Taking Time. Finding Thread.

There are moments when stepping away from work feels almost uncomfortable. The to-do list is still there, ideas half-formed, projects waiting. But every now and then, taking that pause—really taking it—becomes exactly what’s needed.

Time with family has a way of shifting everything. The pace softens, conversations wander, and suddenly you’re noticing things you would normally rush past. A walk becomes more than just a walk. A coffee stop isn’t just about the drink. It’s in these quieter, unstructured moments that something else begins to happen… ideas start to surface.

Because once you’ve trained your eye as a textile artist, it never really switches off.

I can’t help myself. I’ll look at something—anything—and immediately start translating it into stitch. The curve of a railing becomes a line of free-motion embroidery. The way shadows fall across a wall suggests layered fabric or sheer overlays. Colours sitting side by side in nature begin to form palettes in my mind, ready to be stitched, blended, or broken apart.

Shapes get simplified. Details get exaggerated. My brain is constantly asking: How would that look in thread? Could that be layered? What happens if I distort that slightly?

I don’t sketch these ideas out. I never really have. Instead, I reach for my phone. A quick photo captures the moment—the texture, the composition, the colour relationship. Later, those images become the starting point. Not something to copy exactly, but something to respond to.

Back in the studio, those photographs turn into possibilities.

Sometimes they lend themselves to the precision of the embroidery machine—building up stitched layers, combining imagery, pushing what can be achieved digitally with thread. Other times, they call for something slower. Hand stitch. Mark making. Letting the thread wander, responding intuitively rather than planning every step.

And then there are the ideas that refuse to sit neatly in one place. Those become mixed media pieces—collage, fabric, stitch, maybe a bit of heat work or distressing. They evolve as they go, much like the original moment that inspired them.

That’s the thing about taking time out. It’s never really “time away” from creativity. It’s just a different part of the process.

When you step back, you start to see more. When you slow down, ideas have space to form. When you’re not trying so hard, inspiration finds you anyway.

Family time, laughter, shared meals—those moments matter in their own right. But tucked quietly alongside them is this constant thread of observation, of collecting, of translating the world into something that can be stitched, layered, and reimagined.

So even when it looks like a break, the work is still there… just softer, quieter, and perhaps a little more inspired.