THIS BARBIE IS AN EMBROIDERER
… and an artist, a mother, a wife, a professional, has 2 degrees and bakes really good cakes.
Every year around Women’s Day, I feel a need to put my thoughts together—what it means to be a woman, what it costs, and what femininity even is. These concepts don’t explicitly appear in my work, yet they are very present in the background, and I find them difficult to define. But I will try to outline why they matter to me.
When I became a mother, my only thing I was afraid of was that maternity leave for year and a half at home with a baby. I have always had a million things going on at once; I can’t sit still, and I was worried about how it would feel to slow down for quite a long time. You can’t really escape yourself — I slowed down for literally the first month. I had decided that I would try to continue my studies, and if it became too much, I could always take academic leave. The phenomenon of mothers who go on maternity leave and start studying, or commit to continuing what they started, should really be studied more deeply.
This overgeneralized “boogeyman” — staying at home — had scared me, and it also hides the skills that women have mastered for generations as homemakers. All kinds of handicrafts, skills in cleaning, cooking, planning, and caregiving are real skills — critical skills, even. And it is women who have passed these skills and knowledge down to me. This boogeyman oversimplifies the essential part these skills play in our daily lives, making them seem self-evident.
When I knew I was going to study embroidery at an academic level, the comments I received varied, but most often they were mocking — how could there be a bachelor’s degree in embroidery, how is it even considered art, and “you’re getting a degree in a hobby?” This, too, comes from the same boogeyman — the idea that embroidery is something to do at home, just to entertain yourself. Reading Rozsika Parker’s The Subversive Stitch, whose slogan is “to know the history of embroidery is to know the history of women,” drew my attention to various cultural contexts. In the 17th century, aristocratic women engaged in embroidery because it was seen as a very feminine activity that demonstrated patience and virtue—deliberately keeping them away from politics and education. In the 18th century, embroidery was symbolically associated with wealth and leisure. By the 19th century, in Victorian Britain, the belief was that “respectable” women devoted themselves to domestic life and embroidery. In the Latvian context, during this period, embroidery remained an essential everyday skill, but it was more closely tied to cultural traditions and personal identity.
I don’t talk much about the complexities of embroidery because, for now, I am focusing on educating myself about its history and sociological aspects. But as I always say — embroidery is the best thing I know how to do. For me, embroidery is not about technique, prestige, or aesthetics — it is a medium in which I have found the best way to express myself. That’s why my workshops don’t include lectures on history, just a brief introduction. Embroidery built my confidence — it made me realize that I had learned something new, specific, and complex, that I had the skills to mend a sock or sew an accessory exactly as I wanted it. Since my studies at the Royal School of Needlework, embroidery has been my way of telling stories, drawing attention to the themes and narratives that matter to me, that need to be seen.
These are superpowers—sewing a dress, knitting a sweater, baking the most delicious cake, mending a sock. I have to remind myself that these skills are not self-evident; someone (most likely a woman) has taught them. Damn, we know and can do so much!
Again this Women’s Day, I am grateful that I have the opportunity to choose the direction of my life at my own pace, that I have knowledge and skills thanks to so many other women. And I am surrounded by so many intelligent, successful, determined, and genuine women from whom I learn and grow—to be a better mother, wife, artist, and embroiderer.
