Subversive Stitches Needlework As Activism in Autralian Feminist Art of The 1970

ANU Press
Chapter Title: Subversive stitches: Needlework as activism in Australian feminist art of

the 1970s
Chapter Author(s): Elizabeth Emery
Book Title: Everyday Revolutions

Book Subtitle: Remaking Gender, Sexuality and Culture in 1970s Australia
Book Editor(s): Michelle Arrow, Angela Woollacott
Published by: ANU Press. (2019)
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CHAPTER 6
Subversive stitches:
Needlework as activism
in Australian feminist art
of the 1970s
Elizabeth Emery
Needlework is herstory.1
The 1970s saw a flourishing of interest in needlework as an activist

material within feminist visual arts practice. Ridiculed and undervalued
within the discourse of male-centred visual arts, needlework was
reimagined for its limitless possibilities by feminist artists, ushering in an
era of experimentation with formerly neglected materials. For feminist
artists, needlework signified the despised domestic feminine, while
simultaneously representing women’s resistance to and subversion of male
dominance. Needlework was a reminder of women’s oppression under
patriarchy but, concurrently, needlework carried with it its own culture,
specific to women’s her-story. In an era when women’s liberation critiqued
the domestic as oppressive to women’s lives, feminist artists working with
needlework saw a radical possibility in bringing attention to the domestic
as not simply a site of oppression, but of creativity. This chapter discusses
the emergence of feminist needlework in the 1970s and its relationship
to the burgeoning politics of second-wave feminism, using the Sydney-
based Women’s Domestic Needlework Group (1976–80) as a case study.
Particular attention is given to artwork produced by feminist artist
1 Slogan from screenprinted poster, Needlework is Herstory, Marie McMahon, Earthworks Poster
Collective, screenprint, 1976.
103
Everyday Revolutions
Frances Phoenix (nee Budden),2 a founding member of the Women’s

Domestic Needlework Group, whose contribution to the development
and archiving of feminist needlework in Australia has been immense.3
While the Women’s Domestic Needlework Group was first and foremost
a collective, this chapter primarily refers to the work and writing of Phoenix
and Marie McMahon as two of the most active members of the group.
Their writing on the topic of feminist needlework, published in various
feminist publications during the 1970s and 1980s, has been extremely
valuable to the building of a history of Australian feminist needlework.
No great women artists

In her 1971 essay, the feminist art historian Linda Nochlin posed the
question, ‘Why have there been no great women artists?’4 Nochlin’s
question became one of the key motivations for feminist analysis of the
gendered hierarchies within visual arts discourse. In her essay, Nochlin
argues that the historical idea of ‘great art’ and ‘artistic genius’ were
thoroughly gendered male through institutions that enforced patriarchal
ideology. Nochlin argued that it is not that women, as feminine subjects,
are naturally lacking in the ability to produce great art, as for centuries
patriarchal culture had claimed. Rather, ideologies of femininity confined
women to the private domestic sphere, thereby segregating women from
participating in the arts by their marginalisation from male-defined spaces
of art production.5 The ideology of ‘great art’ was based almost exclusively
on a male-centred, Western, grand narrative of history, a history that
was exclusionary to women and other marginalised groups. As Nochlin
argued, it was women’s lack of access to education, knowledge and certain
institutions that prohibited them from creating art in the same sphere as
male artists, rather than an essentialist notion of women’s ‘nature’ being
somehow deficient in creativity:
2 In this chapter, I use Frances’s chosen name of Phoenix. Her name also appears in various
documents of her art and writing under her birth name Frances Budden.
3 The legacy of Frances Phoenix’s contribution to the devlopment and archiving of feminist
needlework, and Australian feminist art more broadly, was immense. Phoenix’s death in 2017 has
been a profound loss to this history, and I here pay acknowledgement to her profound contribution
to the discourse of Australian feminist needlework, and beyond.
4 Linda Nochlin, ‘Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists’, in Women, Art and Power,
ed. Linda Nochlin (New York: Harper and Row, 1988).
5 Ibid., 150.
104
6. Subversive stitches
The fault, dear brothers, lies not in our stars, our hormones,
our menstrual cycles or our empty internal spaces, but in our
institutions and our education—education understood to include
everything that happens to us from the moment we enter this
world of meaningful symbols, signs and signals.6
Feminist analysis of the visual arts encouraged women to understand

