Leanne Violet

Leanne Violet was born in 1999 and grew up in the South East of England. She now lives in Cheltenham, in the South West. Leanne completed a BA in Photography in 2021, followed by a PGCE in 2022, and has been working as an Art teacher ever since. She works on her practice alongside her teaching role. In September 2025 she will begin an MA in Fine Art.
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How did your background in textile art influence your exploration of memory and legacy in your work?

My practice spans a variety of mediums, but the central theme that runs through all my work is memory. I am fascinated by how relationships shape our understanding of ourselves and how personal and collective histories inform our sense of identity. As a multi-disciplinary artist, I choose materials that resonate with the themes I explore. Textiles, in particular, offer a tactile quality that feels inherently connected to human presence, care, and time. These materials often carry the weight of stories, traces of wear, and memories from those who handled them before. In this way, textiles provide a poignant vehicle for investigating memory – they hold the imprints of life.

The theme of generational resilience is a central part of your practice. How do you feel this is expressed through the materials you use, such as fabrics and embroidery?

Materials that have already lived a life carry a unique energy of endurance. When I work with old clothing or embroidered linens, I feel a connection to something that has outlived its original function. These materials reflect domestic histories and the often-unseen labour of (mostly) women – the quiet strength it takes to care, preserve, and create beauty despite limitations.
Embroidery itself is a slow, patient process passed down through generations, often learned through repetition. This tradition has survived despite being undervalued, yet it continues to hold space in both culture and personal experience. I was deeply moved by Threads of Life by Clare Hunter, which illuminates how embroidery has historically been a form of resistance. By repurposing and layering fragments of these materials, I’m not just reimagining their visual stories, but also honouring the resilience of those who wore, stitched, and preserved them. It becomes an act of remembrance and a celebration of the endurance of care across generations.

Leanne Violet | Texture Experiment | 2024

The pansy, used in your piece “Love in Idleness,” symbolizes thought and remembrance. Could you tell us about the significance of this flower in your work, and how the all-seeing eye fits into this symbolism?

The pansy has long been associated with remembrance and thoughtfulness. In Love in Idleness, it became the perfect motif to anchor the piece. Its name, derived from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, speaks to both emotional vulnerability and enchantment. The pansy is also known as “Heartsease” in herbal medicine, a remedy for cardiovascular issues, symbolising the healing power of care and connection.
I am drawn to the pansy’s ability to carry such weight despite its delicate nature. For me, Love in Idleness isn’t about inactivity but about a form of love where stillness becomes a kind of presence. It represents the comfort of simply being with someone – where no performance is needed and quiet companionship becomes restorative.
In this piece, the pansy represents moments of quiet reflection, much like the way memory works – soft, layered, and persistent. The all-seeing eye introduces a sense of watchfulness, but not in an intrusive or sinister way. It evokes gentle, continuous emotional attentiveness – suggesting the presence of someone who sees and remembers even when we are not aware of it. The pairing of the pansy with the eye creates a dynamic between reflection and observation, between being seen and seeing. Because to be seen, in this context, is to be loved.

Your work often revolves around the idea of quiet rituals of care. How do you see these rituals being represented in the more intricate labour of needlework versus the themes of emotional idleness?

The tension between slow, labour-intensive work and themes of idleness is central to this project. The type of love I am exploring in this project is one rooted in stillness, quiet, and comfort; it is built over time, through small, consistent acts of care. The needlework becomes a metaphor for this: each stitch is an act of attention, a quiet offering that gradually contributes to a larger picture.
Embroidery’s rhythm and repetition reflect the unnoticed rituals of care that shape relationships—small acts of devotion, like stitches building up to form a bond. What may appear as stillness is, in fact, the result of layered effort: a space made safe through time, patience, and intention. These quiet acts of care, though subtle, are essential in maintaining emotional connections.

Can you walk us through the process of creating one of your textile collages? How do you decide on the scrap fabrics you use, and what role does each piece play in the overall narrative?

For this piece, I started with my scrap fabric basket, which is filled with worn-out clothing that’s no longer suitable for repair or donation. I also collect materials from local charity shops, particularly from one store that bundles random fabric scraps together. I enjoy the surprise of not knowing exactly what I’ll find in these bundles, and there’s something exciting about the unexpected quality of the materials.
I’m particularly drawn to hand-embroidered linens, which often tell quiet stories of care. I think about the people who made them – spending hours carefully stitching a tablecloth to be saved “for best,” only for it to be forgotten and sold later for a few pounds. These linens have a quiet history, and I love the idea of breathing new life into them.
My process begins with sketches and a loose sense of the composition. From there, I select fabrics that fit the colour palette forming in my mind, seeking visual interest through layering, texture, and pattern. I cut my sketch into pattern pieces, pin everything down, and start embroidering. I avoid using glue or fusible backing because they stiffen the work, preferring instead to let the fabric move naturally, allowing for a sense of motion – particularly in organic shapes like petals and leaves.
The process is slow, and it’s intentional. It’s a labour of love, worked on during lunch breaks, on the bus, or whenever I have a spare moment. The portability of the process – the gradual accumulation of time and touch – feels essential to the narrative. It mirrors the way memory forms: layered, imperfect, and deeply personal.

The contrast between intricate handcraft and emotional themes is striking in your work. How do you balance these seemingly opposing elements to create a cohesive piece?

The balance between intricate handcraft and emotional themes is crucial to my work, but I approach it in a fluid way. The craft is technical – every stitch, pattern, and fabric choice are deliberate – but it is also part of the emotional narrative, not separate from it. The meticulous nature of the needlework reflects the layered, slow-building quality of emotions like memory or love.
However, emotional themes are not always neat or linear. Memory is fragmented, and love is complex. The handcraft itself embodies these complexities – there are moments when stitches go off-course, or the fabric doesn’t behave as expected, but I embrace these ‘mistakes’ as part of the emotional truth of the work. The process is not always flawless, but that is reflective of life and relationships – love and memory.
I hope this balance conveys that both emotion and handcraft require time, care, and engagement with the process, even when it feels uncertain. This dynamic allows me to explore how emotion and memory can be reconstructed and reimagined, how labour can deepen our understanding of these themes.

In “Love in Idleness,” there is a sense of introspection and watchfulness through the eye. How do you hope viewers will engage with this concept when experiencing your work?

The all-seeing eye in Love in Idleness represents a continuous, quiet awareness. It’s not an intrusive gaze but one that observes with care and presence. I hope viewers will engage with this concept by recognising that to be truly seen – without judgment or expectation – is an act of love in itself. The eye invites reflection on how being watched, in this gentle way, can serve as a form of emotional attentiveness, reminding us that we are loved even in moments when we are not aware of being noticed.
The eye also speaks to unconscious way our brains collect memories – how it watches, stores, and recalls without demanding attention. It prompts viewers to think about how observation and memory are interconnected and how quiet, unnoticed acts of care shape our relationships and histories. Through the eye, I want viewers to reflect on the act of seeing and being seen, and how these simple acts of presence and attentiveness are integral.