Embroidery holds a quiet power. What appears delicate and decorative is, for me, a language of resistance, memory, and voice.
Understanding an artist’s journey offers a deeper appreciation of their work, the influences, decisions, and passions that shape their creative path.
For Kate Larkin, embroidery is more than craft; it’s a quiet form of resistance. Working with needle and thread, Kate explores themes of identity, memory, and autonomy, reclaiming a traditionally domestic medium to express powerful emotional and political truths. Her pieces, intimate and layered, speak softly but carry immense weight, reminding us that even the most delicate materials can hold fierce meaning.
In this conversation, Kate reflects on her relationship with embroidery as both a personal and political act. She shares how the slow, meditative nature of stitching invites deep reflection, and how, within its softness, she finds a space for resistance, memory, and voice. From the symbolic weight of each thread to the challenge of working in a medium often dismissed as “women’s work,” her practice is shaped by intention, patience, and quiet defiance. Kate speaks with clarity and conviction about the tension between tradition and subversion, the resilience embedded in handwork, and the powerful stories that emerge, stitch by stitch.
LSA: What do you love most about working in a medium that’s often seen as both art and craft, as well as challenging traditional ideas about embroidery?
What I love most about working in embroidery is its quiet power. It’s a medium long seen as delicate, domestic—even decorative—but for me, it speaks of resistance, memory, and voice. Embroidery holds deep cultural and historical significance, particularly in how it’s been used to express private or subversive ideas, especially by women. Often, it was the only socially acceptable form of creative expression available to them—something practiced in silence, in private, and consistently undervalued. By using embroidery to explore themes of identity, autonomy, and voice, I’m reclaiming and reshaping that narrative. I love that something as small and fragile as thread can carry such immense political and emotional weight. Every stitch becomes a declaration: of presence, of care, of intention. What excites me most is the tension between tradition and subversion. I use a medium historically dismissed as “women’s work”; to question the very structures that marginalise it. It’s about reclaiming ownership—of space, of the body, of our stories. For me, embroidery isn’t just craft. It’s art. It’s communication.
LSA: In your “I Am” series, you explore women’s inner lives through embroidery. What made you want to tell these kinds of stories through thread and needle?
In my I Am Series, I use embroidery to explore women’s inner lives because thread has always been a language for us—a silent, resilient form of communication. Historically, many people—especially women—were denied a public voice, confined to certain roles, and expected to remain quiet, submissive, invisible. Yet even within those constraints, they found ways to speak, to resist. Embroidery, often dismissed as merely decorative or domestic, became a site of expression—a space where identity, grief, love, resistance, and protest could live. A space where presence could be marked when it was otherwise erased. What drew me to this medium is its quiet strength. I wanted to tell stories that haven’t been fully told—stories of resilience, survival, and identity. One of the most powerful historical examples that has shaped my work is that of the Japanese “comfort women” during World War II—women who were forced into sexual slavery, enduring profound trauma and silencing. In the face of brutality, they weren’t allowed to speak. But they found ways to communicate through embroidery. Stitching became a secret language. A variation in a collar, a symbolic stitch, a subtle pattern shift—these became tools of defiance, ways to send messages, to hold on to themselves, to one another. That quiet courage speaks to something deeply human, deeply enduring. It’s a story as old as time: the will to remain visible, to be known, even in silence. I’m drawn to the tension between the softness of the medium and the strength of the message. Embroidery is slow, intimate work. It mirrors the layered, often overlooked nature of individual experience—where what is small is not insignificant, and what is delicate can be fierce. With this series, I wanted to create a space for the quiet power of existing: for private thoughts, everyday moments, and the dignity of simply being. The needle becomes my pen. The thread becomes the voice. And through them, these inner worlds become visible—undeniable, whole.
LSA: Embroidery is often seen as a slow, meditative process. How does the pace of the work impact your creativity?
Embroidery’s slow, meditative pace is one of the most powerful aspects of my creative process. In a world that moves fast—where everything is instant, fleeting, and driven by constant output—embroidery offers me a space to slow down. It’s an act of resistance against that urgency. It invites stillness, presence, and reflection. That said, this pace isn’t without its challenges. The slowness that gives the work depth can also be a source of tension. I often have a whirlwind of ideas,stories, themes and questions I want to explore—and embroidery doesn’t always move fast enough to keep up with the urgency of my thoughts. It can feel like the medium is working against my creative momentum. There’s also a broader frustration: embroidery is still often viewed more as "craft" than fine art, its labour and delicacy underestimated. Its time-consuming nature can seem at odds with contemporary expectations of rapid production and instant impact. But I believe that’s exactly where its power lies. The time each piece takes becomes part of its meaning. Every stitch is deliberate, considered, and layered with intention. So while it can test my patience, I’ve come to see this tension as necessary. It’s in the slowness that depth emerges. The work unfolds gradually, revealing itself over time—just like the stories I’m trying to tell. And in honouring that pace, I’m also honouring the complexity of the lives and histories I’m stitching into being.
LSA: When people encounter your work, what do you hope they take away from it?
When people encounter my work, I hope they leave with a deeper understanding of both individual and collective stories—especially those that have been silenced, overlooked, or forgotten. I want them to feel the power in the quietness of embroidery—the way a seemingly delicate stitch can carry immense emotional and political weight. Through the I Am Series, I aim to shift how we see the subjects of my work—not as passive figures, but as individuals with agency, complexity, and presence. In their everyday, intimate poses, I hope viewers sense their autonomy. These figures are not idealised; they are real—quietly powerful in their authenticity. I also hope the work challenges traditional, reductive views of identity, the body, and personal expression, while simultaneously pushing against narrow definitions of embroidery itself. Too often, it’s dismissed as decorative or domestic. But embedded within its softness is a history of subversion, strength, and survival. I want viewers to reflect on how embroidery has historically served as a form of communication and resistance—how, through coded stitches and subtle alterations, people have always found ways to express truth, even when denied a voice. These quiet acts, whether during times of oppression or in the rhythms of daily life, remind us that expression doesn’t always have to be loud to be powerful. Ultimately, I hope my work invites people to consider their own relationship with space, identity, and voice. I want them to feel seen, to feel empowered—to recognize the strength in their own quiet acts of resistance and to notice the small, often-overlooked gestures of presence, care, and autonomy in the world around them.