I’m an American artist and educator with an MFA from Virginia Commonwealth University, where I direct the fibre/textile programme. I’ve taught workshops around the world and have an active studio practice. My work is widely collected and has been on view at US Embassies in Algiers, Algeria, and Dhaka, Bangladesh, and around America. Recent projects include collaborations with L’Occitane en Provence and the New York Botanical Garden.

I’ve always had a fascination with needlework and nature, intrigued by the tiniest details. While I was in college, more than a decade ago, I had the opportunity to study embroidery in the UK at Manchester Metropolitan University, where I fell in love with the complex family of ‘insertion stitches’. These stitches are both functional and elaborate and are used for joining pieces of fabric but in a most exquisite way. I began using them almost exclusively, and on any material I could find and get a needle through.

Back in the USA, I had a job as a cook at an environmental summer camp. By chance, I looked up at a beautiful old oak tree and noticed the thick, tough leaves. I wondered if I might be able to stitch on them, and when it worked, I felt it was the best thing I’d made. This was the first time I’d been able to bring my passion for nature and textile arts together, exploring the possibility and metaphor of gentle, careful collaboration with nature.

I’m embroidering directly on leaves and sometimes other materials. I use a variety of stitches, but usually French knots, couching and other types of laid work. The actual embroidery, similar to my drawing practice, is very different from piece to piece: sometimes geometric and inspired by pattern and sometimes dense and illustrative.

My inspiration often comes from looking at textiles and visual culture from a global perspective and I think about the ways in which textile practices developed alongside our understanding of the plants around us; both were fundamental in our ability to survive and adapt during our evolutionary journey.

I use all kinds of leaves, both fresh and pressed and dried. Some of my favorites are ginkgos, with their gorgeous golden yellow colour and shape, and eucalyptus leaves because of the wonderful smell.

It’s not like working with fabric, canvas or paper; each leaf is different and reflects the life it’s lived, from insect holes, drought and sunburn to blight. I have a reverence for the material and find leaves, as simple as they may appear, to be incredibly complex and gorgeous, and always stronger than they seem.

Some leaves work better than others, of course, and working with certain species while they are fresh or dried can be advantageous. I’ve found some tricks to working with such fragile material and have learned how to work without tearing them. I use a mix of DMC cotton floss and floche, silk and metallic threads, often splitting floss down to a single thread and then outlining it on either side with single threads of another colour. I normally use size 12 ‘between’ needles, and occasionally a pair of very fine-tipped jeweller’s tweezers.

I always start by working out an idea in my sketchbook. I try never to collect too many leaves from one tree or plant. Whenever I see a big branch by the side of the road that’s freshly fallen or trimmed, I try to collect those leaves. Once I’ve finalised a drawing, I transfer it using tracing paper and a needle to ‘prick’ a rough outline to guide me.

A piece generally takes several days or longer to finish, and it’s helpful to keep the piece under a certain weight, which stops it from curling up or drying unevenly. When the piece is done, I usually keep it pressed for a few days or longer to ensure it’s totally dry, so it will be preserved for many years to come.

The leaves I use are not preserved in any other way, and this is by choice. Pressed leaves in a herbarium can last for hundreds of years, and my work, although exposed to much more light and air than those in a herbarium, will undoubtedly be here much longer than I will. Eventually, in the way of all organic things, the leaves and the thread will decay. The fact that my work won’t last forever is important; it was alive and although its life will be significantly extended, it will not (and should not) last forever.

Working with delicate material requires extra focus and care. That these pieces remain fragile is also a challenge, and displaying them so they will be protected is important to their longevity. I don’t always love the confines of a frame or having work behind glass, but it is the safest way to preserve them.

The focus of most of my work has been centred on our connection to nature, the land and plants. I believe textile traditions represent the depth and richness of human culture, so stitching directly into leaves feels like a perfect way to articulate this complex connection. I’ve worked with other materials, such as feathers, snake scales and, of course, fabric, but I feel most drawn to working with plants. I find it helpful to have a few different projects going on at the same time: sketching, machine piecing and sewing, or working on larger, pressed botanical compositions.

With a lot of questions: how long will it last and how is it done? Are the leaves real and are they preserved with resin or glycerin (they’re not)? The curiosity is reassuring; it means this is not something that’s been seen before and by its very existence, a door to new possibilities is opened.

I’m constantly getting ideas for new pieces or techniques to try. I would love to work with much larger leaves, and have started to experiment by pressing tropical leaves.

I’m a hand embroidery artist with a nontraditional practice that pushes boundaries, often applying stitch to functional or unexpected objects. Through labour intensive processes, I explore ideas of adornment, protection and transformation, creating pieces that exist as both textile art and sculptural object.

A few years ago, I became interested in how embroidery might exist outside of flat or wearable textiles. I was drawn to the challenge of working on objects that already have a function and history, and then disrupting expectations of these objects’ functionality through the application of embroidery. Items like umbrellas offered a way to combine movement, structure and surface, allowing the embroidery to interact with light and space rather than remaining static.