women’s absence from the history of art, not as a failure of women, but as
a sign of sexist culture itself. In addressing the inherent sexism of women’s
exclusion from the grand narrative of Western art, the objective of a feminist
art was to challenge the male-dominated fields of painting and sculpture,
and to reclaim forgotten female artists from the periphery of arts history.7
Feminist art criticism aimed to make women visible within the historical
canon of art and, by extension, to further generate a new feminist culture
of art-making beyond the discourse of male-centred art production.
The category of the domestic was seen as one such avenue of exploration
that could be used in the building of a new culture of feminist art,
which referred to the history of women’s lives, while also signifying
women’s resistance to male domination. Importantly, the category of the
domestic was largely divorced from a male presence, thereby making it
an ideal subject matter for feminist inquiry into women’s history and
lived experience.8 The exploration of the domestic in feminist art gave
representational form to the feminist ethos of ‘the personal is political’,
by making visible the connection between the personal, lived experience
and the political sphere. Through making the domestic visible in visual
art, feminist art of the 1970s transformed the abject domestic space into
a wholly political space; it politicised the domestic sphere as a signifier of
women’s lived experience.
In her influential text The Subversive Stitch, Rozsika Parker argues that
needlework has been one of the most compelling signifiers of the historical
relationship between women and the domestic sphere. Parker chronicled
how needlework was used as a means of indoctrinating women and girls
into the European feminine ideal, to uphold the ideology of femininity and
domesticity.9 The gendering of European needlework as a feminine craft
6 Ibid.
7 Griselda Pollock, Differencing the Canon: Feminist Desire and the Writing of Art’s Histories
(London: Routledge, 1999), 5.
8 Janis Jeffries, ‘Crocheted Strategies: Women Crafting Their Own Communities’, Textile: Cloth
and Culture 14, no. 1 (2016): 17, doi.org/10.1080/14759756.2016.1142788.
9 Rozsika Parker, The Subversive Stitch (London: Women’s Press Ltd, 1984).
105
has its origins as far back as the 1500s, when embroidery and other textile
crafts began to be equated with the work of women. By the beginning
of the eighteenth century, needlework became thoroughly gendered
feminine, and it was subsequently defined in relationship to the domestic,
in contrast with the public sphere of masculine arts.10 Needlework was
used to enforce the ideology of femininity by equating needlework crafts
with ‘natural’ feminine qualities. However, while needlework was used to
enforce the ideology of femininity, it also had the capacity to be used by
women for their own subversive purposes. While needlework was used to
contain women within the ideology of femininity, women in turn used
needlework to communicate covertly in ways undetectable by patriarchal
culture.11
It was this tension, between patriarchal domination and women’s
resistance to it, that made needlework an appropriate material to feminist
artists seeking new ways to represent the politics of second-wave feminism,
with particular reference to women’s relationship to the domestic.
Needlework, with its historical associations with women’s passivity under
patriarchy, was laden with reference to the lived experiences of women in
the domestic.12 Feminist needlework drew upon the abject associations
of women’s needlework crafts and its culturally maligned status within
grand narratives of art, to create a critical discourse surrounding the
domestic feminine.
Feminist needlework was a reflection of second-wave feminism’s larger
critique of the oppressiveness of the domestic. However, feminist artists
using needlework did not perceive needlework as only a source of female
subordination. Rather, needlework was positioned as a source of women’s
creativity and knowledge produced within the oppressive conditions of
the domestic.13 Historically associated with submissiveness, repetition
and unoriginality, needlework signified the denigration of women’s work
by male-centred culture. Utilising needlework as a feminist material
was thus fraught with contradiction, seemingly a symbol of oppression,
while also claiming to resist patriarchal domination. In addressing these
contradictions, feminist textiles historian Janis Jeffries says of the liberating
potential of using women’s domestic needlework crafts:
10 Ibid., 11.
11 Ibid.
12 Rachel Maines, ‘Fancywork: The Archaeology of Lives’, Women’s Art Forum 3, no. 4 (Winter
1974–75).
13 Jeffries, ‘Crocheted Strategies’, 17.
106
[T]he potentially radical yet problematic promotion of women’s

‘traditional’ arts in textiles and other craft related processes enabled
not only a distancing from an aesthetics of the ‘purely’ visual, but
also provided a strategy for mobilising textiles as a weapon of
resistance against an inculcated ‘feminine’ ideal.14
As Jeffries argues, needlework provided a radical departure from the

dominant visual aesthetics of media such as painting, as it drew upon an
entirely different tradition of women’s creative work. For feminist artists,
needlework seemed to transcend the boundaries of existing dominant
forms of visual art, allowing for experimentation with materials that had
long been disparaged.15 The emergence of feminist needlework in the
1970s was thus not only a material practice of art making, but also an
expression of activism that signified creative strategies of resistance.
The Women’s Domestic Needlework Group

