniques, namely boro and sashiko. Boro is derived from the Japanese boroboro, which translated means “something tattered or repaired.” The practice comprises of patched and pieced layers of scrap cloth which is then joined with rows of running stitches over a worn area of fabric.

Wabi-sabi, also of Japanese provenance, celebrates the beauty of the imperfect and impermanent. Touched by this idea of the flawed, new wave Dutch fashion brand, Golden Joinery, organises workshops for people to join and repair a cherished but damaged garment with gold thread. With an aim to change the fashion system from within, the non-profit focuses on rekindling a connection to our garments through working with our hands.

Sashiko, meaning “little stabs”, a form of decorative running stitches sewn through layers of fabric, can be incorporated into boro patching but is a practice in its own right. The techniques are traditionally executed on indigo-dyed fabric with a lighter toned thread and can be used for reinforcement, repair and quilting purposes to extend the use of materials.

Golden Joinery co-founder Margreet Sweerts prefers the word “healing” to repair, viewing it as an act of transformation instead of something to be made “perfect” again and buried in the past. “We call it the ‘golden scar’,” she explains. “It becomes like golden treasure, a jewel. We are branding and by branding we are saying ‘this is mine’.”

Both styles were born out of necessity in Japan during the Edo era, between 1603 and 1868. For boro specifically, impoverished rural families used the technique to strengthen their garments made from inexpensive materials such as hemp – one of few options available due to restricted fabric and clothing access. A shroud of shame surrounded these visibly mended garments for centuries as it remained a symbol of impoverishment. The philosophy of garment care and restoration traces back to other histories of mending. The WWII British make do and mend movement encouraged a nifty effort towards clothing care in the face of war shortages and rationing. Stitching up a hole or a threadbare patch of fabric was often intended to be kept invisible. “I guess it is to do with the status around it and that if you were seen to be in something that was mended, it was kind of embarrassing and you didn’t have enough money to buy something new,” explains textile artist and mender Jo Weetnik. “It is funny that within our culture, I guess middle class culture, that we embrace the visible.” In its contemporary realm, visible mending continues to be recognised as a respected art in all its eye-catching glory. On this, textile artist Caroline Ramsey, says the shift in attitude is being driven by a more informed mindset of trying to reduce waste. “I see it as part of the wabi-sabi philosophy to celebrate imperfection, that there is a beauty in it,” notes Ramsey.

Sweerts alongside co-founder and fashion designer Saskia van Drimmelen sought inspiration from the Japanese art of kintsugi, which refers to the practice of repairing broken pottery with gold pigmented lacquer. The thread used in the workshop is not authentic gold but fulfils a symbolic value: “The golden thread is connected with notions of value, of alchemy, of transformation and healing and so it is related to a very spiritual practice and a worldly notion of value, money and richness,” explains Sweerts. Visible mending can be perceived as an outpouring of the emotional attachment we form with our clothing over time. A statement of a personal care for our belongings and the environment. A collective consciousness in understanding the impact of discarding our clothing but also an awareness of the lifecycle that has come before a garment reaches our very hands – a sentiment mending so charmingly honours. “I think there’s an opportunity for mending a fraught relationship with our bodies and with the fashion industry which is always trying to convince us that just one more purchase will boost our self-esteem,” says Rodabaugh. “Mending is really a metaphor for tending and healing.” While the crux of traditional garment repair is rooted in Japanese culture, mending techniques have been created, inspired and reinterpreted across the world. Darning is a method for repairing holes with rows of

interweaving stitches that span a tear. The domestic needlework skill allegedly dates back to around 1600 in Middle England but is favoured among menders today for not only its effectiveness but freedom for creative expression.

Ramsey sells her boro inspired textile art made from antique materials on Etsy, she explains that the tactility, human interaction and room for imperfection that visible hand-stitching offers is what makes it artistically fulfilling.

Japan-based darning specialist, Hikaru Noguchi, features 13 darning techniques in her published book dedicated to the craft. She shares that her love for mending lies in the power to control the life of a garment: “It is more than just functional, it gives you the opportunity to convey your character – maybe through the colour of a thread, texture, placement, technique. That is what makes it art to me.”

