Politics of Embroidery سیاسات

My interpretation of this embroidered textile on Harris Tweed is the countless murders the apartheid state of Israel has committed. It continues to kill innocent Palestinians. Each slipper is a remembrance of Palestinian resistance. 🇵🇸

This habit is old; I collect fabric scraps; some are picked up from random places of my travels, and others are pieces of desire. The restlessness within my heart simmers; I take a moment to breathe and let the process of healing start.

I spread a mint-coloured jacquard cloth from my grandmother’s dowry over the dining table in Edinburgh; soft cloudy hues are infused with filaments of silver thread. I lay the patterns, pin them down, mark them with chalk and gently start cutting. I trim each piece out and lay it on the side.

Simultaneously a news channel in the background shows images of women and young children being rushed into hospitals during the 2006 Gaza strike. I pause and watch the panic, terror and rupture as the scissors pierce through the textile. I dust off the remnant fibres from the blades. Palestinian bodies are being blown to pieces, and schools and hospitals are targeted. Yet, they endure and suffer the apartheid regime of Israel.

Anger and humiliation are brewing, but I continue to cut, pin down additional panels, and snip the notches. My eyes scan in between appearances of life and death. As I tear through a family heirloom and stitch it up to give it a new life, I am reminded the price of my freedom is someone else’s oppression. Once all the pieces are cut, I place down my tools, and exhale to rest my wounded heart.

I weep for a while and let the grief penetrate, until the taste of salty liquid reaches my tongue; I wipe away and start journaling on the same dining table. It is 2023, and I see visuals of Palestinian homes set on fire in Huwara. The deep silence continues….

Image credit : Orientistan