Emerging from within the activist and artistic circles of Sydney University
in 1976, the Women’s Domestic Needlework Group (c. 1976–80) was
established by a collective of feminist artists with the aim to promote
needlework as a legitimate form of artistic production. The activities
of this group brought together the history of women’s domestic
needlework, with feminist politics, to critically explore the meaning of
women’s creative labour. Founding members of the group include Joan
Grounds, Frances Phoenix, Marie McMahon, Bernadette Krone, Kathy
Letray, Patricia McDonald, Noela Taylor and Loretta Vieceli.16 Between
1976 and the early 1980s, the Women’s Domestic Needlework Group
facilitated a range of activities that brought women together to explore
the history and materiality of needlework as an expression of feminist
activism. The strength of feminist needlework, as an activist practice
used for political resistance, can be located within the media associated
with collective organisation.17 The Women’s Domestic Needlework
Group identified needlework as a material practice that carries collectivist
meanings and associations, separate from modernist ideas of individual
14 Ibid., 17.
15 Ibid.
16 The Women’s Domestic Needlework Group, The D’oyley Show: An Exhibition of Women’s Domestic
Fancywork (Sydney: D’oyley Publications, 1979), 2.
107
creative genius. This separateness from a dominant, male-defined field

of individual art production enabled the group to utilise needlework as
a material to build collective-focused feminist politics.18
Needlework has long been practised among groups of women in such
forms as quilting bees, knitting circles, mothers’ groups and in the
creation of ritual textiles for specific cultural events. The formation of
such groups has historically been a space where needlework knowledge
is exchanged among women, creating and building a discourse of shared
textiles knowledge and traditions.19 The needlework group is a collective
space where knowledge is not owned by one, it is shared among all who
contribute. Additionally, the needlework group has throughout history
been a space for women to share personal stories, support one another and
build consciousness around issues affecting communities. The Women’s
Domestic Needlework Group can be seen to continue in this historical
lineage of women’s craft circles by facilitating a space for women to share
needlework knowledge, while simultaneously creating a platform for
feminist consciousness-raising.
Central to the objectives of the Women’s Domestic Needlework Group
was the promotion of women’s needlework crafts as a vital site of female
knowledge and women’s culture.20 Needlework, as separate from a male
arts culture, provided a discourse for women’s work and a history to draw
upon in the construction of new feminist histories of art. Asserting the
existence of this history was an entirely political act for the Women’s
Domestic Needlework Group, as it made visible the work of women made
invisible by male domination. In a 1977 issue of Lip, writing on their aims
of exploring the history of needlework, Phoenix and McMahon state:
With the belief that needlework is the women’s art, we have begun
a study which includes talking to needlewomen and collecting
‘textile evidence for the lives of women’; doilies patterns, tools
and books about the story of needlework. We have mainly worked
with domestic needlework as it reflects the aesthetic and cultural
lives of mainstream women.21
18 The Women’s Domestic Needlework Group, The D’oyley Show, 4.

20 Frances Budden and Marie McMahon, ‘The Fancywork of the Great Goddess, and other
Mainstream Women’, Lip, no. 2 (1977): 63.
21 Ibid.
108
Phoenix and McMahon identified needlework as an important signifier

for, and historical evidence of, ‘an expression of women’s creativity’.22
For Phoenix and McMahon, a focus on the creative work of ‘mainstream’
women, ‘ordinary’ women or ‘non-artists’ was critical in their investigation
as part of a feminist reappraisal of history and the absence of women’s
creativity from historical records. Phoenix and McMahon were both
influenced by the writing of Rachel Maines who, in her 1974 essay
‘Fancywork: The Archaeology of Lives’, presented one of the first feminist
evaluations of needlework.23 In ‘The Archaeology of Lives’, Maines
examines needlework as historical evidence of a women’s culture distinctly
separate from men, which could therefore provide a substantial material
culture for feminism to draw upon. Maines identified that a subversiveness
was intrinsically linked to women’s domestic needlework due to its
historical position within this separate women’s culture. For Maines,
needlework signified its own language, knowledge and discourse, which
had existed throughout history separate from a dominant patriarchal
culture. Needlework was therefore a symbol of women’s resistance:
Since men are not now and seldom have been educated in the
complex language of needlework symbology, any message
transmitted in a textile medium was almost completely safe from
falling into the wrong hands. We therefore find stunningly honest
and forthright statements in needlework, delivered to us across
space and cultural barriers on every subject from politics to sex.24
In a 1976 issue of Lip, Phoenix writes of her development of a feminist

