Aspasía S. Bissas
Aspasía S. Bissas
I think I’ve mentioned before that I’m a huge fan of embroidery (AKA needlepoint, although it’s not quite the same thing). It’s not only that I find the results visually appealing, but it’s one of my favourite pastimes, as well. I was taught tapestry needlepoint when I was five, after which I forgot about it until I was a stressed university student and decided to take it up again. I’ve since tried other types of embroidery, including cross stitch, but tapestry is still my favourite; I’ve completed at least a couple of dozen over the years.
It occurred to me that embroidery and writing have a lot in common. In both cases you put together small units (stitches/words) in a precise and harmonious way over the course of weeks and months (sometimes years) until you’ve created a completed piece that tells a story. I also get a similar sense of satisfaction when I’ve completed an embroidery as I do when I’ve finished a story. Maybe needlepoint and writing activate similar parts of the brain. Then again, maybe it’s just me.
Whatever the case, books have definitely provided all kinds of inspiration for the embroiderers of the world. I thought I’d share some of the best literary-themed embroidery I’ve found. Are you a fan of embroidery/needlepoint? Share in the comments…
My first choice has a cute design, good colours, and a message you can’t argue with 🙂
This next piece came from an article on embroidered book covers. Check it out to see some other gorgeous works (although this one is my favourite).
For those who prefer a pattern, there’s also this classic cover in cross-stitch…
I couldn’t decide between these two Shakespearean cross-stitch pieces, so I’m sharing both. The first is a quote from “As You Like It,” and features what could basically be my personal coat-of-arms (books, comfy chair, cat, coffee/tea). The second is stage directions from “The Winter’s Tale,” and is just funny.
O.M.G. I don’t think I could find a better bookmark than this cross-stitch mashup of book culture and pop culture…
I love this tapestry portrait of Virginia Woolf (although I could do without the cigarette, and really, a pen would have made more sense).
A character portrait is also a good option…
Cats, books, colour– what more could you ask? And this looks like it would be a lot of fun to work on.
I love this updated take on the needlepoint classic of pink roses on a black background. And it’s always good to be honest 😉
Lastly, this cross-stitch that honours my favourite genre…
If you prefer a good paperback to an ebook, order Love Lies Bleeding from Bookshop – a portion of each sale goes directly to independent bookstores, as well as to myself. Thank you for supporting indie! ♥
Aspasía S. Bissas
Click to see my photo taken at the Auberge Ravoux, where Van Gogh spent his last months, and read my thoughts about it (and him)… via “La Tristesse Durera Toujours”*…
Valentine’s Day, the romantic holiday with pagan roots, just passed. While I hope it was a sweet day for you, it’s worth remembering that love isn’t always sunshine and roses– sometimes it’s rejection and struggles. Here are 5 love stories from history that are equal parts romance and tragedy…
She was Queen of Egypt, he was co-ruler of the Roman Empire. He envisioned himself as Dionysus, Greek God of wine (and drama), and she captured his heart by presenting herself as Aphrodite, Goddess of love. Their relationship was based on passion and ambition, and it reached mythic proportions. Their twins were named Alexander Helios (the Sun) and Cleopatra Selene (the Moon). Circumstances kept them apart much of the time, and Antony was even forced to marry his rival Octavian’s sister, but Antony and Cleopatra met when they could and celebrated triumphs (and failures) together. Unfortunately, their actions led to war, invasion, and ultimately, defeat. Anthony fell on his sword in an honourable suicide. Cleopatra, knowing she would be paraded through the streets of Rome in humiliation, arranged to have an asp (an Egyptian symbol of divine royalty) smuggled to her. With a bite from the snake she committed what is possibly the world’s most famous suicide, while at the same time attaining immortality for her and her love.
