Funky stumpwork

I am absolutely exhausted. I have spent six hours today at the Funky Stumpwork Workshop and it was gruelling.

When I first received notification about the workshop, not knowing what stumpwork is, I did not register. Then I get an alert that there is only one place left and think, what the heck, the weather has been so restrictive lately, it would good to do something different, so I sign up. All I have to take is lunch as all materials will be provided.

Not sure whether I am going to learn a woodworking technique, a Scottish dance or flower arranging, I set off this morning (minus packed lunch, I overslept).

When I finally race into the village hall (late) our teacher, Di, is already explaining all about stumpwork and is handing around exotic, complicated examples of this artform.

Stumpwork originated in England in the second half of the seventeenth century and – wouldn’t you know it! – is understood to be one of the more difficult forms of sewing. Wikipedia can explain it better than I:

Stumpwork is a style of embroidery where the stitched figures are raised from the surface of the work to form a 3-dimensional effect.

Stitches can be worked around pieces of wire to create individual forms such as leaves, insect wings or flower petals. This form is then applied to the main body of work by piercing the background fabric with the wires and securing tight.

I quickly see there are only eight of us taking part, which is a bit daunting but even more dismaying is when I see that they are all the A level needlewomen from the village. My face falls when Di passes around an example of what we will be creating today: a delicate flower, less than three inches in diameter, exquisitely formed and perfectly executed.

Oh dear, what have I got myself into now?

I feel – as you can imagine – well, stumped. But hey kid, I say to myself, you can’t back out now!

I won’t bore you with the technical details but suffice to say that for five hours I painstakingly (literally – I keep jabbing my finger with my needle) do buttonhole stitch over the thinnest fuse wire available, with one strand of embroidery thread (the lady sewers amongst you will appreciate that embroidery thread commonly has six strands). My thread twists; I squint to see; my thread knots; I tie myself in knots; my thread keeps breaking; I am at breaking point. It is an extremely harrowing time.

But out of all adversity, triumph comes. After five hours of this torture, I have stitched five miniature flower petals and I am presented with a pair scissors to cut them out. Then, by judicious stabbing of the wires through material, I am finally able to near the finish line with my masterpiece.  

Next, I have to create the stigma (that’s the centre of a flower). This is achieved with lots of delicate wee French knots, coupled with a bit of swearing in the process. Theresa provides some hints and tips.

“I think it looks nice if you sew layers of felt on first, to give it raised look,” she tells me. Heave ho – more fiddly bits, but I can hardly ignore her advice so I cut out teeny weeny felt pieces and sew them in place, a task which is reminiscent of craft classes at primary school.

Then she shows me how to wind four strands of thread three times around my needle to create my French knots. This requires patience as the needle gets caught up in the wires and the four threads keep getting entangled amongst themselves. At last, I have just a couple more knots and I will be done!

“You can add beads too,” she says, “to get more of an effect.” To be polite, I look through her bead box with absolutely no intention of adding another layer of difficulty to my stumpwork.

“Oh, that’s a shame. None of the beads are a good match,” I say, regretfully, fingers crossed behind my back.

The last French knot is sewn into place. And though I say so myself, I think that may be a small glimmer of admiration – or perhaps it is surprise – that I spot in my fellow stumpworkers’ eyes at my offering.

As we walk home, I swear that today is the first and last time I will ever stumpwork. My back is killing me, my eyes are sore, my fingers are punctured with thorn-like pricks and yet! I have a wee feeling of pride at being able to compete with the best of the best and not be the total Australian disaster they have come to expect.

I even received an Award Certificate. I shall frame it and hang it alongside my university degree:

The only lingering question, however, is what on earth does one do with this work of art? Petrina thinks it could be nice as a brooch. Theresa suggests it might be perfect to cover the lid of a box. 

I think I might make mine into an egg cosy: