For the Love of Tufting

The project that inspires my creativity and brings me happiness is tufting. As someone who spends most of her time either tufting or researching tufting, sometimes I forget most aren’t immersed in it like I am. In fact, I’m learning most people have never even heard of the craft at all. So just in case, let me give you a brief description. Tufting is a textile art that involves using a machine called a tufting gun to continuously push yarn through cloth that’s been stretched across a frame. It’s typically used to make wall hangings and rugs. Simply put the process is:

1. Strech fabric across the frame

2. Sketch design onto the fabric

3. Tuft

4. Cut each piece out

5. Add backing

Tufting is unique in that the craft is rapidly gaining popularity, yet is still relatively unknown. The internet has proved an amazing resource for tips and techniques but ultimately there’s no set way to tuft and each artist must experiment with what works best for them. This includes the set-up, tool selection, and the finishing method. Tackling each of these steps and the obstacles that arise within them are part of the creative process I find so rewarding about this art form.

I’m still quite new to tufting and know my practice will evolve as I continue to learn, but for now, this is my ritual. First, I lay the fabric, also known as monk’s cloth, over the frame. I slowly rotate around the four sides, carefully maneuvering my fingers along the sharp needles of the carpet tack and pulling the fabric tighter each rotation. When the cloth can’t be pulled anymore, I freehand draw the designs on. After that, I thread the yarn through the eye of my gun, pull the trigger, and begin tufting. As someone who has a bad habit of rushing through projects, this part has forced me to learn patience. Attempting to quicken the process will end with the yarn either being pulled too tight and pulling itself out of the cloth or too loose and in a mass of knots. If I take my time, the process becomes meditative. Once the tufting is complete, I cover the back of the work with carpet adhesive, let it dry, and cut each item off the frame. After that, I fold the edges of each piece onto the back of itself and seal everything in with a piece of felt. The final step is grooming – getting out my scissors, trimming the little yarn bits that may be poking up, and separating any loops that have tangled within one another.

However, the creative process starts and ends long before and after my time spent at the frame. It’s sitting on my patio, taking in the sun and sketching out design ideas. It’s picking out the yarn I’ll be using – a process that always involves doing multiple laps around the store, only heading to the cashier when my arms no longer have the space to grab another hank. It’s going to Fabricland to pick up felt and taking in the hundreds of patterns and textures on display. After the pieces are complete, it’s the thank you notes, cards, and stickers I design to accompany each piece. It’s the shipping boxes I measure and cut by hand personally for every order placed. It’s assembling the orders with Netflix playing quietly in the background to not wake my roommate. As a creator working alone from her apartment, it’s also the little interactions and conversations I get with people as I complete these tasks that charge my creativity.

Tufting isn’t always glamorous. The gun is heavy. The yarn gets impossibly knotted. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve drawn blood on my hands from when I’ve slipped up and cut them along the carpet tack nails that jut out from the frame. Sometimes I feel I’m about to burst out of my apartment. There have even been times, especially when I was first learning, that I’ve cried out of frustration. But most of the time it’s hard to connect the process with being “work.” I blast my music. I have a coffee on the side to sip as I go. I dance and sing. When I finish a block of colour I pull the gun away from the cloth, cut the yarn, stretch my cramping arm and turn the frame over to examine the progress on the front of the piece.

A few years ago I was finishing up a Biology degree - studying during the day and bartending in the evening when my sister asked me what my dream job would be. “Being an artist and having a studio to go into to work in every day,” was my response. Being an extrovert who loves her vibrant corporate culture she was horrified by the idea. I on the other hand, just thought it was a pipe dream - an opportunity that even if it once was possible, had passed me by. I’d already spent years rotating through artistic projects. Historically picking up hobbies on a whim and dropping them as I lost interest. The steps in tufting allow me to flex my creative muscles in ways so that I’m always engaged. The dichotomy of standing at my frame, with music blasting while operating a loud piece of machinery paired with the peacefulness of later sitting on the floor and slowly cutting the edges of the felt off the ends of the rug is where I’ve finally found my sweet spot.

I’ve always pulled my inspiration from life’s simple pleasures – animals, fruit, a good colour combination, adding a smiley face to an inanimate object. And now, for the first time in my long history of creating, I’ve found a craft that provides me with an endless positive feedback loop to turn these inspirations into tangible objects. The further I dive into tufting, the deeper I want to go. Luckily for me, this inspiration has led to more content creation, sales, and a budding business. And with that also comes some daunting logistics – Would moving into a studio boost my output? Can I even afford a studio? Am I going to mess up my taxes and have the CRA after me? All anxiety-inducing problems I know I’m lucky to have.

For many, finding joy and hope throughout a pandemic has been challenging. Somehow, I stumbled into an art form that brings me both. My tufting practice is far from perfect and the path to making it a viable career will be long and challenging, but there’s truly never been an uphill battle I’ve been more excited to continue