Embroidering Histories

Elya Assayag is a History PhD candidate at Columbia University and recipient of a 2022–23 Diamonstein-Spielvogel Fellowship at The New York Library. Her research focuses on the history of women in Morocco during the 20th century. Due to the lack of written archival sources on the topic, Elya studies the place of “female crafts,” such as embroidery, with the hope that the combination of archival materials, oral history, and material culture will open a path into the under-researched field. 

For many years, historians have focused on prominent figures of the past, using primarily written documents found in formal archives in order to write historical studies. These histories largely ignored the stories of those not easily found in textual archives. Following the proliferation of social movements and social theory in the second half of the 20th century, such as feminist movements, among others, historians started to search for new methods to trace the histories of those whose stories were ignored up until this point: those who were not Western noblemen (with an emphasis on men), heads of state, important army figures, high clergy. They started to trace the lives of “ordinary” people. 

Yet, how can we trace these histories of “ordinary” people that were rarely documented in archives? Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, a prominent feminist historian specializing in early American history, and specifically women’s history, reminds us: “ordinary people make history through the smallest acts of every day”.[1] When studying “ordinary” people, the focus needs to shift to mundane acts. Over the decades historians applied various methods to achieve this, such as tracing the stories told by material objects, extrapolating from statistics and census registries, interviews with people who lived during the historical periods in question (what is known as oral histories), and many other creative methods.

In my research about the history of women in Morocco during the French colonial period (1912–1956), the question of the “how” became increasingly central, as the time I spent in archives led to insufficient information about the subject. Returning to Thatcher Ulrich’s quote, I began to wonder: what were those daily acts, through which I could trace women’s history in Morocco? A random encounter with the book Arts Marocains: Broderie [Moroccan Arts: Embroidery] by Prosper Ricard,[2] the director of Service des Arts Indigènes [the Indigenous Arts Office] in Morocco between 1920–1935, helped me find an answer to this question.

The book presents an impressive survey of embroidery from different places across Morocco, and emphasizes the central place of women in this craft. In addition to the fact that most embroiderers were women, embroidery was central in different stages of women’s lives, such as the preparation of their dowry, the embroidered dresses for their weddings, and the decoration of their houses, as well as of their children’s clothes. Recognizing the importance of embroidery in the daily lives of women, I decided to study embroidery as an example of a “small act of everyday life” that can help deepen our understanding of the history of “ordinary” women.

Diving into the world of embroidery requires methodological creativity. Alongside some archival materials, I use two main methods. In the first, I draw on oral history by interviewing Moroccan women that both practice (or used to practice) embroidery and were alive during the colonial period. The second is based on the concept of “knowing by making.” I started to practice embroidery myself in order to better understand the different aspects of the craft. In order to do so I am following books and manuals written on Moroccan embroidery, as well as lessons from the women I am interviewing. Doing the craft itself helps me better understand elements like time frames (embroidery takes a lot of time), range of emotions related to the crafts (patience, frustration and more), and external factors needed to do the craft well (such as good lighting, specific types of fabrics and threads, etc.).

In December, during my Diamonstein-Spielvogel Fellowship at The New York Public Library, I had the opportunity to see another aspect of “knowing by making”—its communal dimensions. Embroidery was often a communal activity, with several women sitting together and embroidering. As part of my fellowship, I organized an event called “Embroidering Histories” that combined NYPL’s amazing collection of embroidery books and manuals[3] with an embroidery workshop. The event was open to the general public and  participants (all women, even though there was no gendered language in the invitation) had the opportunity to examine the Library’s collection, choose an embroidery pattern, and learn how to embroider it.

There is a phrase in Moroccan Arabic (Darija) that describes the situation where women get together to work and talk: ḥadith wa-maghzel حديث ومغزل. This phrase was originally used to describe what happened when women sat down together to spin yarn and weave, maghzel مغزل meaning a spindle. Today, it is used more broadly to describe the special bond that is formed between people when doing crafts, but also when cooking, walking together, or doing any other activity, while also speaking with each other. I learned this phrase while sitting and embroidering with a Moroccan woman in Rabat. Reading Rozsika Parker, a feminist art historian from the UK, I understood that this beautiful Moroccan phrase is relevant across different periods and places. In her book The Subversive Stitch: Embroidery and the Making of the Feminine, Parker argues that embroidery enables women to be together and create independent social bonds.[4] Her book was about embroidery in the Middle Ages and the early modern period in Europe. The “Embroidering Histories” event at the Library was an example of how these concepts remain relevant in many different contexts.

