I’m not really a fan of stains.

I have quite a few to contend with in my life.

There are the burgundy-hued ones that mysteriously appear on the sofa or cushions when my partner has been drinking wine.

There are the ones that appear on lad’s jeans at weekends that consist mainly of mud, grass and bicycle oil.

And then, of course, there are the stains that lurk, unannounced, on some of my fabric purchases.

I have developed ways of dealing with them. My mum gave me a good grounding in stain removal, having had a lifetime of experience in dealing with them herself.

However, a forthcoming solo exhibition by Ruth Singer at the The National Centre for Craft & Design will celebrate stains, rather than try to remove them.

With the working title “The Beauty of Stains”, the exhibition will be loosely themed around physical and emotional engagement with cloth, exploring tactility, memory and personal stories, mostly around old domestic textiles.

Ruth is currently inviting contributions to the exhibition.

She is gathering people’s recollections, in order to create an embroidered piece capturing tactile memories of cloth. You can read more about the exhibition and add your own personal memory here.

Textiles have such resonance for me, it was hard to choose just one memory.

Should it be the toasty smell of hot linen, fresh from the iron, emanating from my mum’s clean washing pile? Or the faint scent of fabric softener on fluffy towels as they emerged to cocoon me from my childhood swimming bag?

No. My memory is of a handmade garment. My dad’s fisherman’s rib jumper, knitted by my mum in the early days of their marriage to ward off the cold in their home, ancient Bishop Beveridge House, where they lived before I was born and pre-central heating.

It looked not unlike this… (but without the creepy-smiled man inside it)

I used to snuggle into that jumper. It was warm and scratchy against my face and smelled of pipe tobacco, and love.

Textiles and memories.

Both things that speak to every fibre of my being. ♥