“My interest in celestial matters comes directly from my grandfather’s influence, he had a telescope and many books on the universe that I later inherited. I’ve always had a cosmic perspective on life and wonder of the universe, so I was drawn to explore this theme in my work,” says Ramsey. Rodabaugh fosters a more practical – but just as beautiful – approach to mending. “I have one pair of jeans I have mended 21 times and they are truly like a stitched memoir – sharing my journey through patches and thread.” She stresses the importance of keeping traditional mending techniques alive: “I think we lose so much when a traditional handcraft is lost. We lose the technical skill, but we also lose the heritage and connection to our ancestors.” As a practice underpinned by necessity, it is central that we acknowledge the privilege to have the resources to mend something, to make it beautiful and to feel comfortable wearing it. Respecting the value of an item through repair or transformation connects it – and us – to histortical rituals. Sweerts echoes this, explaining the value of re-establishing a culture of care. She explains that visible mending helps us to build a relationship to our surroundings, one that does not exploit our natural resources or people, of which fast fashion is a prime culprit. “This reconnection with older historical mending techniques can help us with that,” she adds.

Cyanotype print on a vintage hankie with stitching by Caroline Ramsey

The artistry of this applied craft lies in the self-expression, nuance and symbolism it facilitates. Instagram is unsurprisingly a platform where the eclectic allure of visible mending comes to fruition. Head to the hashtag and you are met with rows of posts featuring visibly repaired garments and materials. Conventional techniques are employed and reworked to achieve a practical and playful outcome, from flower pattern sashiko on jeans to rainbow darned socks.

Today, this radical counterculture is eschewing fast fashion one visible stitch at a time. “It’s a bit like, as human beings know, we can all be fragile and break, it doesn’t mean that we just discard something,” says Jo Weetnik. “I think items of clothing deserve a chance of mending, get to be free not just to be such a throwaway culture.

From Mending Matters by Katrina Rodabaugh, photo by Karen Pearson

A classic Burberry argyle cardigan with an eye eyelet mend by Kate Seukles

Kate Seukles’s guide to radical mending

Meet one of the forerunners of the visible mending world, Kate Seukles, gives us the lowdown on radical stitchery INTERVIEW KATY WIDDUP

Kate Seukles is a writer, clothes historian and it just so happens that she is a dab hand at mending - even studying its history as her PhD subject. Born and bred in London, now residing in Brooklyn, New York. Seukles’s message is simple – “if your sweater gets a hole in it, don’t discard it – mend it!” Her website, visiblemending.com, acts as a directory to an ingenious plethora of mends of which her forthcoming book will be an extension of. Mend! A Refashioning Manual and Manifesto is a practical guide to visible mending and the interweaving worlds of art, history and politics – available September 2020. She shares her wisdom on visible mending as an activist statement.

Mending can be seen as a form of protest against throwaway culture, is this something you agree with and explore in your mending practice? If so, why and how do you explore this? Definitely. Mending intrinsically counters the neophilia of fashion. Fashion as we’ve come to know it is just economics — a function of the absurd, archaic GDP growth model, and it feeds everything bad from income inequality to planetary collapse. Every single mend counters this outmoded linear, destructive “make-take-use-lose” system. Mending belongs to the regenerative, responsive, humane lifecycle we need now — summarised by “mend-tend-lend-spend”.

What tips would you give to someone who wants to become a ‘radical’ mender? Be willing to make a mess! A lot of people have a reluctance to interfere with the integrity of a garment in the first place, as if it were impenetrable like a car or an iThing. Once you overcome this, you access a great deal of freedom. Cultivate a ‘doesn’t matter’ attitude and remember, it is broken anyway — if you do not mend it, it is just trash. Instead, you have an opportunity to create uniqueness. Also, you can just unpick it and start over, or put another mend on top – some of the best mends are mend-on-mend-on-mend. Do you have any particular favourite, radical visible mends which you have created? A top five? 1. Well, for obvious reasons, I like my ‘statemend’ “The Opposite of Hate is Mending”. It cannot help starting conversation.