consciousness surrounding the history of women’s domestic needlework,
which would become the basis for some of the working methods used
by the Women’s Domestic Needlework Group. This method of feminist
work combined the politics of second-wave feminism with the rich history
of women’s needlework. For Phoenix, using a domestic material such as
needlework to articulate feminist politics was not contradictory to the
politics of feminism. Phoenix argues that the feminist use of needlework
is an entirely feminist action, as it politicises the denigrated work, and
worth, of women.25 In the Lip article, Phoenix’s feminist exploration
into the history of needlework is articulated in a vivid and subversively
22 Ibid.
23 Maines, ‘Fancywork: The Archaeology of Lives’.
24 Ibid., 2.
25 Frances Budden, ‘A Note on Australian Embroidery’, Lip, no. 1 (1976): 23.
109
humorous description of some of her earliest experiments with lace and

embroidery: ‘The first doily was embroidered “Fuck Patriarchy” and the
second, “Women’s Work = Slave Labour”’.26
The doily archive

Transforming the denigrated status of women’s work was fundamental to
the aims of the Women’s Domestic Needlework Group, resulting in the
creation of an extensive archive of Australian women’s doilies. The archive
was part history project, part feminist consciousness-raising, with the core
objective of bringing public attention to the creative domestic work of
women. The doily archive project involved the collection of hundreds of
examples of lace doilies from the late nineteenth century to the late 1970s.
The archive was a celebration of the domestic needlework of women
who did not necessarily come from a visual arts context, women who
wouldn’t be considered professional artists. The doilies made by women
who had worked as domestic servants and housewives, and the gift-giving
acts of mothers and grandmothers, were shown as equal in status to the
work produced by artists in the Women’s Domestic Needlework Group.
In constructing this archive of Australian women’s doilies, the group
critiqued the arbitrary distinctions of ‘high art’, ‘low art’, ‘hobby art’
and ‘craft’ in their declaration that all women’s creative work was worthy
of examination alongside grand narratives of art.
It is important here to note that the archive focused on collecting artefacts
that were created within the specific European traditions of needlework,
the type of domestic needlework steeped in an ideology of Eurocentric
femininity. The Women’s Domestic Needlework Group also actively
acknowledged the rich culture of textiles produced by Aboriginal women,
both prior to and after colonial invasion, and further acknowledged
themselves as colonial subjects in Australian history. For members in
the group acknowledging the specific history and meaning of Aboriginal
women’s textiles was crucial to their feminist aims as a non-hierarchical,
antiracist collective. Acknowledging these issues as white women living on
Aboriginal land, the group stated in the doily archive catalogue:
26 Ibid.
110
The D’oyley Show deals primarily with the work of women of

European origin; however Aboriginal women were making baskets,
woven mats, bead and shell work, netting and string games long
before Captain Cook arrived … Like all aspects of Aboriginal
identity, this work has been subjected to systematic assault and
destruction by white society. Aboriginal handiwork and Aboriginal
life have always been interdependent. For Aboriginal people the
loss of their land has meant the breakdown of their traditional
skills. The practice of these skills is part of the struggle to maintain
Aboriginal identity.27
Beginning with its first showing in Sydney at Watters Gallery in October

of 1979, the archive travelled as The D’oyley Show: An Exhibition of Women’s
Domestic Fancywork. The D’oyley Show toured through parts of Australia
from 1979 to 1980, being exhibited in a range of galleries and feminist
spaces. Accompanying the exhibition was a catalogue book that featured
images of examples from the doily archive, along with doily patterns,
and articles written by group members on the history of needlework.
The doilies in the archive had never been exhibited publicly as ‘art’
and, as such, this was a groundbreaking achievement of the Women’s
Domestic Needlework Group; they transformed the doilies from objects
of domestic ubiquity to the status of art objects. An excerpt from the
D’oyley Show exhibition book reinforces the group’s focus on elevating
women’s domestic needlework to the status of art, while also highlighting
some of the contradictions of needlework as art:
The work in this exhibition is not revolutionary. It contains
the contradictions of work under capitalism. However, the
contradictions under which this fancywork has been produced,
the functions it has served and the beauty of the designs provide
a valuable record of women’s work for us today.28
The D’oyley Show was a document of women’s creative domestic work

produced under the conditions of capitalist patriarchy. For the Women’s
Domestic Needlework Group, the construction of the archive was a form
of feminist activism that highlighted the denigration of women’s domestic
work, and its relationship to ideologies of European femininity. However,
it is important to acknowledge that there was resistance to the celebration
of the domestic in visual art during the period of second-wave feminism,

