Covering Esther, or What Happens When Renaissance Woman Esther Inglis Exchanges Her Brush and Pen for a Needle: Examining Embroidery Through Reproduction

The Folger has a significant collection of 16th and 17th century embroidered book bindings, including three by the early modern artist Esther Inglis. So when the curation team (Georgianna Ziegler, Heather Wolfe, and Ashley Buchanan) behind the Little Books, Big Gifts: the Artistry of Esther Inglis contacted us to reproduce the embroidery on one of Inglis’s books, we were thrilled.

As needlework historians who spend a lot of time in libraries as well as with objects, we are keenly aware that books are frequently viewed primarily through their text. But the materiality of books can be fascinating as well. This is especially true in the case of Inglis’s work because she was a calligrapher and limner and the pages of her books display the beauty of that artistry. Many of her works also show her work as a needlewoman in their elaborately embroidered bindings.

Esther Inglis understood the value of needlework in general, and specifically, the beauty and worth that it could add to her books. She created works of art with her calligraphy and illustrations to give to nobility and royalty, with the possible goal of creating reciprocal relationships with lucrative returns. The use of richly embroidered book bindings as gifts to the ruling elite was a strategy used by many people during and after Inglis’s life. Inglis knew that embroidered book bindings would enhance the attractiveness of her work.

With the team from the Folger, we chose to reproduce the cover of V.a.93, an Inglis manuscript from 1599. The cover was faded, the metal thread tarnished, dirty, and worn, the silk thread was degraded to such a state it was hard to distinguish the original design, and only two pearls remained of the several hundred that originally existed. This was so worn that, of all the Inglis embroidered books in the Folger’s collection, it would be the most dramatic “makeover” – and the most challenging! This project required us to exert some real Sherlock Holmes’-type of skills of observation and deduction (as well as plenty of experimentation) to bring this back to life to resemble its original state in copy form. Through this process, we were able to gain technical insight into Inglis’s embroideries.

We started with the ground cloth which was a fine silk velvet. Other velvet covered books contemporary to Inglis in the late 16th and early 17th century were typically in a rich, deep red. There are a few other examples in dark blue and green – but we have never seen an extant brown velvet embroidered cover. We found the tiniest tear on one of the paste-down pages which revealed a hint of the original flesh-red color that was called “carnation” in that time period. (Scott-Elliot and Yeo in their journal article “Calligraphic Manuscripts of Esther Inglis” also note the original crimson color). The images below show the paper tear but the color doesn’t translate well because of the lighting in the room we were in, which is why we use the Pantone color deck for an objective measure.

To reproduce this binding, we needed to source similar materials to those that Inglis used in her original work, including: the correct type of gold bullion which came from England, gold twisted cord which was vintage French thread, silk thread from Japan and France, passing gold thread from England, and pearls from India. We had some challenges with the materials since not everything that Inglis used is still made, but we got as close as possible. For Inglis, this would have represented a significant investment in money for the materials on a project that was not commissioned, but rather “on spec.”

The pearls were probably the most difficult and expensive materials to source. When we first examined the original we brought a selection of our own collection of materials that we knew to be close in scale, type, and color to period needlework. The freshwater pearl in the photo below you is the smallest we had, at 2mm. However, in comparison with the remaining pearls on V.a.93 it was huge and we began to refer to it as the “Godzilla” pearl. We scaled down to 1mm which typically come out of Russia or India and are considerably pricier. Interestingly, when we discussed this project at the 2024 Esther Inglis symposium at the University of Edinburgh, another attendee shared with us that these almost-microscopically small pearls come from local Scottish mussels which were abundant during Inglis’s lifetime – a nice piece of cultural context!

Given that these little pearls were so small (less than 1mm!) working with them would be painstaking. We took comfort in our first estimate of needing only three pearls for each badge, for a total of 12 pearls across two copies of the binding. Unfortunately, that comfort did not last long because when we continued our examination we realized that the white stitching throughout the border was in fact “understitching.” This technique is used to cover ground fabric in preparation for pearl work, a pavé style of beads or precious stones that completely cover an area. The project now required hundreds more pearls, and many more hours of embroidery. And it also reflects how much time Inglis would have put into her original version.

Sourcing the velvet was particularly time consuming. Inglis used a velvet where the silk pile would have been a medium weight with a silk or other sturdy fiber backing. Most silk velvets today are made in Thailand and are only 70% silk pile with a rayon or polyester backing, giving them a light and drapey hand best used for clothing. Those wouldn’t provide enough body to either hold up to the embroidery, nor was the weave thick enough to create coverage. After an extensive search, the velvet which was the closest match to the period ground fabric in weave and color was 100% silk fabric made in Italy, used for upholstery and much studier weave than the velvet used for clothing. This imported silk velvet was amazingly soft and rich. But once we stitched practice pieces, we found that the pile was much too deep for the embroidery — it kept sinking in and getting lost. Our solution to this problem was to shave the velvet by hand, very, very carefully.

What’s really fascinating, though, was how copying her pattern and actually doing the needlework gave us a deep insight into Inglis as an artist and maker. For instance, the border pattern she used is a common design style of a scrolling stem with flowers and leaves growing off the central vine. When we traced the design, it became clear that this was a very loose, sketchy interpretation that is easily done in pen and ink but difficult to translate in embroidery. When an artist draws a scrolling vine, they can pick up their pen and add another offshoot with a simple swipe. But in embroidery, to start a new offshoot requires the needleworker to end one thread by plunging down through the ground cloth and starting a new thread in another place, plunging up again. With goldwork, this plunging up and down through the ground cloth strips the gold off the thread. A needleworker would be conscious of this limitation and not choose to create so many offshoots. And this is just one example!

Reproducing V.a.93 provided some clear insights into how Inglis approached her art, as a trained artist and as a less than expert needleworker. This is not to denigrate her needle skills: these are lovely and intricate designs that require a lot of patience and technique to be able to create. Rather, we want to better understand her unique approach and perspective in translating her pen-based skills to the needle. The act of recreating her design, using as close to the same materials as possible in the actual scale she chose, provides unique insight into her experience and even the risks that she was taking in doing this work.

We documented our work in progress on our Instagram page, @relicsinsitu, if you would like more information.

See V.a.93 and its reproduction in Little Books, Big Gifts: The Artistry of Esther Inglis!