5. A toss up between the ancient (TFL symbol) “Underground” t-shirt, with its matching underarm pitmend, and the original ‘selfie patch’ — which is me, on a knee. Because they are both just so stupid. How is your personality reflected in your mends? These kind of free mends are like handwriting and express the individual quite naturally, so even if I wanted to hide, I could not! I like rainbowy colours and contrast, randomness, or controlled mess, humour, verbiage, emphasizing damage rather than disguising it, and I get bored doing the same mend repeatedly. I love darning, but not Swiss darning, and mostly stick to a limited stitch repertoire. Though I reserve the right to completely upend all that and suddenly produce some crappy version of Opus Anglicanum goldwork or Jacobean crewelwork. I am unclear what this all says about me.

2. Recently I have been addicted to a sort of freeform smocking on my husband’s reject From your personal shirts, which viewpoint, what embellishes, shrinks makes a visible and mutates mend ‘radical’? them— visibly mending them from I think the more being boring. I’m visible a mend is, absolutely loving the more radical, The Opposite of Hate is Mending jumper by Kate Seukles because then it them as fashion items. speaks louder about having rescued this garment from landfill, 3. I am fond of my early-1990s Dolce & and extended its life beyond its planned Gabbanna jumper on which I invented the obsolescence. Even more radical is work porthole technique — outlining holes with that incorporates the kind of irregularity or eyelet stitch (at least invented it for me, ugliness that cannot be produced in a factory though I had never seen it anywhere else). I or reproduced at scale. A programme can’t have done dozens since, but I still think this is make mess, so mess is radical. the nicest, for colour and hole placement. What does mending or the mended garment 4. I like my latest ‘greasytee’ – which is where signify to you? you stitch around spots and spatters — To risk being totally wanky, it is humanity because it was my favourite t-shirt in the waking up. In our continuing evolution toward first place, which I then ruined in a cooking becoming a communal species, mutually incident, and then improved in a mending interdependent, and perhaps even kind, mass incident. I think it is pretty. mending is a big symbolic step.

Darn it! How to mend a hole An illustrated guide to visible darning WORDS KATY WIDDUP ILLUSTRATIONS HANNAH Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;BRIEN

It is a technique every mender needs in their arsenal, darning is for that hole in your trusty jumper or your thread-bare socks. The best part about it? All it requires is a needle, thread and a curved object - preferably a darning mushroom. The illustrations depict the classic darning technique on a knit jumper with an alternative thread, enlivening an old - but well loved jumper.

Thread your needle with your chosen thread, pull through so that most of the thread is on one side. Use a darning mushroom or alternative* as a guide in order to stretch the material yet maintain its natural shape. *e.g. bottom of a cup, circular vitamin bottle, glass jar.

Stitch across the hole going in one direction. Insert the needle about 1.3cm before the hole begins and stitch to 1.3cm beyond the hole. Then repeat this stitch going in the opposite direction. Try not to pull on the thread to tighten the stitches as this will cause puckering.

Once the hole is completely covered with stitches going in the same direction you will need to weave back through these stitches to form a net.

Insert your needle under the first stitch on one end going perpendicular (like you are forming â&#x20AC;&#x153;Tâ&#x20AC;? shape) to the stitches. Then, weave the thread over the next stitch. Keep going to the end of the stitch and then weave back in the opposite direction.

When you have finished the weaving process, you can secure the thread by tying a knot through the last stitch or by weaving the thread through the item a few more times.

Ta-da! The finished garment.

