How Stitching Became a Meditative Practice for Susan Taylor Brown

In this interview for our Arts to Hearts project, we delve into the creative world of Susan Taylor Brown, a fibre artist based in the Santa Cruz Mountains of California. Formerly a writer and educator, Susan found her creative voice through the tactile medium of fibre art, creating her signature “Wildscapes”—hand-stitched, textural landscapes that invite viewers to pause, breathe, and reconnect with the natural world.

In our conversation, she shares how transforming a barren garden into a thriving ecosystem sparked her creative journey, the meditative process of stitching French knots, and how her past experiences with at-risk youth influenced her art-making approach. Through her story, we learn about the power of intuition, the healing nature of creativity, and the importance of taking the process over perfection.

Susan Taylor Brown is a featured artist in our book, “101 ArtBook – Nature Edition” You can explore her journey and the stories of other artists by purchasing the book here:

https://shop.artstoheartsproject.com/products/the-creative-process-book

Texture is the heart of my work. I stitch by feel, building layered landscapes that reflect the rhythms of the earth and the emotional terrain of being human. I don’t plan my compositions. Instead, I follow the fibres and trust the process. Like a garden, it grows slowly and organically in its own time. I came to fibre art after years of writing and teaching. Those experiences taught me how much transformation begins in the unseen, in the small and quiet moments, when you find the right word. When a student starts to step into their light. My art mirrors that truth. Each knot is a seed. Each thread is a root. Together, they create a place to rest, reflect, and remember our connection to the natural world and ourselves.

1.  Susan, you describe your creative spark as beginning in the soil—how did the transformation of your garden awaken your inner artist?

The spark didn’t come from a lifelong dream of being an artist. I wasn’t one of those kids who were always drawing or painting. My art was always made with words. For a long time, I truly believed I couldn’t do anything visual. So when it happened, it didn’t come from inspiration. It came from disorientation. I had stopped writing and was drifting, a little lost. Then we moved from the city to the country. To a rundown house and a half-acre of absolutely dead dirt. It was truly lifeless. Bone dry. Compacted. I couldn’t even find a single worm. The soil looked like how I felt: depleted and empty, waiting for something more.

I don’t plan my compositions. Instead, I follow the fibers and trust the process. Like a garden, it grows slowly, organically, and in its own time.

Susan Taylor Brown

2.    What is it about French knots that continues to capture your imagination and serve as the heart of your Wildscapes?      

There’s something meditative and grounding about making French knots. Each one is a tiny pause, a small moment of intention. When I first started stitching, it was the one stitch I remembered best from childhood. I don’t aim for perfect French knots. The more imperfect, the better. Trying to cover up some I didn’t like led to the first hill of knots that became my first Wildscape. Over time, French knots have become foundational to how I build my work. They give me time and space to pause and ponder the growth of a piece.

Different fibres create different knots, and each variation forms a new terrain. Since I don’t plan my compositions, French knots let me respond intuitively as the piece evolves. One knot leads to another. One texture suggests the next. What captivates me most is how such a small gesture, a thread twist, can hold so much presence. They remind me of seeds. In my work, they are the beginning of everything.

3.   Can you tell us about the connection between stitching and your past experiences working with at-risk youth?

I wasn’t trained as a teacher, so stepping into a lockup facility to teach poetry to at-risk youth was terrifying. Those kids carried so much anger and pain, and I felt completely unqualified to help them. I’d go in with a plan, only to throw it out five minutes later because someone had a bad day, there was tension in the room, or the guards were hovering and making everyone uneasy. Sometimes they didn’t like me. Sometimes I said the wrong thing. I made a lot of mistakes.

And even though I felt like I was constantly failing, I kept showing up. And that’s the same energy I bring to my stitching now. I’m not trained as an artist. I never know what I’m doing when I begin a new piece. I follow my instincts. I make many mistakes, tear things out, redo sections, and try again. Some things can’t be fixed. I have to let them go and find a new way forward. Working with those kids taught me to be flexible, to listen deeply, and to stay present even when things felt messy or uncertain. That’s exactly what my art asks of me now. It’s not about control. It’s about connection. It’s about holding space for the process, however imperfect.

