By a Thread

by Becki Kremer

The year 2020 was definitely one for the books, for a myriad of reasons – many of which will make for a highly stress-inducing GCSE history exam in about a decade’s time. 

One of those reasons was that it was a year that saw an unprecedented return to thriving green spaces, with many people (and animals) seeking out comfort in secluded nature. I was one of those people, and soon found myself immersed in a scenario that would later lead to my project ‘By a Thread’ for Urban Wilderness.

While usually a sociable creature, I also tend to enjoy spending time reclusively stashed away in my flat working on various creative projects, being kept afloat by a stormy sea of black coffee and audiobooks. So, the first month of the original lockdown was relatively manageable and found me somewhat able to navigate the lack of other humans - with a little extra help from my pal Captain Morgan and an occasional blinding impulse to bake Sourdough, of course. 

But as the second month crawled on with no sign of ‘normalcy’ returning, a creeping sense of cabin fever started to seep in and it was soon time to find another distraction tactic.

I decided to utilise my government-mandated exercise and, bicycle handlebar in hand, venture outdoors in search of some (social distanced) pastures. I spent a week riding around on my bike through local areas soaking up as much sun as my SPF 30 could handle, and soon rediscovered Central Forest Park. 

Despite having lived relatively nearby for 2+ years, I had somehow not explored the park properly before, but after investigating the vast amounts of sprawling foliage and winding wooden areas I was an instant fan. Enamoured with its endless greenery, it soon became my refuge. 

Though usually filled with local folk, the park had become fairly deserted at this point, but having the place slightly to myself was wildly therapeutic and refreshing. While No. 10 clutched party hats and suitcases filled with Chardonnay, I clung to my newfound natural beauty spot that made the monotonous days a little easier to bear. In the absence of human interaction, a renewed connection with nature was the next best thing I figured.

But as the months rolled into summer, my now near-daily visits were soon met with the unmistakable signs of human activity. Spaces once unblemished were now populated with discarded rubbish; the long grass now littered with food wrappers, and cigarette butts decorating the ground in a dismal display of carelessness. A tidal wave of neglected face masks, broken beer bottles, and abandoned plastic packaging had come crashing on the shores of my solitary haven and didn’t show any signs of easing. 

Saddened by the polluted takeover of a place I had once claimed as my little safe space, I found inspiration and began brewing up ideas for an unnamed artistic project that I might one day tie together.

So when, in a twist of fate, a chance at a commission for Urban Wilderness’s Wastelands project came a-knocking, I answered the door hastily. My green prayers had been answered, and I had ideas – lots of them. 

It was an ideal opportunity for me to highlight my little newfound municipal Eden, and I soon began drafting textile concepts that involved embroidered felt pieces in the shape of colourful flowers, stitched onto translucent tulle. There was something incredibly interesting to me about using a juxtaposition of delicate, fine techniques like stitching against a sombre theme of humanity’s knee-jerk impulse for self-inflicted destruction. 

As the idea of vibrant flowers began to take shape, I knew I also wanted to include another element within the piece and began looking into lines of poetry – particularly from the Romantic era, as these poets were well known for their love of nature. 

When I came across ‘Lines Written in Early Spring’ by William Wordsworth, everything seemed to fall into place. I had finally found the stanza I had been dreaming of, that summed up my message perfectly. It reads:

To her fair works did Nature link

The human soul that through me ran;

And much it grieved my heart to think

What man has made of man

This poem perfectly represented the sentiment behind the project; that if you look closely, you can see the darker undercurrent of mankind’s self-destructive tendencies stitched into the fabric of our relationship with nature.  

The intricate approach to hand embroidery on wool felt was also quite satisfying and gave me the opportunity to get invested in a craft that demanded my constant patience and precision. Using my hands to create fine stitches and minute shapes from nothing was the ultimate way to feel even more connected to the project.

However, I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t haunted by flying felt shapes and French knots over a soundtrack of frantic circus music every time I closed my eyes for a while. There’s only so much wool blend felt you can cut into tiny flowery shapes before you start to go a bit mad, it turns out.

In the end, the piece came together beautifully, in spite of the internal screaming that took place every time I failed to get my bullion knot stitches to sit right. I ultimately became very attached to the flowers and lettering I had stitched and had accomplished a textile showcase of how much our survival depends on protecting our green spaces, especially in the shadow of our gradual ‘return to normal’. 

It was such a rewarding challenge creating ‘By A Thread’, and even though the world has slowly cast the remnants of 2020 to the backs of their minds, I’m so proud I was able to craft what ended up being my ode to an unbelievable moment in time, and a love letter to my now long-gone solitary green space.