Why a textile book?

In the spring of 2025, I had been experimenting with making small paper “artist’s books,” which are essentially artworks rendered in the form of a book rather than in a more familiar form like a painting. Then I discovered textile artist’s books. I was entranced, since I’ve long been attracted to textiles—in daily life and as a medium in arts and crafts. I’ve practiced simple weaving and needlecraft since my grandmother taught me to embroider when I was ten. I’ve also enjoyed the mindless pleasure of simple needlepoint and counted cross stitch and recently had begun incorporating stitching into paper collages by simply stitching through the paper. In April, I made a fabric book, consisting of abstract appliqué (fabric scraps stitched to a backing), needlework, and the occasional button. I used a pre-made, blank fabric book from a craft supply company as the substrate, so I was determined that my next fabric book would be made entirely by me. It was around that time that my idea for this project coalesced, so at some point I decided that the medium would be a fabric book. I opted for an accordion (concertina) book format, so that the pages can be stretched out into a strip that emphasizes the quantity of devastating stories, all connected by the violence of abortion bans. As the project developed, I liked the idea of the women being bundled together in the warm embrace of fabric. I initially considered making the stitched squares into a wall hanging, since I had made such a work during the Covid lockdown. Called Counting the Days, the piece consists of 56 squares stitched one per day for eight weeks during spring of 2020. But I wanted to accompany each square in Living and Dying Under Dobbs with the story that the image represents, and I wanted those stories to be easily accessible to someone interacting with the piece. Hence, each square is actually a pocket containing a card printed with the story. As It has turned out, most people experience this project digitally on the website or on Instagram, so they are not aware that the squares are pockets. At some point, I will make that clearer to those digital audiences. Meanwhile, I cherish those times when I have been able to watch someone intimately interact with the actual book: they stroke the worn flannel cover of the first volume, untie the book to open it, touch and turn the pages, silently read the stories, ponder the images, and gently close it.  When I presented the project to my women’s studies students, I passed around the first volume while projecting images of the squares and reading aloud the stories. As we discussed the blue circles that represent Deborah Dorbert’s horrific story, I mentioned that I chose velvet for the smallest circle, because its softness invited touch, like the Dorberts caressing their baby as they held him, and my desire to “touch” them with a comforting embrace. In that moment, I noticed a student reach out to touch that velvet circle. I want this project, these stories, to touch the hearts of everyone who experiences them. Never forget.