28 Ibid., 4.
111
as it was viewed by those who critiqued its use as merely perpetuating

women’s subordinate position in society.29 A doily, with its historical and
ideological associations with women’s oppression, was viewed by some
as counterproductive to the objectives of women’s liberation. With the
politics of second-wave feminism in mind, a politics that sought to free
women from male domination, it would be reasonable to suggest that the
celebration of the material culture of domestic needlework was still deeply
tied to sexist ideology.
The intention of the Women’s Domestic Needlework Group was to
position the archive as a political document of the domestic work
of women who had been otherwise made invisible within dominant
narratives of culture.30 The feminist methodology of the group aimed to
assert that this form of women’s work was valuable to the building of
feminist consciousness, regardless of whether its production was tied to
the conditions of patriarchy. The group acknowledged the complexities of
this issue; that on the one hand needlework signified the very conditions
second-wave feminism sought to resist, but that acknowledging this
history was in itself a feminist act, as it gave validity to the largely invisible
work of women.31 The radical claim of the group was that this form
of material culture was an important document of the creative work
of women who endured under oppressive circumstances. Addressing
the invisibility of needlework in historical records, the group state in
The D’oyley Show book:
There are histories available on ‘Art Embroidery’ and other styles
of needlework produced for the use of consumption by the
church and the ruling classes. However, there has been virtually
no documentation until recently on the history of needlework
produced by middle and working class women for use in the
Australian home.32
Alison Bartlett and Margaret Henderson argue that feminist objects,

feminism’s material culture, are of great significance to how feminist
politics are read, understood and, ultimately, how they are remembered.33
Feminist objects articulate feminist politics through their materiality,

31 Ibid.
32 Ibid., 5.
33 Alison Bartlett and Margaret Henderson, eds, Things that Liberate: The Feminist Wunderkammer
(Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2013).
112
across space and time. Just as all objects do, the meaning of feminist
objects transform through their historical location, ‘their meanings
are neither fixed nor stable’.34 The majority of the doilies collected and
archived by the Women’s Domestic Needlework Group were not made
by women with feminist intentions. They were largely made as objects for
the home, as decorations, keepsakes and as tender gifts of love exchanged
within families. However, when held together in the form of an archive,
as an articulation of feminist activist work, these decorative doilies were
given new meanings as feminist material culture.
In reflecting upon the activism of the Women’s Domestic Needlework
Group, it can be argued that their activities, and the archive they produced,
were far more revolutionary than they credited themselves for at the time.
In an era when needlework was still perceived by heavily stereotyped ideas
of unoriginality, repetition and domestic submissiveness, a collective of
women elevated the domestic needlework of women to a status equal to
art being made in the contemporary moment of the 1970s. They were
not simply championing needlework as art, but arguing that it signified
an important example of women’s lived experience and unique culture.
An archival record of the lace doilies of Australian women at that time was
unprecedented. The Women’s Domestic Needlework Group were the first
to survey with seriousness this material culture. Given the group’s efforts
to archive the history of Australian women’s needlework, it is the greatest
tragedy that the entire doily archive was destroyed by fire in a Sydney
storage facility in 1985.
No goddesses, no mistresses
The abject and undervalued status of needlework was not only appealing
to feminist art for articulating the lived experience of women in relation
to the domestic, but also for challenging the very structures of hierarchy
that had excluded women from narratives of history. Needlework was
revolutionary for feminist art as it was thoroughly separate from the
arts establishment, the commercial art marketplace, the concept of male
‘genius’ and the canon of Western art. Among feminist textile artists,
needlework was considered a form of countercultural production that was
free from the associations of the commercial, male-dominated art world.35
34 Ibid., 3.
113
The real revolutionary potential of needlework as art/activism was in