My approach is always led by the object itself. With the umbrella, its function of protection and shelter drew parallels with that of the spiritual and meditative practices of the amethyst crystal. The dense, crystal-like embellishment references organic growth, spreading across the surface almost as if it’s engulfing the umbrella. Colour plays an important role too. The deep purple base allowed me to build layers of light and texture through reflective materials.

I work primarily with hand embroidery techniques, using goldwork threads alongside beads, sequins, crystals and other embellishments. For pieces like the umbrella, I use stronger threads and needles suited to non-traditional surfaces, and I often adapt my tools to accommodate the structure of the object. Material choice is guided by both aesthetics and durability, particularly when the piece needs to hold weight or movement.

The process is slow and highly considered. Because objects like umbrellas aren’t designed to be stitched, much of the work involves problem-solving: working around ribs, seams and tension points, and ensuring the embroidery is secure without compromising the structure. The scale and curvature of the surface can render it particularly troublesome to work on and physically taxing. But, these challenges are integral to the work and influence the final outcome, giving each piece its own logic and rhythm.

They sit at the core of my practice, which centres on expanding the possibilities of embroidery. They allow me to explore stitch on a sculptural and spatial level, rather than purely decorative or functional. By working on unexpected items, I aim to question traditional hierarchies within textile art while still honouring the craftsmanship and core principles embedded within hand embroidery.

I’m interested in continuing to develop embroidery on functional, found and non-traditional objects. I’d like to explore larger-scale works and create collections of pieces that can be experienced together, emphasising embroidery’s ability to transform objects and environments. My next project will explore these ideas in the lead-up to the 2027 exhibition by the Bound Collective, of which I’m a member.

I’ve had a slightly unconventional route to becoming a practising artist, including skill sharing, on the job training and self-teaching. As a mixed media/textile artist and magpie of self-proclaimed ‘treasures’, I find beauty in overlooked surfaces and tactile objects that are imperfect or show signs of their previous use. Based in Staffordshire, my time is split between my studio at Unit Twelve Contemporary Craft Gallery, in Hixon near Stafford, and my home town of Stoke-on-Trent.

I’ve always had an inherent desire to collect ‘treasures’ and since my teens, have loved rummaging around flea markets and antiques warehouses. Drawn to surfaces with signs of wear and interesting layers, such as peeling paint on doors, rusty metal railings or layers of posters and wallpaper, I have amassed an enormous collection of photographs.

Initially using my photos and found objects as inspiration for colour palettes, mark-making and textures, after exploring darning and lace-making, I reached a point where it made sense to stitch directly on the objects rather than emulating their qualities. It was rewarding to discover how harsh metal can marry with soft thread, and how curves and angles of objects can match with the geometry of different needle lace stitches.

In the way I select, stitch on and present the objects, my hope is they have the chance to be viewed in a new light. This allows me to save heirlooms from languishing in drawers, and commissions often feature people’s personal items, elevating them into pieces that can be permanently displayed and admired.

My artworks are either ‘framed’ in vintage receptacles, such as old wooden singer sewing machine drawers or vintage matchboxes, alongside elements of collage, or left as freestanding or hanging sculptural objects. Pairing objects together in a coherent almost storytelling way can be interesting: think of a needle left poised on an old wooden cotton reel. While fixed as a sculpture, it hints of an owner returning to resume the task. There is a wonderful serendipity, or almost humour, about hand stitching on to a sewing needle.

I enjoy exploring colour, though once fearful, spurred on by the faded vibrancy of vintage plastics and bakelites. Imagine beautiful old green plastic buckles adorned with green weaving and paired with faded pink music sheet covers, on a wooden background.

A perle cotton or crochet cotton in different thicknesses to complement the object I’m stitching on, and occasionally vintage crochet or mending threads, although the quality is unpredictable. Essentially, my tools include just a sewing needle and a pair of snips or small scissors and some patience. Using vintage papers and ephemera, such as book covers or music sheet covers, adds an element of collage to my pieces.

I adapt heritage hand stitch techniques, predominantly needle lace and needle weaving, to work around a found or vintage object. The stitches are often mistaken for crochet or tatting. Some objects are collected with a thought about how to use them. Scissors, for example, provide a perfect viewfinder or recess to stitch into and have often featured in my practice. Others can wait for years until inspiration strikes, then questions arise: how best to anchor stitches without them slipping; how to work with fragile or delicate objects; will rust transfer? Or is the object to be viewed from 360 degrees?

Another aspect is that using found or vintage objects means my artworks often aren’t repeatable. Customers benefit from a oneoff but it means creating a new ‘formula’ each time. And no matter how many objects, papers and ephemera I collect, there will still be instances of not having exactly the right one, so the search continues. Then there are the self-imposed creative challenges, such as seeing how small I can stitch; so far, it’s on to a sequin pin.

There is often a familiarity when people view my works. Objects are wonderful at sparking nostalgia, emotions and storytelling, and I’m treated to tales of relatives past and times gone by. My artworks are not for all, and that’s OK, but for people they do resonate with, there is a strong connection.