4. You work so intuitively—how do you know when a piece is finished or wants to grow further?  

Since I don’t plan my work, the piece tells me where to go as I stitch. It’s a conversation, not a map. I add a cluster of knots, then step back and listen. I change fibres or colours or both. I might shift direction entirely or repeatedly return to the same area until it feels right. Knowing when it’s finished is less about logic and more about feeling. A sense of quiet settles over the piece—a stillness. If I keep returning to it and nothing calls me to change or add, then I know it’s complete. But sometimes a piece resists that stillness. I’ll think I’m done, and then days later, I’ll walk past it and feel a tug and restlessness. That’s when I know it still wants to grow. I try not to force it. I stay open and let the work lead me.

Each knot is a seed. Each thread is a root. Together they create a place to rest, to reflect, to remember our connection to the natural world—and to ourselves.

Susan Taylor Brown

5.  Texture and natural materials play a significant role in your work—how do you source or choose what to include?  

I have a soft spot for stitching with hand-dyed wools, especially the ones I buy from small independent dyers on Etsy. I’m always scouting online for discontinued novelty yarns with lumps, loops, or unpredictable textures. They add movement and surprise. Sometimes I grab jute, raffia, or unknown fibres that have been gifted or hanging around in my studio for years. If I can get it through a needle, I’ll probably try to stitch with it. And if I can’t, and I’m in love with the texture, I’ll find another way to include it. I’m always collecting. Touching. Trusting. I don’t plan what to use ahead of time.

I pull from what’s around me and let my fingers decide. If a material makes me want to reach out and touch it or reminds me of something I’d find on a walk through the woods or tucked beneath a patch of moss, then I know it belongs. Natural materials often call to me because they carry a kind of honesty. They remind me of bark or lichen or tangled roots. I want my work to feel grounded in the real world, and using materials from the earth helps me stay connected. But in the end, it’s not really about what something is. It’s about what it evokes. I let the materials lead. I find a way to work it in if it feels alive in my fingers. The materials don’t just support the work. They help shape it, emotionally and visually. They become part of the conversation.

6.  Your pieces feel meditative and healing—how do you hope people feel when they experience your Wildscapes?  

One of the best compliments I can receive is that someone feels something when they view one of my Wildscapes. I don’t create from a place of trying to impress. I create from a place of wanting to connect. When someone looks at one of my pieces, I hope they feel invited to pause, breathe, and be with it for a moment. The textures are a big part of that. They draw people in, almost like the work is asking to be touched, even if only with the eyes.

I want the viewer to feel grounded, like they’ve entered a quiet, natural place—somewhere that makes them slow down and remember what it feels like to be present. I don’t tell people what to feel, but I hope my work allows them to feel whatever they need—comfort, curiosity, nostalgia, or calm. I believe the energy I pour into each piece, stitch by stitch, is something they can sense, even if they don’t have words for it.

Susan Taylor Brown’s artwork is a reflection of the healing and transformative power of nature and creativity. Her Wildscapes, built upon layers of French knots and natural fibres, serve as tactile invitations to reconnect with the earth and ourselves. Through her journey—from a writer and educator to a fibre artist—she demonstrates the importance of embracing one’s instincts, allowing art to evolve organically, and finding beauty in imperfection. Her work reflects the rhythms of the natural world and offers a space for viewers to pause, reflect, and find solace in the quiet language of texture and thread.

To learn more about Susan, click the following links to visit her profile.

Arts to Hearts Project is a global media, publishing, and education company for
Artists & Creatives: An international audience will see your work of art, patrons, collectors, gallerists, and fellow artists: access exclusive publishing opportunities and over 1,000 resources to grow your career and connect with like-minded creatives worldwide. Click here to learn about our open calls.