the medium’s very separateness from male-centred cultural production.
Feminist needlework was radical in that it transcended these hierarchies,
and searched for less hierarchical methods of organisation.
The Women’s Domestic Needlework Group used needlework to foster
collaboration, and create networks for knowledge sharing, and rejected
hierarchical organisation to instead embrace shared participation.
The focus on collaboration enabled the dynamic of the group to avoid
following the hierarchical tendencies that were still heavily entrenched
within male-dominated visual arts in the 1970s.
The Women’s Domestic Needlework Group’s non-hierarchical methods
were, of course, not reflective of all feminist methodology during the
era of second-wave feminism. While hierarchy was entrenched within
the traditions of male-dominated art, hierarchical organisation was still
practised by feminist artists and within second-wave feminism more
broadly. Phoenix and McMahon’s involvement with the production of Judy
Chicago’s feminist art installation The Dinner Party (1979) is a revealing
example of the type of hierarchical organisation that was practised, in
contrast with how the Women’s Domestic Needlework Group operated.
When Phoenix and McMahon volunteered to assist with the creation of
Chicago’s seminal feminist artwork, the two artists became disillusioned
with what they saw as Chicago’s authoritarian approach to art making.36
Chicago’s The Dinner Party was initially premised as a collaborative project
that would bring women together in an environment of collectivism
to create an artwork celebrating the artistic achievements of women
throughout history. The Dinner Party consisted of a triangular dinner
table setting, with placemats made for 39 women of cultural significance;
Chicago’s reimagining of forgotten women of history. To construct the
large-scale installation, which comprised embroidered table-runners as
well as handmade ceramics, Chicago was assisted by a team of volunteer
women who donated their time and labour to the monumental project.
For many of the volunteers, their involvement with The Dinner Party
was initially seen as an opportunity to work collaboratively with other
feminist women, in an environment that broke away from the hierarchical
organisation of male-dominated art.37
36 Isabel Davies, ‘“The Coming Out Show” Discusses “The Dinner Party”’, Lip (1980): 48.
37 Ibid.
114
In contrast with the initial collective premise of The Dinner Party,

Phoenix and McMahon found that the project was structured hierarchically
by Chicago, with volunteers treated not as equals but as workers used
simply to bring the artwork to completion. Chicago’s authoritative
approach to collaborative art making was at ideological odds with the
anarchic, non-hierarchical politics of the Women’s Domestic Needlework
Group that Phoenix and McMahon had been fostering. The use of
needlework in The Dinner Party was further critiqued for replicating more
of a sweat shop–style production than feminist creative work.38 Those that
produced the embroidered table-runners for The Dinner Party did not
always have their physical bodies considered during the painstaking and
physically demanding work involved in its creation.
In a subversive act of defiance against Chicago’s dominant/subordinate
structure of labour, Phoenix created a small embroidery of her own.
The embroidery read, ‘No Goddesses, No Mistresses’, a play on the
anarchist slogan, ‘No God, No Master’. Phoenix’s small, subversive
embroidery critiqued what was seen by many as Chicago’s extreme use of
hierarchy, rather than employing more egalitarian methods of collaborative
work. Phoenix’s embroidery was sewn into the underside of one of
The Dinner Party’s cloth panels, a small, defiant act of rebellion within
the monumental installation. The embroidery itself was signed, not with
Phoenix’s name but instead with an emblem—an ‘A’ in a circle—a symbol
of anarchist-feminism. By using the anarchist-feminist symbol, rather
than her name, Phoenix distanced herself from association with individual
artistry. In transforming the anarchist slogan ‘No God, No Master’ into
the feminine ‘goddesses’ and ‘mistresses’, Phoenix critiqued the role of
women in creating hierarchical power structures over other women. Her
embroidered statement is a reminder that feminism is not immune from
carrying out dominance over women. Phoenix’s hidden embroidery was
eventually discovered by Chicago, removed and discarded.
The small non-hierarchical group model was seen by those who critiqued
hierarchical feminist organisation as a revolutionary alternative to large-
scale leader/follower structures. It was believed that small groups allowed
individuals to contribute to a collective aim, while also gaining personal
development, rather than performing as a single body within a larger system.
The small group format was felt to enable all feminists to contribute to the
development of feminist culture and politics by celebrating all women’s
38 Ibid., 49.
115
contributions, rather than focusing on leaders. In the essay ‘The Tyranny

of Tyranny’, Cathy Levine argues against hierarchical organisation in the
women’s movement, in favour of women working in small groups where
leadership was disbursed amongst all:
By working collectively in small numbers, the small group utilises
the various contributions of each person to their fullest, nurturing
and developing individual input, instead of dissipating it in the
competitive survival-of-the-fittest/smartest/wittiest spirit of the
large scale organisation.39
Levine’s description of the small, non-hierarchical collective is reflected