Kai Kotto knitwear, see-through panel tops knitted in cotton, merino, transparent thread

Knitted artistry The designer handknitting vests and jumpers to love for ever WORDS KATY WIDDUP

In a fashion industry defined by its rampant cycle of newness; artisanal and slow craftsmanship with a story to tell is made ever the sweeter. Paula Kozłowska, is a self-taught knitwear designer based in Warsaw. Around two years ago she created Kai Kotto, under which name she creates a slow-growing collection of handknitted tops and sweater vests. “It’s more of a personal project than a brand,” she explains. “I knit each piece myself and I have a very personal approach to each and every one of them,”

Since October 2019 Paula has had her own studio, an uncluttered space where she can separate work from home. “My beloved knitting machines, endless balls of yarns I’ve acquired over years, my extensive collection of knitting needles took so much space that at some point I decided to find a new place for them,” she says.

Paula, 29, first discovered her love for knitting upon learning the skill as a teenager. Enthralled by its infinite possibilities for design and colour, she continued to develop her aptitude for the craft. “It may sound like a cliché, but having this in my life, makes me really happy,” she muses.

Here she works predominantly on old knitting machines in the intarsia technique otherwise known as ‘picture knitting’, her latest obsession which involves working with blocks of colour to create intricate knitted imagery. As a time and patience intensive task, Paula explains that it took a few months to knit her first patterns of the pears or the mountains – two of the natural forms at the centre-point of her gentle knitwear.

Natural wonders of both a small and mountainous scale, provide a rich source of inspiration for the designer. The signature Kai Kotto motifs are illustrative of Paula’s artistic eye and expansive reference points. One particular knit vest of Mount Fuji, made from alpaca and mohair with silk, conjures a painterly Japanese affect. One that is similarly brought to life across her design featuring a koi fish motif and another of pears.

Selecting the yarn colours is the starting point to the design process and one she revels in. Paula executes this by arranging her vast collection of yarns out to decipher the appropriate colour combinations. Creating knitwear that is timeless in both style and lifespan, she works with exclusively ethically sourced yarns, mostly Peruvian alpaca wool. “To put so much time and effort, using poor quality yarns

seems pointless to me,” she says. To produce her incredibly detailed designs, the process requires much forethought and preparation. Paula explains that the first step is to design the motif, “using graphic software, I transform my motif into an intarsia chart, each stich on the chart represents a particular colour.” Following row by row, she twists the strands of yarn together to interchange the colours and connect the pieces. The knitting machine enables Paula to knit a complete row at once, undoubtedly speedier than its handwoven counterpart. But she notes “it’s still a lot of work. The front of my sweater vest has around 230 rows, so it’s a while before I tick off all of them.” Depending on the size and intricacy of the motif, it can take Paula between three to over a dozen hours to solely knit the front of a garment. “After taking the knitted pieces off the machine, I need to weave in all the yarn endings,” she explains. “Then I block the pieces, sew them together and finish the neckline and armholes with a ribber [a machine attachment which produces a ribbed stich].” While the process is a rigorous one, Paula says that sitting down at the machine cultivates calmness. This sense of tranquillity is translated to her knitwear, of earthy tones which strike a sense of comfort and delicate compositions which complement fine textures. When you cast your eyes to Kai Kotto knitwear, whether it is one depicting hilly expanses or a two-toned check pattern, you will observe a memorable expression of love. “My aesthetic evolves somehow intuitively,” she says. “There is some longing in it, nostalgia for my childhood, when both sweater vests and picture knitting were much more popular.” She reflects to when her mother dressed her in handknitted vests and sweaters as a child. It is these tender moments that Paula felt compelled to bring back. Her sweater vests embody an old-fashioned charm, which she explains “gives you warmth, literally and figuratively.” Paula now has the intarsia method down to a fine art. She refers to British and Scandinavian magazines of the 80s and 90s which feature knitting patterns of the technique during its heyday. Paula expresses her fascination

