Stitches Are Not Just for Bitches Anymore, But Also for Feminists and a Few Men

If Project Runway has taught us anything, it’s that a needle and thread can produce fierce works of art. This lesson rings especially true in “Pricked: Extreme Embroidery,” a current exhibition at the Museum of Arts and Design.

“Pricked” showcases the work of 48 artists, all of whom work within variations of the same medium—embroidery. The exhibition highlights the effectiveness of subverting and reinventing this often overlooked art form, but the sheer number of works within the show is overwhelming, and draws attention to pieces that it could have done without.

By its very nature, an embroidery exhibition invites feminist dialogue. These artists choose to work within a historically feminine medium, one that is often categorized as craft rather than fine art. Yet “Pricked” does not solely veer toward the somewhat predictable feminist reinterpretation of embroidery. Rather, the show’s most important commentary on gender might be the balance between male and female artists whose work makes up the exhibition.

At the same time, the show highlights themes that are relevant to the broader contemporary art world, including the introduction of a traditionally commercial medium into the realm of high art. These two spheres collide most explicitly in Cindy Hickok’s The Fast Supper (2006), an embroidered piece depicting figures from the works of masters such as Grant Wood, Edgar Degas, and Pierre-Auguste Renoir arranged at a table recalling Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper. In Hickok’s version, the sitters feast on hot dogs and potato salad as opposed to bread and wine.

Like Hickok’s work, Lou Cabeen’s Map of Consciousness 1 (2005) interacts with art of the past—but in his case, the past is much more recent. For Cabeen, embroidery functions as a reaction against the abstract expressionism movement of the twentieth century. “The stitched line,” he explains in the wall commentary, “is an actual line, a physical presence, a manifestation of effort and choice. It is not an illusion, nor the residue of my hand’s gesture.”

Another popular trope of contemporary art incorporated into the exhibition is the use of recycled and found materials. Paul Villinski’s Lament (2001-2006) is made up of discarded black gloves and a found backpack sewn together on a metal frame to resemble an enormous set of wings. The wall commentary quotes his description of the work: “The gloves have qualities we fear coming to know: carelessly left behind, forgotten ... run over by life, homeless ... So I bring them into the studio and give them homes.” Villinski’s work is about inclusion rather than exclusion—a theme that echoes modernity’s redefinition of art itself.

One of the show’s weaknesses is that it attempts to include too much, leaving the viewer with the occasional impression that the only qualification to get into this show was the use of the featured medium. One such work, Marcia Docter’s Well-Behaved Girls (2006), depicts the Statue of Liberty in the classic Marilyn-Monroe-over-a-subway-vent pose, with the embroidered heading: “Well-behaved girls rarely make history.”

Accompanying this piece is another by the same artist, which reads, “Don’t fuck with me, I have PMS and I’m armed.” The slogans in both pieces are about as original as an “I’m with stupid” T-shirt in a novelty shop, and they detract from the sense of creativity and reinterpretation that invigorates the other works in the show.

Yet the uniqueness and specificity of the show’s criteria make it understandable that curator David Revere McFadden would want to showcase the breadth of embroidered art being produced, particularly since it is such a rarity in other museums and galleries. Overall, the show comes across as a surprisingly refreshing look at an unconventional medium. Whether an embroidered sofa or an embroidered dollar bill, the works in “Pricked” interrogate their own medium, and, in doing so, challenge the art world in which they live.