in the working methods of the Women’s Domestic Needlework Group,
based on an anarchist principle of shared collective responsibility
and a rejection of leaders.40 Here is a distinct example of contrasting
approaches to methodologies of collaborative work in feminist art during
the 1970s, with the Women’s Domestic Needlework Group representing
an embrace of shared participation, in contrast with Chicago’s reliance
on the leader/follower format. In a 1980 interview for ‘The Coming Out
Show’ on ABC radio, Phoenix and McMahon retold their experiences
working with Chicago on The Dinner Party, with Phoenix stating:
I was pleased to leave after six weeks. I was exhausted and most of
the time pretty unhappy in that environment. I didn’t find it the
supportive environment it was made out to be.41
A disobedient doily
This chapter has concentrated on an examination of the collective work
of the Women’s Domestic Needlework Group. In this final section, I turn
attention to analysis of an artwork created by Frances Phoenix in 1976,
to further illustrate the blending of feminist politics with the history of
domestic needlework. As much as Phoenix was a member in a collective,
and collective work deeply informed her feminist politics, she was also an
artist in her own right, with her artwork representing some of the most
compelling examples of feminist needlework produced during the 1970s.
39 Cathy Levine, ‘The Tyranny of Tyranny’, in Quiet Rumours, An Anarcha-Feminist Reader, ed.
Dark Star Collective (Oakland: AK Press, 2012): 77.
40 Ibid.
41 Davies, ‘“The Coming Out Show” Discusses “The Dinner Party”’, 49.
116
Figure 6.1: Kunda, Frances Phoenix (Budden), 1976, crochet doily and zip.
Source: Image reproduced with the permission of the estate of the artist. Courtesy of Sally
Cantrill.
The abject status of domestic needlework was used by Phoenix to critique

the denigrated position of women as subordinate bodies under patriarchy,
and her 1976 artwork Kunda (Figure 6.1) is a powerful articulation
of this.42 Kunda is a crochet representation of a vulva, made using a
scallop stitch method of crochet in soft pink hues of thread. A zip has
been sewn into the centre of the artwork, representing the entrance of a
vagina. In Kunda Phoenix refers to the ubiquity of the doily as a common
domestic object, but she also refers to the history of doily making as an
expression of women’s knowledge and discourse. As Maines argues, doilies
were not simply made to be decorative objects for the home, they carried
symbolic meaning often only detectable to women who understood the
42 Kunda has been exhibited with the alternate title and date Queen of Spades, 1975, in the
exhibition Unfinished Business: Perspectives on Art and Feminism, Australian Centre for Contemporary
Art, Melbourne, December 2017 – March 2018.
117
language of needlework.43 Phoenix’s appropriation of the traditional

doily aesthetic pays homage to the history of women’s doily making, as a
discourse of knowledge, not mere decoration.
Kunda refers to the subversive history of women’s domestic needlework,
but as much as it subverts it can also be seen to pervert this history,
through its explicit and unapologetic use of the vulva as central motif.
The doily as an object of ubiquitous domesticity, functional and frilly,
is made perverse in Phoenix’s gesture toward the intimacy of the sexual
body. The scalloped frilly edging along the outside of the artwork
references traditional decorative lace, while also alluding to pubic hair
and the physical shape of the vulva. In her use of vaginal iconography,
Phoenix refers to women’s relationship to the domestic space as one that
has been oppressive toward women’s identities and sexualities. However,
Phoenix’s artwork also suggests liberation from these conditions in the
subversive humour and tactility of her creation; she presents a subversive
interpretation of so-called ‘domestic bliss’.
Kunda can be described as a most feminist uncanny object, as Phoenix
uses the familiarity of feminine domesticity to unsettle and disorient the
category of the domestic feminine. In Phoenix’s Kunda the uncanny, as
a de-familiarising of the familiar, is met with a feminist revision of the
denigration of the category of feminine. Alexandra Kokoli articulates that
in the feminist uncanny:
The return of the feminine bears the mark of its imposed exile,
from which it broke free; its scars are what is uncanny and its
return against the odds is terrible. The feminist uncanny is thus
perpetually suspended between revision and revenge.44
That revision and revenge form a central theme in feminist uncanny

artwork is evident in Kunda, as an object that revises women’s subordinate
position within patriarchal culture, then taking revenge upon this
subordination by reasserting the domestic feminine in a perverse and
rebellious manifestation.
43 Maines, ‘Fancywork: The Archaeology of Lives’, 2.