with the vibrancy and detail of these patterns. She also looks to textile artists for creative stimulation, namely American-born patchwork artist Kaffe Fassett and the late Swedish artist Karin Larsson who specialised in textiles and interiors. While Paula seeks some knitting inspiration from the past, Kai Kotto knitwear is a welcome breath of fresh air. Its timeless appeal rooted in a slow journey of craftsmanship deftly rebels against the fast fashion culture that has dominated our era. “I’m so glad that more and more people appreciate the art of craftsmanship and the uniqueness,” Paula explains. “Sometimes I get photos from my customers of my knits hanging on the wall like pieces of art. It’s really nice to see people treat them this way.” The Kai Kotto Instagram account acts as an online oasis, home to curated photographs which capture the beauty of her knitwear alongside her inspiration references. The pieces are available to purchase via DM, with the price range between 180-300 EUR (160-270 GBP) depending on the style. The designer is launching an online store soon but she has hopes to establish a bricks-and-mortar shop in the future. Paula is currently experimenting with incorporating transparency in her knitwear pieces, using extremely thin, delicate thread. On this endeavour she explains: “I have tried it before with some simple shapes, but I want to take it to the next level now and use it in intarsia. It’s quite tricky as the thin thread often breaks. But I’m hoping to find the way.” She is also developing a small range of light cotton dresses for the summer which feature floral and animal motifs. In line with the slow-growing nature of Kai Kotto, Paula tries not to set her goals too high: “I have of course many dreams regarding Kai Kotto, but I’m focusing on giving best of myself here and now.” While she expresses that she sometimes feels discouraged by how slowly her collection of vests grows – as the hours, days and weeks go by to make one piece; she notes: “That’s the beauty of it and I can’t make it faster.”

Intarsia knitted top of Mount Fuji in alpaca and mohair. And knitted tops of hills and a checked pattern

Why customising is cool again What does customising look like in 2020? WORDS KATY WIDDUP ILLUSTRATION RIALDA DIZDAREVIC

What do you first think of when you hear customised clothing? T-shirts plastered with a clichéd slogan? Shabby embellishments? Superfluous trims? If it is not what you were thinking it is certainly what Google throws up. Amid all this fodder it is no surprise customised clothing has earnt a bad rep, often associated with a tired do-it-yourself aesthetic.

because of social media sites like Instagram being such a wonderful way to share your creativity, unique styles are becoming more celebrated and accepted.” Platforms including Depop, Instagram, Etsy and even TikTok have become a hotbed for creative customisers who want to get their crafted clobber noticed. This online community has only prospered in correlation with the Covid-19 crisis. As more find themselves with extra time on their hands, pursuing crafts that can be participated in from the home has become an opportune artistic outlet.

Yet as our collective sustainability efforts continue to ramp up, customising your clothing is becoming the crafty (and cool) answer to our environmental woes. According to WGSN, young consumers are seeking one-of-a-kind pieces, whether that entails reviving a well-loved garment themselves or appointing an independent seller to do the handy work for them.

By definition, customise means to modify something to suit a particular individual or brief, a firm acquaintance of upcycling which champions a likeminded philosophy of reusing an item to create a product of higher value than the original. The converging practices herald a DIY mentality, one that Gen-Z are keen to embrace given the sustainable, personality-led business, buying and making opportunities it proffers. This is reflected in new data from GlobalWebIndex which reveals that 30% of Gen Z are practicing new hobbies during the pandemic, more than any other generation.

This thrifty movement has summoned a new wave of customisers redefining what it means to give a garment a new life. Patchworking, embellishing and reworking, the nifty craft is uptrending and affirming its importance amid the pandemic. “I think perceptions are changing the more individuality is celebrated,” says Nelle Sharrocks, founder of handmade fashion and homewear label Lucid Seams. “It feels like

Hand-embroidery artist, Ella Miller, attests that “artists are pushing the boundaries of what they can do with textiles and this is filtering through to the upcycling community. Upcycling is no longer limited to patchwork and tie dye.”

Bland, revealed it is pivoting its marketing from traditional purposes like refreshing faded jeans to more artistic upcycling approaches. The trend has also been doing the rounds on social shopping app Depop, with more than 130,000 tie-dye items listed. These listings underscore the uptick in crafters opting for natural dye as a sustainable alternative to its conventional counterpart. TechCrunch revealed that 90% of the 15 million active users on Depop are under 26, with a third of 18-35year olds in the UK registered on the site. With traffic on the app up in recent months, the marketplace has seen a 65% increase in sales for March compared with the same month in 2019.

