Palestinian Tatreez: Threads of Culture

Ironically, as an Events writer, few things frighten me more than walking into an event alone, with no companion and no idea what to expect. So it was with abject terror that I made my way to the Old Union Diner this Friday for Art Society’s workshop on the Palestinian embroidery technique of Tatreez. I took my seat at a table of strangers and surreptitiously pulled out a notebook and pen as Leena Nammari, the artist running the workshop, began to talk. 

In just over fifteen minutes, she walked us through the history and cultural significance of Tatreez. An intricate, decorative form of embroidery which Nammari told us was “integrated into the Palestinian subconscious,” Tatreez is passed from mother to daughter and inspires community and connection, with distinct patterns and colourings originating in different villages. She spoke of how the refugee experience has affected these patterns, with reference to a specific garment patched with burlap sacks and nylon cloth. This is currently being shown at the Thread Memory: Embroidery from Palestine exhibit running in the V&A Dundee until 26 April.

Soon enough, it was time for us to try our hand at Tatreez. As Nammari walked us through the technique, she explained the cultural beliefs tied to the art form: Each hand-embroidered piece had at least one purposeful mistake to ward off the evil eye, and a messy back to the embroidery meant its creator would never find a husband. Setting to work on a piece of aida cloth with a needle and thread, I very quickly discovered that neither a husband nor the evil eye would be coming my way any time soon. Despite my initial reservations about showing up alone and inexperienced, I found myself chatting to the people around me as we worked through the patterns, with varying degrees of success. 

The conversation shifted from embroidery experience (of which I had very little) to expressing our woes on monolingualism and sharing stories. It was at this point, coincidentally, that Nammari caught our attention to explain the social aspect of Tatreez, almost exclusively done in groups. For village women, it was a chance to gossip, bond and meet new people. Looking around the room which was full of mainly women laughing and chatting over their embroidery, it was easy to see how this art form had persisted despite decades of hardships. 

Speaking to the artist about the differences between Tatreez and European cross-stitch, which I have dabbled in on occasion, she explained that the two techniques did not share a common origin, but instead both organically developed as a result of the cross-shaped stitch being the best way to join two pieces of leather when clothesmaking first originated. 

As the workshop drew to a close, I approached Nammari again to discuss the aim of holding events like these. Upon being asked about the most important part of sharing culture and heritage, she explained her goal was to “humanise the Palestinian people, to keep the conversation going and to keep Palestine on the agenda.”

Leaving the room, there was a palpable buzz as participants thanked Nammari, hugging her and taking photographs before leaving with their half-finished embroidery and a complementary dried date or two. I was struck by the level of community that had formed in just one short hour, and I made my way out of the Old Union Diner with some new friends and a new perspective.

Photo: Rebecca Walker