One of the student speakers at the
March for Our Lives in Washington DC last Saturday was Emma Gonzalez, an 18-year
old senior, now on the world stage because of the February shooting at her high
school in Parkland. In an interview leading up to the march, she talked not
just about the activism role she and her classmates have assumed, but also
about the coping mechanisms they are discovering. One of hers is embroidery.
The jacket she wore at the march is covered with patches she made when she
needed to escape the spotlight.
As the march in Chicago was wrapping
up, I was in the textile department at the Art Institute enjoying an exhibit on
American quilts. There were hand-stitched pieces from the mid-1800s to a few modern
ones where sewing machines were additional tools for the crafters and artists.
Some quilts told a story while others commemorated an event or a person; a
couple simply used up scraps of material. It was easy to picture quilting bees
through the centuries. To see each stitcher concentrating on a square that
would become part of the whole. To envision mothers guiding little hands, as my
own mother did the summer I was eight. Whether
embroidering a patch, badge, vest, doily, tablecloth, pillowcase, or a square
for a quilt, the task can be relaxing. It is rewarding to see different threads
and stitches make the piece come to life with color, design and texture.
Emblems embroidered on uniforms
identify brands, teams, and ranks in the military. They provide a sense of
pride for the wearer, a sense of accomplishment for the sewer. I hope that Emma
continues to proudly wear her jacket, to add patches as she wishes, and I hope
that with each stitch she finds healing as well as purpose. Mostly, I would
hope that this generation no longer stitches badges for contemporaries lost to
gun violence.
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