Words, words, just words…

I continue to stitch on my Cromwell Narrative Cloth, and it continues to make slow but steady progress. Indeed, I have now almost completed what Hilary Mantel’s Cromwell describes as his second life. It’s ridiculously heavy and I have lost track of the overall length (Note to self: measure as you go). While it develops, I will be posting some reflections about my earlier Cromwell Trilogy stitchery. This is the third in a series of posts about my first Wolf Hall Quilt, made between 2020 and 2021. It’s a textile piece that comes with a very strong sense of time and place, and the restrictive circumstances in which it was made had a significant impact on the finished work, which only became apparent after it was complete. This post follows on from last week’s in which I contemplated a pile of stitched chapter titles from the Cromwell Trilogy.

The Wolf Hall Quilt ended up measuring 46 feet in length

In January 2021, I was faced with a dilemma: how to quilt a whole set of chapter titles from Hilary Mantel’s Cromwell Trilogy. I had decided that they would form a long, river-inspired shape. I had also decided that each set of three would have a quilt block called a Drunkard’s Path in the middle. I would like to be able to say that this choice of quilt block refers to something in the source text but to be brutally honest I had forgotten the name of this particular block until a quilting friend pointed it out. The truth is that I like piecing curves and, had I realised that I was making Drunkard’s Paths, I wouldn’t have used them. Too many associations with Walter.

A drunkard’s path block sitting above Anne’s falcon. This was taken when the Wolf Hall Quilt was still unfinished.

But that, I suppose, is typical of the way this piece developed. Its unplanned nature became horribly problematic once I started quilting it. The embroidered chapter titles looked fine while they were simply stitched on strips of fabric, but as I worked them up for quilting, I found I had presented myself with major design issues. Some chapter titles were longer than others, and I had left no space for stitching anything else on those pieces. My lettering had appeared suitable when I was embroidering it, but seemed too curved and out of line when quilted.

Had I quilted the lettering from the start, I would not have faced these difficulties. But I hadn’t quilted the lettering from the start. Were I starting again, I told myself repeatedly, I wouldn’t start from here. Eventually, I took a conscious decision not to worry about it. The piece was reflective of the time and the circumstances in which it was made and the unsatisfactory embroidered lettering was part of its history: the fact it was stitched in the very strange and restricted times of the Covid-19 Pandemic to fill some long hours of isolation, and not a planned piece of work.

I stitch lettering a lot; it’s a regular feature of my work, and I am often asked by other stitchers ‘What template do you use for your lettering? Where can I buy it?’ The first time I was asked this I was bemused. What do you mean by template? Of course, one can purchase plastic templates for quilting: I use them myself for borders of nautical ropes, coils, swirls. I draw through the plastic with an erasable pen and then create neat, uniform patterns with my needle before washing off the sewing lines. But templates for lettering? ‘That’s just my writing,’ I say. ‘Sometimes I grid it out, sometimes I just go freehand. But it’s just my writing.’

Her initials in the shape of a heart. Photography © Michael Wicks

The question that kept coming up with regard to this project was a variation on that theme. ‘Are you going to stitch in Cromwell’s handwriting? Why don’t you use Cromwell’s handwriting?’ The answer is simple: Have you ever seen Cromwell’s handwriting? Goodness, I want all this stitched effort to be legible. And if I tried to reproduce Cromwell’s handwriting, it would just look like I didn’t know how to sew. I fear it’s a small step from staring in bafflement at 16th century documents to poor stitching design and execution. I included two examples of 16th century writing: the signature of Henry VIII from a letter to Anne Boleyn with the initials inside the heart from June 1528 (the original drawing being part of the Biblioteca Vaticana, MS Vat.lat. 3731. Pt. A,F.11r.) and the text of the announcement of Princess Elizabeth’s birth, (inspired by the Harley MS 283, fol.75, held in the British Library). Mantel enjoys Cromwell suggesting that the court clerks might like to leave a space in case the baby is a girl, but they haven’t. Later he goes and laughs at them trying to fit the extra “ss” into too small a space.

The birth of Elizabeth. Photography © Michael Wicks

And I’ve just realised that he would have probably have laughed at me too. Trying to fit complex design ideas into too small a space. But I don’t think I would have minded.

In my studio

I haven’t been in my studio much this last week; I had to go up to the North West for a couple of days, and had some other commitments which meant studio time was limited. Fortunately, I pieced together the final three panels of Cromwell’s Second Life and brought them home before I went on my travels, so I have been working on the Cromwell Narrative Cloth on the sofa. I am currently finishing off Cromwell at Battle of Garigliano.

The start of the Third Life is also at home. Along with copious notes - the Third and Fourth lives are the hardest to put together: the real Cromwell isn’t yet appearing in the historical record; and what we think we know is based on stories. And Hilary’s Cromwell is far too careful to commit himself fully to a coherent narrative. So I am combing the text of all three novels. Without giving away any Bring Up the Bodies spoilers, I was very excited when I realised exactly where Hilary had placed him in 1508 thanks to a passing reference to a building and a piece of art. This trilogy really is a gift that keeps on giving, no matter how many times one reads it.

What caught my eye?

“Do I look like a murderer? In your good opinion?”

I went to the National Portrait Gallery last week and of course I had to go and see Master T Cromwell first. He was glaring at a tour party when I went in, and I fell to wondering why the original Holbein Portrait is in the Frick in New York. The NPG version is a copy after Holbein. And I want to see Holbein’s original.

This part of the Westminster Tournament Roll shows the young Henry VIII on horseback, riding past Katherine of Aragon who watches with her ladies.

I was very excited to see a short film about the Westminster Tournament Roll from 1511 - I would love to see the real thing, but it is too fragile to go on display, so I don’t think it leaves the care of the College of Arms very often, if ever. But the film was great and gave me some inspiration. And just today I had an email from the marvellous John Blanke Project with news of a crowdfunding campaign for a book about John Blanke. The project celebrates the Black trumpeter John Blanke, who appears twice in the Tournament Roll. Do take a look at their website to find out more.

John Blanke, trumpeter at the courts of Henry VII and Henry VIII, on the Westminster Tournament Roll