Miller, who works with 16-18-year olds in her day job says, “they give me so much hope for the future.” She pins the shifting perceptions towards repurposing to a socially conscious generation which is engaged in the world around them, namely politics and the environment. She observes: “I think a growing interest in upcycled and customised clothing is part of a wider rebellion against fast fashion.” But what exactly does customised clothing look like in 2020? Depop seller, Olivia Wright believes that now more than ever it is centred around expressing personality through the experimentation of personal style. “There is a tangible appetite for visibly distressed clothing and a customised aesthetic. People are repurposing and want people to know about it.” She adds, “it has definitely become a symbol of coolness.”

“Depop provides the opportunity to make money while contributing to the circular economy,” says Wright, one of many who sells upcycled clothing on the platform. “Seeing people my age starting a business from upcycling or selling their unwanted clothing inspires me to continue being creative with this side hustle.”

A pine for patchwork is particularly accelerating the trend, a simple style achieved by layering and stitching mismatching fabric cuts over a garment – denim being the favoured canvas. Customising is also making its mark in sneaker culture, as highlighted on the WGSN fashion feed, more have picked up the paintbrush and are colouring their kicks. Nike Air Force 1s have become the forerunner for customisation as a longstanding favourite among trainer lovers. Crafting connoisseurs are elevating the trend to new heights with needlework and unexpected embellishments. Yet, video-sharing social media site TikTok is the platform truly sparking the buzz. Videos under the tie-dye hashtag have gardened over 180 million views with upcycling videos nearing 80 million views – accumulating speedier than ever as our lives centre around the home. Tie-dye is another major player in this crafty movement, as reflected by British textile dye brand Dylon, which has reported an upswing in customers who want to dye clothes at home in the last year. The company has also recorded a 12% jump in sales amid the pandemic. In a Vogue Business article, senior brand manager at Dylon, Rebecca

Hannah Lewis who sells her garments under the alias Bangs Lewis correspondingly notes: “I was also motivated by the prospect of possibly being able to make an income by selling my art.” Denim clothing often serves as the canvas for Lewis, who puts paint to fabric in her distinctive style of thick brush strokes in vivid colours. She explains that she considers ethics across every step of the process, ensuring she sources all the clothing from Depop or similar second-hand marketplaces. From her experience Lewis has observed why this youth-led craft is so lucrative: “I think the upcycled clothing trend is specifically popular because it allows for customisation, so a person can be involved in the trend whilst also having a unique clothing item that displays their own style and personality.” For Meaghan Mena, founder of online handmade patches store Patch Ya Later, it was craftsmanship coupled with a passion for music and vintage fashion which initially enticed her to create patches for customising garments. A fascination with the connection embroidery machines had between graphic and textile design led her to splurge on an embroidery machine with a digitiser (software) program used to create images into stitches – now six years later designing

and making patches is her full-time job, she notes, “I could not be any happier.” “Most of my inspiration is from music or a clever phrase that resonates with me. I love to create a scene in a patch, capturing the emotional essence of a song or study and tell my interpretation,” she explains. Americana iconography takes form across her distinctive patch designs which she creates with inchperfect precision. “I think it’s great that young people are taking such pride in individuality, it makes the world a more beautiful and exciting place,” she says. Her favourite part about customising? “Being able to say a lot about yourself, without saying anything at all.”

What would Dolly do patch

Unsurprisingly, customisation is becoming a design priority among mainstream brands wishing to tap into the Gen Z market. A streetwear angle is earning the upcycling

Try a Little Tenderness patch by Patch Ya Later The Sound of Silence patch

ethos extra cool credentials, with labels including Weekday and Nike championing an off-kilter approach. Menswear designer, Christopher Raeburn has also cashed-in on the trend, recently collaborating with Dylon to encourage consumers to customise their garments at home. But it is the committed independent business owners and young people repurposing their well-loved garments with no real expectations who are at the heart of the contemporary customising sector. The small-scale, handmade approach these crafters foster has earnt customising its cool status. Thrifty, one-of-a-kind and all-ethical, are the assets driving the craft forward.