Once participants settled with their patterns and embroidery material, I stepped back and let the magic happen. Memories of embroidering at a younger age and of family members embroidering began to surface. A fascinating conversation about the place of quilting in American culture was happening on one end of the room, while on the other end women were reminiscing, with a hint of criticism, about home economics classes. Others were starting independent conversations with their neighbors, alternating between personal stories and questions and tips about embroidery. These social bonds were realized right in front of my eyes; all I had to do was place some threads and needles on the table.

My study uses this concept of ḥadith wa-maghzel حديث ومغزل in diverse ways. It is my methodology, sitting down with women and talking while embroidering together, that helps me to trace their history and learn how their personal stories are connected to the craft itself. It also helps me to trace the social bonds created between women who sit down and embroider together while sharing their memories and wisdom with one another. This methodology acknowledges that the format and content of historical research are tightly intertwined. We cannot ask how to do historical research of “ordinary” women without asking what are the mundane acts woven into the unwritten histories of those women, and we cannot understand what the historical stories are without considering how to trace them. This methodology also highlights the importance of those moments in our lives that we often take for granted—the creation of social bonds “along the way,” unintentionally, as part of different activities we are doing.

The event at The New York Public Library was a reminder of those magical moments of bonding that are unfortunately becoming more scarce with the proliferation of social media and the onset of global pandemics that created physical separation between people. Thus, the event showed how crafts can help us recreate those magical bonds.

I hope the next time you do an activity with someone (whether it be a craft or any thing else), you will notice those special bonding moments that are sometimes fleeting and sometimes enduring, but that are always part of our unwritten histories, those that are just as, if not more, important as our written ones.

I would like to thank all the wonderful women that came to the Embroidering Histories event and shared their memories and wisdom with me and with each other. I learned so much from all of you and hope you will continue to embroider and create social bonds with everyone around you.

Footnotes:

[1] Laurel Thatcher Ulrich. The age of homespun: Objects and stories in the creation of an American myth. (New York: Ransom House, 2001), p. 414.

[2] Prosper Ricard, Arts Marocains – Broderies, (Alger: J. Carbonel imprimeur, 1918).

[3] Example of some of the books that were presented in this event (disclaimer – most of the references are to Moroccan embroidery, due to my study, however the library owns many books on different embroidery styles): D.M.C Library, Morocco Embroideries, (Mulhouse, France: Editions Th. de Dillmont, 1955); Margaret A. Deppe, Introduction to Fessi embroidery, (independent publication, 2019); Fāṭimah al-ʻAlawī, al-Ṭarz al-Maghribī al-aṣīl/ Manuel de broderie Marocaine Classique, (Casablanca: Imprimerie ROYALE, 1969); Tami Tazi et Lucien Viola, Points er entrelacs: broderies et tissages de Maroc, (Rabat, Casablanca: Goethe Institute, 1999); Thérèse de Dillmont,  Encyclopédie des ouvrages de dames, (Mulhouse, Alsace, Th. de Dillmont [n.d.]); Louisa F. Pesel, Stitches from western embroideries; from Spanish and Portuguese examples, including some from Moroccan, Algerian and Hispano-Moresque specimens, (London: P. Lund, Humphries & Co., ltd. [1916?]); Broderies Maroccaines, Broderies Maroccaines, (Paris: Flammarion, 2003); Caroline Stone, The Embroideries of North Africa, (Essex: Longman, 1985);

[4] Rozsika Parker. The Subversive Stitch – Embroidery and the Making of the Feminine, (London: The Women’s press, 1984), pp. 14-15.

The Diamonstein-Spielvogel Fellowship Program was established with the generous support of the Diamonstein-Spielvogel Foundation.