Leanne Violet was interviewed for the fourth (and final) edition of the Contrast publication. You can find the online exhibition version of the publication here.
You described your work as an ‘archive of memory and survival’. How do you see your pieces serving as both personal testimony and collective history?
Although my practice spans a range of mediums, memory is the thread that ties it together. I see each piece as a layered narrative, holding both personal and collective histories. When I choose scrap fabrics or hand-embroidered linens, it’s not just for their visual appeal it’s their stories too – these materials have already lived. They bear marks, wear, and stories of their own. Stitching into them feels like a quiet act of remembrance – not only of my experiences but of those who cared for and preserved these textiles before me. It’s a way of honouring endurance and adding another chapter to their story.
In what ways do you see your practice as a form of activism or resistance?
Textile work, especially the kind traditionally undertaken by women, has long been undervalued and excluded from the realm of ‘high’ art. Yet so much of what we understand about our history is preserved in fabric, as a relatively accessible, widely practiced art form.
By working with domestic textiles and embracing slow, manual processes, I’m resisting capitalist values that prioritise speed, productivity, and disposability. It’s a way of reclaiming time and care as powerful, subversive tools.
Reading Clare Hunter’s Threads of Life was pivotal for me – it taught me so much about embroidery’s long history as protest, testimony, and remembrance. It challenges the idea of what is ‘important’ and argues that repair, maintenance, and emotional labour are radical acts. My work is a quiet but insistent political gesture: it honours overlooked histories, celebrates women’s labour, and pushes back against systems built on overconsumption and trend cycles.
How do you choose which materials or mediums are best suited for each work or concept?
Teaching art means I’m constantly exposed to new materials, often through my students, who are always showing me different ways of working. While my earlier practice focused on photography and painting, I’ve recently felt pulled toward textiles. It just feels right, especially when exploring themes like care and tenderness – fabric carries those emotions so well. I source most materials from scrap bundles in charity shops or garments too worn to donate or repair. I’m especially drawn to hand-embroidered linens – handkerchiefs, tray cloths, vanity sets – pieces that seem out of place in the modern world but were once labours of love. I hope through my artwork I can get them back out into the world to be viewed and appreciated again.
Can you take us through your creative process – from the start to the finish? How do you conceptualise each piece you make?
Everything starts with an idea, usually followed by a period of research – reading, gathering references, and looking at how other artists have approached similar themes. For Love in Idleness, I also read into the flower itself – its symbolism, colour variations, and Shakespearean references.
From there, I sketch and start pulling fabrics that match what I’m imagining. Sometimes this involves some scouting on Vinted, eBay and the local charity shops if I’m after something specific but often I have what I am looking for in a mounting collection of scrap fabrics- slowly accumulated over time. I particularly enjoy this initial phase and as I work, I consider how to reflect the themes I want to explore. Once I’ve settled on a composition, I turn the drawing into a pattern, cut out the base layers, and pin everything in place. I’ve learnt not to use glue or backing – it stiffens the fabric and makes stitching harder – so I work carefully around the pins. The stitching and layering then happens gradually, in quiet moments – on the bus, on my lunch break, over a cup of coffee with a friend. That slowness is important. It echoes the way memory forms and love grows: slowly, steadily, over time.
How do you hope that viewers will engage with the contrasts in Love in Idleness (2025) and your work more broadly?
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.
What does ‘connection’ mean to you at this point in your career? Connection to materials, or to history or to the audience?
Connection, to me, is about recognising shared threads – emotional, historical, or material. It might be a vintage fabric that reminds someone of a family member, or a colour palette that sparks a memory. These subtle moments of recognition are where I think true connection lies. Much of my undergraduate work explored the theme of connection particularly around how we struggle without it.
Connection is also about emotional resonance – even if the viewer doesn’t know the full story behind a piece, I hope it feels familiar in some quiet, comforting way. That sense of shared experience is central to what I am aiming to do.
Where do you see your artistic practice in the next ten years? Are there any projects you’d like to share with us?
In ten years, I hope I’m still creating work that feels meaningful. I’d love to move into larger-scale installations, especially ones that incorporate community-sourced materials or shared narratives. I hope to get the opportunity to show my work at exhibition and to collaborate on more publication opportunities like this.
Right now, I’m focusing on carving out time for my practice alongside teaching, and I’m excited to be starting a Master’s in Fine Art this September.
The best way to keep up to date with my practice is on Instagram @leanneviolet.art where I post regular blog posts on my stories, send me a message to be added to my close friends list where I post a daily “makers diary,”