Stitches in Time

The art of sewing has existed as long as humans. When Adam and Eve underwent the Fall, they became aware of their nakedness and felt the need to cover up, perhaps tying fig leaves together. Ever since then, humans have felt the importance of wearing clothing. Styles have changed with the times, but there has always been a need to sew.

The earliest needles were made from wood; some needles found in old ruins have also been made out of bone. The first stitching was found to be lacing a needle through pre-punched holes. Then the form of the needle we use today was developed, composed of some metal with a sharp point on one end and an opening on the other used for threading. (And if you get an itch to take up medieval sewing, you can get your kit here) Until the 18^th century, technology in reference to sewing and the needle remained largely unchanged.

Families would fashion their own clothing, and knowing how to sew by hand was a useful and even profitable skill. Enter Isaac Singer in the 1850s. Amidst many other unsuccessful ventures in creating a sewing machine, Singer, an inventor, actor, and tycoon, patented the first rigid-arm sewing machine. This forever altered the scale on which sewing occurred. Little by little, the art and value of sewing has deteriorated.

As a little girl, my mom sewed everything for us. My sister and I always had matching dresses; my brothers had matching ties. She always had a sewing room where she would lay patterns out on the big tables, where there was the constant hum of her machine. To anyone who has ever sewn a garment of clothing, you will know that sewing is folk knowledge. You cannot pick up a needle and thread and expect to make a garment free of mistakes or alterations. It is a process that requires hands-on learning. My mother learned to sew at a young age from her mother, who invariably learned from her mother. Even anciently, this was how the knowledge of sewing was passed, from mother to daughter. My generation has broken that chain. Neither my sister nor I know how to sew proficiently. I feel that this is a lost art, an art of our ancient ancestors. It is a skill of survival that we no longer bother to learn, like growing our own food.

As a young girl, I always felt clothed in the warmth and love of my mother’s creations. The clothes were made especially for us, with our alterations and measurements. This kind of intimacy with our clothes has disintegrated. Clothing has become simply superficial, something to cover our bodies with, something we go shopping for. Will we ever regain that intimacy with our clothes? Will we ever return to sewing for ourselves? It might just be more knowledge lost in the stitches of time.