Always a lady patch

Patched and pieced Playing to this seasonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s pine for patchwork, paisley and ditsy florals are printed on summer cottons for ultimate ease of wear and anywhere appeal. Elevated upcycled looks are pieced from already owned garments with crafty, homespun qualities; laundered finishes and playful accessories. Fresh and feminine, this is high-summer styling served with a scoop of girlhood nostalgia.

PHOTOGRAPHY, STYLING AND MAKE-UP KATY WIDDUP MODEL TESS WIDDUP

Patchwork print paisley midi dress from Depop

Bracelet handmade by Tess

Floral scoop neck top from Depop; vintage jeans; Nike Air Force 1s; earrings are stylistâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s own

Gold hoop earrings are stylistâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s own

Bandeau top is modelâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s own; patchwork print floral skirt from Depop

Gingham dress and high heals are stylistâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s own

Cutwork top, belt and necklace are stylistâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s own

Embroidery by Emily Rowan of Emily Rowan Studio

The healing power of sewing How beneficial can sewing be for our mental wellbeing? WORDS KATY WIDDUP

If you are an avid sewist you will be well aware of the meditative merits that often come in tandem with putting needle and thread to fabric. A simple string of repetitive movements that can prove transformative in clearing the mind and offer an inner sense of calm. While to some sewing epitomises the pinnacle of frustration – think monotonous stitching, needle-pricks and never-ending swathes of fabric, its values for our mental health go beyond the surface level. The BBC Arts Great British Creativity Test found that 76% of its 50,000 participants use creative activities as a “distraction tool” to block out stress and anxiety. A fact which has seen a renewed significance amid a period of global

turmoil resulting in job loss, financial struggle and personal grief, consequently spinning the mental health of many into a state of instability. In fact, a survey of young people by the mental health charity YoungMinds found that 83% of respondents said the Covid-19 pandemic had made their mental health deteriorate. Yet with much of the UK obliged to stay home, pastimes are being rediscovered, offering an escape and a moment of solace in all the craziness. “The process of sewing and the creation of something really helps to focus the mind and

therefore relaxes you, it allows you to have some peace from the constant busyness of our minds,” says cognitive behavioural therapist Catherine Simmonds. “I think a regular mindfulness practice enables us all to focus on the here and now, to be more present mind focused.”

concentration to focus the mind away from negative thoughts but not enough that it becomes overwhelming.” A study conducted by Brunel University found that for people experiencing depression, participating in needlecraft increased their self-esteem and provided a distraction from worry. In another study by the University of British Columbia, the akin practice of knitting was introduced into the lives of inpatients with anorexia nervosa. The participants reported a significant decrease in intrusive eating disorder anxieties.

Historically, needlework has been employed to help ease and overcome psychological trauma. Notably, after the First World War, wounded veterans practiced sewing as a form of therapy for shellshock. Soldiers found the practice so beneficial the Disabled Soldiers’ Embroidery Industry was established. In operation between 1918 and 1955, the organisation was aimed at easing ex-troops back to employment through the downscale production of textiles. This pocket of the historic textile industry has been credited for fortifying sewing as a respected form of therapy. Today, the practice is clinically proven to raise mood-boosting levels of serotonin and dopamine as well as elicit the relaxation response – the body’s physiological leveller to stress. Its healing virtues can help alleviate mental illnesses including depression, anxiety and OCD. “Through trial and error I’ve found certain stitching techniques help to alleviate anxiety, mostly through repetition and peaceful movements within the stitches,” shares Emily Rowan, owner of custom hand-embroidery Etsy shop. “The sense of achievement that comes from making and creating with my bare hands and physically putting something out into the world provides a sense of achievement that helps with depression.” Rowan practices mindful stitching for her mental health, sharing her experience online and creating stitch therapy boxes and embroidery kits for those similarly seeking a distraction. Though she finds it difficult to be creative during “a major depressive episode”, she reaps relief from following a simple pattern or stitch. Her go-to is a spiralling running stitch which starts from the edge of an embroidery hoop and winds its way to the centre. “There is something about the seemingly endless line that is soothing to me, like I don’t have to worry about starting something new or the next stage.” She adds, “I always say embroidery requires just enough