44 Alexandra Kokoli, The Feminist Uncanny in Theory and Art Practice (London: Bloomsbury,
2016), 39.
118
Kunda is a disobedient doily, one that escapes its traditional place as

docile, passive object, to instead possess an unnerving and menacing
aura, as though it were in fact possessed. The unsettling appearance of
Kunda centres on Phoenix’s use of the inserted zip with its reference to
vagina, reproduction and the despised feminine. The reference to the
vulva and vagina reflects the interest of 1970s feminist art in central core
imagery. Central core imagery refers to the representation of the vulva and
vagina in art as a way to reinsert women’s experience into a phallocentric
culture where women’s bodies have been at the mercy of the male gaze.45
The dominance of the masculine phallus was challenged by the feminist
positioning of central core as a source of feminine power. The use of central
core imagery enabled a visual means for centring women’s experience, by
giving particular focus to reproduction, menstruation, motherhood and
sexuality. Jude Adams states that the power of using central core within
feminist art was that, ‘It reasserted the despised feminine’.46
However, the use of central core imagery also came under critique
within feminist debates for focusing too heavily on an essentialist view of
womanhood as linked to biological embodiment. Central core imagery
was eventually viewed by some feminist artists as problematic in what it
appeared to assume about the experience of women’s embodiment.47 This
critique of central core raised important questions about feminist claims
of womanhood as a universal experience, bringing to the centre critical
debate around essentialist ideas of womanhood. Despite its limitations,
central core imagery was still a powerful activist strategy in its time, which
made visible the despised feminine, when such subject matter was almost
entirely taboo within art.
Kunda is an artwork that potently reflects the climate of feminist politics
at the time of its production. It is very much an object of its historical
context and the politics that influenced its production. Phoenix’s use of
central core imagery makes a political subject out of the feminine body
by putting on display all of its taboo corporeality, making visible the lived
experience of the abject body. Kunda is alive with its bodily references, as
it simultaneously refers to the history of women’s subordination as well
45 Jude Adams, ‘Looking from with/in: Feminist Art Projects of the 70s’, Outskirts 29 (November
2013), www.outskirts.arts.uwa.edu.au/volumes/volume-29/adams-jude-looking-with-in.
46 Ibid.
47 Ibid.
119
as to women’s resistance to domination. Phoenix’s artwork is at once an

object of activism as much as it is an object of art; a wholly politicised
tribute to the work, bodies and histories of women.
Conclusion
Feminist needlework of the 1970s was revolutionary in its claim that
the creative work of all women was worthy of serious examination.
In elevating women’s domestic needlework to the status of art, feminist
needlework was as much an expression of activism as it was a creative
material. In its separateness from a male-centred art culture, needlework
was experienced as liberating for those feminist artists who engaged with
its history and materiality. Needlework transcended the hierarchical
boundaries of an elite art world, providing limitless possibility in its
application as a material. Needlework, like women, was an outsider.
It was its status as abject outsider that was in fact what gave needlework its
freeing quality for feminist art; like the status of women, needlework was
neglected, denigrated and treated with derision. While European ideals
of femininity had been constructed in connection with the ideology of
needlework, women in turn used the tools of this ideology to create their
own culture, subversively separate from a male-centred culture. Feminist
needlework artists continued the legacy of women’s work before them,
and located this past within the subversive stitches made in their present.
120

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ANU Press

Chapter Title: Subversive stitches: Needlework as activism in Australian feminist art of

Book Title: Everyday Revolutions

This book is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-

The 1970s saw a flourishing of interest in needlework as an activist

Frances Phoenix (nee Budden),2 a founding member of the Women’s

No great women artists

Feminist analysis of the visual arts encouraged women to understand

[T]he potentially radical yet problematic promotion of women’s

As Jeffries argues, needlework provided a radical departure from the

The Women’s Domestic Needlework Group

creative genius. This separateness from a dominant, male-defined field

18 The Women’s Domestic Needlework Group, The D’oyley Show, 4.

Phoenix and McMahon identified needlework as an important signifier

In a 1976 issue of Lip, Phoenix writes of her development of a feminist

humorous description of some of her earliest experiments with lace and

The doily archive

The D’oyley Show deals primarily with the work of women of

Beginning with its first showing in Sydney at Watters Gallery in October

The D’oyley Show was a document of women’s creative domestic work

27 The Women’s Domestic Needlework Group, The D’oyley Show, 6.

as it was viewed by those who critiqued its use as merely perpetuating

Alison Bartlett and Margaret Henderson argue that feminist objects,

29 Jeffries, ‘Crocheted Strategies’, 17.

The real revolutionary potential of needlework as art/activism was in

In contrast with the initial collective premise of The Dinner Party,

contributions, rather than focusing on leaders. In the essay ‘The Tyranny

Levine’s description of the small, non-hierarchical collective is reflected

The abject status of domestic needlework was used by Phoenix to critique

language of needlework.43 Phoenix’s appropriation of the traditional

That revision and revenge form a central theme in feminist uncanny

43 Maines, ‘Fancywork: The Archaeology of Lives’, 2.

Kunda is a disobedient doily, one that escapes its traditional place as

as to women’s resistance to domination. Phoenix’s artwork is at once an

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