My first instinct was to imitate the work of William Morris and the women in his family Jane, May, and Jenny Morris, whose embroidery helped define the movement’s aesthetic. Their designs are lush, intricate, and deeply tempting. But I am an amateur embroideress with a ten‑week deadline, not a Morris daughter with a lifetime of practice and a workshop at my disposal.
So I turned to A Treatise on Art Needlework and the publications of the Royal School of Art Needlework for guidance. While searching I was also researching books and articles that didn’t necessarily offer patterns but discussed the theory and ideas circulating around needlework at the time. “Embroidery or The Craft of The Needle” by W.G. Paulson Townsend, originally published in 1907 had one passage in particular shifted my approach:
“The embroideress is continually being called upon to adapt or modify the designs she embroiders… she will find plenty of scope for her individuality and taste in planning and adapting design.”
In other words: the Arts & Crafts Movement valued originality, not replication. The goal wasn’t to copy a design perfectly but to imbue it with the maker’s own sensibility. That realization freed me from the pressure of producing an exact historical replica and allowed me to create something historically informed yet personal. All the same I still needed a jumping off point.
I eventually chose a pattern from Designs for Needlework by Liberty & Co., preserved in the Lila M. O’Neale Collection at the University of California. Pattern No. 221 became my base. I tweaked it, adding botanical motifs inspired by other pages in the booklet, carving out a place for my initials, and sketching out variations. The original design was meant to be worked in a single color, but as I considered how to make the piece feel like mine, I kept glancing at the bouquet of spring flowers on my desk. Their colors brightened my dorm room and brought me such joy that I wanted to make my work a celebration of their natural beauty. So I experimented with color combinations until I found one that felt right: joyful, organic, and following the movement’s preference for solid, block shading.
With the design finalized, I turned to the tools
Hoop
I can, in good faith, use a modern wooden tambour hoop for this project. According to the Embroiderers’ Guild of America, the basic construction of these hoops has remained unchanged since the eighteenth century.
Needles
Similar to the hoop, the basic eye‑hole needle has existed since the Gravettian period (31,000–20,000 BCE), and its design has barely changed. Furthermore during the industrial revolution sewing needles were rolled in asbestos powder to stop them from rusting so perhaps it’s best to stick with the modern.
Threads
This is where things get complicated. My grandmother passed down a box of embroidery floss that had been added to by her mother and aunt. Meaning some of the floss dates back to the 1910s–1930s, easily identifiable by their visible age and by my great‑grandmother’s impeccable record‑keeping. A few skeins are labeled “RICHSC,” shorthand for the Richardson Silk Company, which merged with the Heminway Silk Company in 1925. Other big names pop up like the Clark Thread co. The American Thread Co. and of course the tried and true DMC. Honestly it was exciting to sort and research them. These threads are tiny time capsules.
Unfortunately, they are also hideous. The oldest colors range from bruise purple to baby‑puke green, likely the reason they’ve remained untouched for decades. Still, I managed to find enough older floss that only 30% of the design will be done in modern thread, which I’m counting as a succses. Most of them failed the pull test (true to its name a method for testing the strength of old thread by yanking on it) and if I was making this item for daily use I would switch to stronger thread but a project like this is realistic the only time the thread could be used. It just means I need to take extra precautions when washing and ironing it.
the Arts & Crafts Movement was about reclaiming the dignity of handwork in an industrial age. It championed slowness, intentionality, and the idea that beauty should be accessible in everyday objects. It also rejected mass‑produced uniformity in favor of the visible presence of the maker’s hand. In preparing this project I’ve found myself reenacting the very principles the movement held dear. Next comes the stitching itself, the slow, meditative work that transforms a pattern into something living. But for now, the groundwork is laid.