The profound impact sewing can have on our mental wellbeing is rooted in its meditative properties. With the boom of the wellness and self-care sector, meditation has expanded beyond its yogic definition, becoming associated with wider – but just as rewarding – methods of contemplation. The relaxation response was coined in 1975 by former Harvard physician Dr Herbert Benson. In his book he explains that when participating in a meditative activity “the body responds with a dramatic decrease in heart rate, breathing rate, blood pressure (if elevated to begin with), and metabolic rate – the exact opposite effects of the fight-or-flight response.” Through his research, Benson found that the relaxation response helps to stave off stress related conditions and instead treat hypertension, premenstrual syndrome and depression among other health ailments. Today, meditation has a vast body of research to its name which details its value for our physical and mental wellbeing. It is this art of slowing down and appreciating the ritualism of stitching which Kate Ward, founder of Australia-based mending workshop Zen Stitching advocates. “As you sit and focus on the stitching, the feel of the fabric between your fingers and the sound of thread as it is pulled through the fabric it is at once mindful because you are present in the experience of sewing, yet at the same time it gives the mind an opportunity to wander,” says Ward. Ward attests that creating with your hands has numerous health benefits and describes

the practice for her personally as “integral to maintaining a balanced mind and outlook on life.” As someone who is always on the go, she notes that taking the time out to sew requires her to slow down, yet with a reward that is both practical and productive. The soothing effects Ward gains from sewing and mending is also shared with her students.

But as much as sewing can summon a welcome moment of quietude, there is a growing community, especially online, which provides the opportunity to connect with people who share the same passion. The camaraderie and collective concentration fostered in these spaces can help salve loneliness, which is an increasingly common struggle in this period of social distancing.

For Louisa Bond founder of slow fashion blog Worn Values which celebrates the wellmade and mended, mending also proves a therapeutic practice. “It draws my attention in to the problem at hand, whether it is a hole in a woollen sock or a torn seam,” she says. “Maybe it is the minuteness of it, working on a tiny problem. It blocks out other stuff and keeps me focused on a very tangible outcome.”

One group at the forefront is the Sewcialists, a community-based blog spotlighting sewing stories and celebrating crafting as an inclusive space for all. During the coronavirus outbreak, the group has been running the Instagram hashtag #SewStayHome, which explores ways to support each other through this time. Today, the hashtag has garnered almost three thousand posts.

Mending can specifically provide an affirming sense Sewcialists editor, of achievement, Chloe Read, has taking a tattered observed the garment into your varying ways own hands and stitching can have repairing instead a positive impact, of disposing. “they range from Bond notes: “It is helping us deal empowering to with trauma by realise you have giving us focus the ability to repair and control over and make things something.” She with your own two adds “[the practice hands. Instead of also provides] a being a passive creative break and onlooker you expressive outlet become an active where we might power of change.” have otherwise Circular stitching by Kate Ward This satisfaction is consumingly unalso translated to creative jobs.” the physical outcome of a piece, something you have forged a connection with through The cocooning refuge that can be realised working with your hands. through the rhythmic repetition of sewing, evidently lends itself to processing and In an article by author Clare Hunter in The coping with restless anxieties and emotions. Guardian, she shares how sewing served as a Emily Rowan resonates with the quote “take light through personal hardship, namely in the life stitch by stitch” which reminds her that face of grief when her mother died. On a cloth “recovery is not linear and it’s important not to she embroidered during the time, she imparts: count your chickens too soon. Mental illness “It evokes our last days together, connects me should be taken day by day, hour by hour, to her still and gives me comfort. This is the minute by minute if need be.” healing power of sewing: a way to express, sometimes exorcise, pain using a tactile language scripted by a needle and thread.”

Mending by Louisa Bond

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