Embroidery Maker in Madeira

Lace Maker

I’ve been haunted by this picture since I took it a few weeks ago while in Madeira, Portugal. It’s of an embroidery pattern artisan. The boxes behind her extend far beyond what I was able to capture in this photo. We were literally surrounded by them. In each box were countless patterns—most far, far older than me. What makes this image so stirring is that the patterns are made of the thinnest tissue paper imaginable–whispery and ghost-like. I was reminded while standing there of the soft, crepe-thin skin of my grandmother’s hands, the near transparency of them, and how I could see the delicate bones and trace the fretwork of veins beneath.

The original embroidery patterns were created by women long gone, whose own hands, like their artwork, eventually grew thin, fragile, transparent. What moved me so was how this woman would painstakingly cover the old patterns with new tissue paper and trace each filigree, curl, and spiral. She wasn’t preserving the past. She was vivifying it. Then she would carefully fold the originals along their deeply creased pleats and tuck them back into their slots, some not to seen again for decades. The carrying forward of a dying art, from century to century, from woman to woman, from hand to hand.

David Leite's signature
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Comments

  1. I can’t help but worry if something were to happen to those boxes – fire, water, etc. As beautiful and symbolic as this is, going electronic is the only way to secure the designs so all this work is not done in vain.

    1. MamaBird, I know. I was thinking that, too. I have no idea if they have electronic versions. I do know that the actual embroidery is made by women at home, so perhaps they have copies?

  2. I remember my grandmother’s hands, too. Also thin skinned, delicate, but hardworking hands. She sewed, crocheted, prepped food, and maintained a modest shade garden. The photo of the lace maker and your writing–I love the sense of time. There’s no beginning, there’s no end. Time just continues and we are tiny pinpoints of “now” that are part of the eternity.

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