The Alcúdia workshop exceeded my expectations, it was deeply moving. We embroidered photographs from the Alcúdia municipal archive of women sewing in the 1940s and 1950s, honouring their craft and paying tribute to these women. Since Alcúdia is a small town, I hoped people who knew these women might come, and that’s exactly what happened. Great-grandchildren, another woman discovering a lost photo of her grandmother who is no longer with us, and even the town’s 95-year-old embroidery teacher Catalina Ferrer, I believe that’s her name, appeared. She shared stories, photos and her lifelong passion for embroidery. It was wonderful to see generations connect through thread, paying tribute to these women and their artistry.
On the island, I’m drawn to the cultural events, like my workshops at Rata Corner, where a loyal audience that loves embroidery signs up for my workshops every time I go. It’s amazing to see my work so well received, which is why I love returning to Mallorca. On the other hand, I also love the creative ideas that come up during brainstorming sessions with Rata Cultura. At the FLEM Festival, we reimagined Magaluf as a place for reading or culture through a community embroidery project, shifting away from its usual associations and exploring the “souvenir effect” present in much of their merchandise. Using classic postcards, we transformed them with stitched messages. I think we really hit the mark with this concept. People got engaged in a meaningful, hands-on experience. Seeing their enthusiasm confirmed we had created something special.
My journey with embroidery began by accident, embroidery found me. I started embroidering as an adult, at the age of 35, after going through a deeply emotional experience: a miscarriage. In the midst of searching for a motherhood that wasn’t coming, I stumbled upon a space where women were embroidering. It caught my attention, so I signed up. And the moment I pushed the needle through the fabric, my life changed forever.
My life in the studio is chaotic, no two days are the same. I have a studio at home and another one outside, so I split my time between indoor and outdoor spaces. I embroider in both places, but not every day. I also love working on designs - spending time on the computer, creating new pieces. Then there’s social media, which needs to be nurtured and maintained. Some days I teach classes. Other days, I take my dog for a walk to reflect on a new strategy. And some days, I simply spend all my time embroidering.
What draws me to embroider different things is the choice of materials and the message I convey through them. I come from a background in graphic design, so the conceptual aspect deeply influences me - it’s my way of working, my methodology. What I embroider and where I embroider is essential. For me, the material itself is another way of communicating, so I choose it carefully. Beyond the design and message, the space where my pieces will appear is also a key element in conveying meaning.
Heritage is central to my work. In my Di dove sei (Italian for “Where are you from”) project, I embroider the addresses of the women in my family, naming them, honouring their stories and the spaces they inhabited. It’s about occupying these feminine spaces, past and present, and acknowledging the generations of women who embroidered before us. This craft is an unbroken thread I work to revalue. That heirloom embroidery found in so many homes carries meaning - the time, care and love women have woven into every stitch. It deserves recognition, as do the women behind it.
At first, I discovered embroidery as a way to exercise patience and bring me serenity while I waited between fertility treatments. Then I realized that I actually enjoyed doing it. Teaching naturally became part of the process - I started sharing my knowledge, communicating and witnessing firsthand the effects embroidery had on others. It became a form of salvation, a refuge. It helped people deal with anxiety, illness, grief and personal struggles. The conversations that unfold in a class, the messages exchanged - they all reinforce my belief that embroidery, like any kind of manual craft, can heal. It’s a refuge for those who discover it and recognize how much it benefits them.
When I experienced miscarriages and infertility, I felt unseen. I couldn’t find stories that truly represented my reality. The books and narratives I came across about the wish for a child or fertility treatments always ended with a baby. But that’s not everyone’s story. So when I was given the opportunity to share mine, I knew it would be a turbulent journey. Revisiting my experiences wasn’t easy, but I also knew it would be therapeutic and healing. I wanted to write a book with another happy ending, which was the discovery of a new passion as an adult, that of being happy in another way. Another kind of ending that is not always what you expect.
Yes. In the end, embroidery is an act of rebellion or protest. I use it to address uncomfortable topics and societal taboos, the things we’re told to keep behind closed doors. Traditionally, we associate embroidery with femininity, domesticity, decoration… not with outspoken messages. And that’s precisely what makes it powerful. In the past, women embroidered as well-mannered ladies, always within the domestic, private space, never taking up too much room. But when embroidery steps outside of that space, it can become a way of expressing the unspoken through a quiet, solitary act. That contrast fascinates me. It’s unexpected. The silence transforms into a scream - a protest stitched with precision, with intention. By embroidering my own experiences, I realize I’m also representing others. That understanding makes me fearless. It gives me the courage to claim space, to speak openly about our stories and to normalize them.
Embroidery is a time-consuming practice, a manual craft that forces you to slow down. You can’t check your phone or multitask - just hold the needle, the hoop, and stitch. It immerses you in a different rhythm, offering presence in a fast-paced world. Even just seeing embroidery evokes peace and nostalgia. It reminds people of home, of their grandmother’s house, of something familiar and intimate. Textiles carry memories. And when you look at a hand-stitched piece, you recognize all those hours and care that another person invested in it. So if there’s one thing I want people to take away from my art, it’s to value time and to appreciate what is handmade.