Expanding my repertoire of stitches and exploring working at different scales. My large nest of 2025, made from repurposed fabric, could seat three people. I also intend to work more with alternatives to ‘thread’. As part of Craftspace’s Made in the Middle touring exhibition I made cordage from recycled materials.

I’m a metal embossing and embroidery artist. My interest in metalwork was sparked on a foundation course at art school in Lincoln, where I specialised in fine art. Following this, I trained to be an actor at the University of Salford, then worked as an actor and puppeteer for stage. Something was missing though, so in 2018, I decided to focus on art, and had my first exhibition in 2019.

While at art school, my dad gave me a box of my great-grandfather Harry’s materials. He’d done some metalwork and embossing but the material he used isn’t still in production. Having discovered what I felt was a really cool thing, I talked to the art school technician who suggested aluminium cans because the material is very malleable and readily available. After tests, I found a certain type of can goes a speckled golden colour when burnished. It was interesting that this ‘rubbish’ once burnished looked ancient.

At university in Salford, I’d taken sewing lessons with the costume mistress, and that’s essentially my approach to art: make a pattern and sew it together. It took years of trial and error after graduating to develop my multi-layered embroidery and embossing method. As far as I know, this work is in a niche of its own.

I’m drawn to the kingdom of living things, looking at endangered species and biodiversity loss. I’ve always loved museum insect collections, too, because of the variety of colours and shapes. Researching the symbolism of insects in different cultures led me to religious iconography and the idea of the deity. These pieces also reference the deeply layered work of haute couture. My grandfather, Martin, was an ecological farmer. Last year he passed away and since then, the mirroring in our practices with our love of birds has become apparent.

Removing the top and bottom and opening the can out, it is then treated, rolled and burnished. This is precise work; if it overheats it will turn dull silver and become brittle. To my great-grandfather’s collection of metal embossing tools, I’ve added craft and pottery sculpting tools, embroidery and beading needles, fine tweezers and jewellery pliers. A magnifying lamp is my best friend. Goldwork and 3-D parts are sewn on a hoop or frame. I hammer holes for stitches at the point of transferring the design and bend seams together, sewing them with a curved needle. No glue is used. DMC silk stranded cotton is easier to sew on the metal with.

With an eco-conscious practice, I haven’t bought plastic embellishments or fabric for seven years, and upcycle where possible. I love to use brass, glass and ceramic beading in my work, and try to be mindful.

My show, Art of Anatomy, Black Redstart Gallery, Manchester, 5–28 November, which will debut a sound/art collaboration. I’m also developing an embroidered jewellery range. It’s important to challenge yourself: who knows the unexpected places it will take you.

I’m a mixed-media artist, workshop facilitator and manager of arts events and projects. Specialising in textiles and free-motion machine embroidery, my domestic sewing machine has become a tool for drawing and painting. My practice centres on a process driven exploration of material, considering moments of thought, place and time and reflecting on themes of transience. The unique elements of the material often guide my artwork.

In 2018, Colin Sugden of Artistic PNK invited me to take part in @Fivers4Artistic, where 250 old £5 notes decorated by 250 contemporary artists are set to be auctioned. Artistic PNK is a community of experienced volunteers who provide mentorship and support to artists from every background. This was my introduction to embroidering on a very different material.

For my first artwork, studying the banknote for inspiration, I began musing about how busy the Queen was and that she must get tired. Considering how many hands money might pass through, I thought being pictured on a banknote would probably lead to feelings of boredom at the constant circulation. That’s how my sleeping Queen idea came about. She’s just having a little kip. The title, Time is a Brisk Wind, is a quote by Paracelsus (1493-1541), a Swiss physician, alchemist and philosopher.

In 2019, Bob Osborne and Carrie Reichardt asked me to become involved in Cash is King 2: Money Talks at Saatchi Gallery. This prompted me to think how much money, and views of what can be considered growth and sometimes survival, influence people’s decisions and how these decisions can impact the natural world.

Assets is the resulting artwork, highlighting the plight of the Sumatran tiger. Critically endangered due to habitat loss, tigers are forced into settled areas, causing retaliation from villagers when people or cattle are killed. Tigers are also killed for commercial gain, with an estimated 400 Sumatran tigers left in the wild.

Generally old, out of tender banknotes and other materials to stabile the note, with free-motion embroidery on my trusty old domestic Janome sewing machine.

Banknotes are very temperamental to work with. Notes from different countries and decades all seem to be made from different material, so each time I create a work, it’s a learning curve. Using free-motion embroidery, stitch and thread build up quickly, particularly when working in detail and on a small scale. The thread becomes very dense. This density and the impact of the needle will cause the banknote to start disintegrating, so using canvas as a backing and soluble stabiliser protects the note.

Because my practice is process-driven and I love playing with material and technique, these works sit naturally within an ongoing investigation of materiality. They create space to question the world we live in and align with my wider interest in the passing of time and exploration of fragility and transience.

Having just moved to Essex after a lot of change in the last year, I’m taking time to build up creative connections and new pieces, working towards a highly anticipated solo show in London.