In 12th century Paris, an intelligent, inquisitive young woman named Héloïse was introduced to Abélard, a philosopher and teacher enlisted by Héloïse’s uncle to tutor her. Their intellectual bond soon deepened into love and passion. Héloïse became pregnant, and to avoid a scandal they secretly married after she had the baby (a son named Astrolabe, which goes to show that geeks have always existed). Unfortunately, scandal found them anyway (mostly thanks to her infuriated uncle). Héloïse was sent to a convent, while Abélard was viciously attacked and forcibly castrated. He went on to become a monk, and she a nun. Although they never saw each other again, they did resume a correspondence, and their letters stand as testament to their feelings. After they died, their bones were moved so that they could finally be together (there’s a dispute as to whether they’re buried at The Oratory of the Paraclete, or in their famous tomb in Père Lachaise Cemetery).
Lord Alfred, or ‘Bosie,’ as he was known, was Wilde’s love and muse at a time when LGBTQ rights were not only nonexistent, homosexuality was illegal. Their relationship was tempestuous, and marked by arguments, separations, and reunions (the latter, thanks mostly to a forgiving Wilde). Bosie’s father (the Marquess of Queensberry), angry about the relationship, denounced Wilde publicly. When Wilde’s libel suit against the Marquess failed, he was arrested and ultimately sentenced to two years of hard labour for “gross indecency.” Wilde and Bosie were reunited after Wilde was released, but it should be no surprise that their friends and families forced them apart. Then again, Bosie was a selfish and reckless person, and it’s debatable how much he really returned Wilde’s feelings. Interestingly, the phrase “the love that dare not speak its name” was coined by Bosie, not Wilde, as most people believe. Maybe a better love story was the one between Wilde and Robert Ross, who was possibly his first male lover and also a lifelong friend. Ross was with Wilde at his deathbed, and later commissioned Wilde’s tomb at Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris. Ross asked the artist to include a small compartment in the tomb for his own ashes, which were transferred there in 1950.
Sometimes genuinely loving someone isn’t enough. Elizabeth and Dudley’s story is a complex one, further complicated by rumours that have persisted through centuries. Dudley earned Elizabeth’s love early in her life, when he stood by her at a time when she was in trouble and it would have been easy to abandon her. Although Dudley wanted to marry her for many years, she could never allow it. As Queen, Elizabeth was averse to marriage, not least because marrying would have transferred her power as monarch to her husband, while she would have been relegated to quietly producing heirs. But even if she had wanted to marry, she couldn’t have married Dudley. There was no strategic political advantage to marrying him, he was generally unpopular, and he was a commoner (whatever position he had in society was directly thanks to her). He was also already married. After his wife died under mysterious circumstances, he was ultimately cleared of any wrongdoing, but belief persisted among many that he’d had her killed. Eventually, Dudley accepted that Elizabeth would never marry him, but since he wanted heirs he went on to (secretly) marry twice more, for which Elizabeth never entirely forgave him. Still, he was her clear favourite and she gave him titles, prestige, and power; in turn, he gave her companionship, support, and devotion. They shared an emotional bond that even most married couples at that time could only dream of.
Dante Alighieri and Beatrice Portinari’s story is one of unrequited love. Dante claimed he fell in love when he met Beatrice at the age of 9 (she was 8). Despite his intense feelings for Beatrice, Dante married Gemma Donati when he was around 20, while Beatrice married Simone de Bardi when she was 21. She died three years later. Although they barely knew each other and met only a handful of times, Beatrice would be Dante’s idealized love and muse for the rest of his life. She was his inspiration for Vita Nuova, and his guide to heaven in his Divine Comedy. Despite the lack of any real relationship between the two, the love Dante had for Beatrice has sparked imaginations to this day. There are paintings of the pair and poems written about them, references in books and on TV, and even an asteroid named after Beatrice.
Some of these stories may be more bitter than sweet, but perhaps that’s why they continue to inspire. Love isn’t love without a touch of the tragic. Or as the immortal Shakespeare put it, the course of true love never did run smooth.
Do you have a favourite historical couple (or a bittersweet love story of your own)? Share in the comments…
Aspasía S. Bissas
(This article is a re-post, with a few alterations. It was originally posted here on 14 February 2019.)