The Trump Era, Stitch By Stitch

Thirty minutes. Dozens of stitches in black thread. Word by word: “We are living right now in a rat’s nest.”

Embroidering Donald Trump’s most flamboyant quotes into soft handkerchiefs has become therapeutic for artist Diana Weymar. Deliberate about her fabric choice, she favors stitching meme-worthy quotes onto textiles that could come from a grandmother’s stash. Napkins with florals, lace and girls in bonnets.

“Handkerchiefs are easy because they’ve already been used and worn, so they're softer,” said the American-born, Canadian-raised artist behind the “Tiny Pricks Project,” which chronicles the Trump presidency in textiles.

Silk is too slippery. It doesn’t grab the thread the same way cotton or linen does. And if the cloth is too thick, forget it: It won’t slip into a 5-inch hoop.

Weyman gives herself 30 minutes to speed-stitch a quote weekly, a hobby started in 2018 as soon as she heard the president call himself “a very stable genius.”

“Tiny Pricks” is a digital quilt that never stops growing. It’s a political engagement project that relies on tension, burnout and media overconsumption for success.

It has since exploded into an public art experiment in political memory, with over 5,000 pieces sorted into 12 large plastic bins in her studio. Contributors from around the world have slowed down to embroider words of the moment, said by politicians, comedians and authors. Scanning Weymar’s Instagram, which has amassed more than 150,000 followers, is to witness nonstop journaling, but with thread.

“The fever that has gripped our southern neighbour will eventually pass,” reads one piece that quotes Prime Minister Mark Carney’s words to Canadians during the election campaign, when his commentary on MAGA was pointier.

Seeing hand-sewn pieces also reminds us to slow down, Weymar says. It’s arresting to make a tactile object nowadays: “It was important to get all of these words out on something that wouldn't be deleted.”

Before “Tiny Pricks,” Weymar struggled with making art that wasn't political, which made her feel disconnected when “everyone was so concerned about what's happening politically” at the time.

“Stable genius” felt “really stitchable,” Weymar explained to more than a hundred people at the Art Gallery of Ontario in late November. The words moved her to grab some neon yellow thread and stitch the quote onto an embroidered stool cover that had come from her mother’s family but that she could not bear to throw away.

She was pleased with herself and took a photo, sharing it on Instagram with her 500 followers. “It just felt something,” she told the audience. “I just felt this moment — I felt like I returned the language to social media.”

Heads in the room, mostly women, nodded. Some didn’t bother to look up from their own needlepoint projects.

The through line in the questions posed to Weymar that day was some iteration of, why? Why do this? Craft is an outlet, an escape from the noise of life. Needlepoint requires concentration. Where’s the calm in making sure each stitch of the letters in “I love the smell of deportations in the morning” — a POTUS quote — are right?

A woman in the audience put down her needlepoint hoop with geometric trees in autumn hues to grab a microphone to ask Weymar a question. Needlepoint takes time and the idea of sitting with Trump’s words for so long “feels overwhelming to me,” she said — what was Weymar’s experience, in choosing to sit and hold those kinds of words on the regular?

“I think I hold on to the language so I can let go of it,” Weymar said. She has stitched through debates in real time, quote coming in through cloth, “and then it’s released.” It’s a craft where it’s easy to check out, and importantly, she said, not to be on your phone.

Weymar’s impulse to slow down took root at an early age growing up in the Canadian wilderness.

“I grew up watching my parents make things because I grew up without electricity,” she said. “It’s rote.”

Weymar lives in Victoria, British Columbia, and is American by birth, born in a Vermont farmhouse. Her mother was a debutante from Connecticut and her father was born in the Detroit area. They left the United States in 1970 when Weymar was 1 year old.

They sold their wedding gifts and drove as far west and north as they could, settling in northern British Columbia, in a small community in Tahltan territory where they lived off-grid for seven years.

Protesting the Vietnam War was a factor in their immigration story, and so was an aesthetic choice to live closer to the land. They were over capitalism and materialism, which they felt was fueling anxiety in society. “They wanted to make things — they wanted to do things themselves,” said Weymar.

That lifestyle made an imprint in her values and work. She doesn’t use new textiles because she doesn’t want to buy them and feels they aren’t as interesting as donated old pieces. It was her daughter who convinced her to take “Tiny Pricks” to Instagram.

“There are always so many different things happening that I feel are worth ‘reporting’ on,” she said about her collection of textiles that she has folded and sorted into categories, from “China” and “Mexico” to “The Wall” and “Megyn Kelly.”

“Tiny Pricks” is more than a documentary project of the Trump era’s stickiest quotes. Weymar explained its appeal to the Toronto gathering in three draws. First, she said, there’s an element of protest, which appeals to those in need of catharsis at this moment. Second, she said, it’s an outlet that gives some control over trauma: Thirty minutes or two weeks?

It’s subjective how much time a person needs to stitch through words they find upsetting. And finally, there’s a built-in community. “You feel extremely supported when you post.”

Making something is a “very optimistic act,” Weymar said. And it's a bonus that it keeps your hands off your phone.