Like lots of people, I found some relief from the chronic mental anguish surrounding COVID through picking up a manual hobby–in this case, returning to needlework that I had futzed with much earlier in life. Nashville had a great little place called Craft South, where I took a class that introduced me to embroidery techniques that had seemed out of reach since the first wowie-zowie embroidery I remember seeing was the Whiplash by Hermann Obrist in an Art Nouveau segment of a modern European architecture class back in 1990 or so. Judging all embroidery by the Obrist standard–or, rather, the unknown embroiderer who likely stitched what Obrist drew–was maybe unfair, and what kept me from it for so long. But pushed to a need to claim something real and physical and beautiful by a global pandemic, I waded in.

And glad I did tho I have yet to whip up my own whiplash. But I do take opportunities to take in masterful needlework whenever I can. Seeing the RSN’s anniversary show was indeed gallery after gallery of wowie-zowie moments. I no longer feel intimidated by them, just a very healthy encouragement to keep stabbing away.