Lacing the Columbia Gorge Together

I didn’t expect to spend my afternoon making lace.

The museum lobby was quiet except for the sound of conversation and thread suspended in air—a fitting introduction to Punto in Aria, or "stitches in the air," the sixteenth-century Italian lace-making technique being taught that afternoon. Around a handful of round tables, strangers worked patiently on small triangles no larger than a hand. No one seemed hurried. There wasn’t a product to buy or a deadline to meet. Just thread, patience, and people willing to learn something that had nearly disappeared.

Exactly how I wanted to spend my day off.

I drove an hour and a half from Forest Grove to visit the Columbia Gorge Museum, expecting to leave inspired by its exhibits. Instead, I found myself thinking most about what was happening in the lobby.

The museum's Lacing Communities Together project, inspired by Australian lace artist Maggie Hensel-Brown, invites visitors to create individual lace triangles that will eventually become one collaborative installation. Executive Director Lou Palermo explained that the project honors the anonymous makers whose work filled museums, churches, and royal wardrobes while their names quietly disappeared from history.

We often describe lace as delicate.

We rarely describe it as labor.

After spending several hours on my own triangle, I finally lifted it from the pattern. It fit neatly into the palm of my hand. I was surprised by how satisfying that small accomplishment felt. More than anything, I was amazed by the patience it demanded. Every stitch required attention. Every mistake asked to be corrected before moving forward. It wasn't difficult because the technique was complicated—it was difficult because it refused to be rushed.

Long before factories could imitate it, lace was one of the most expensive textiles in the world—not because thread was rare, but because human time was.

That's the kind of luxury I'm interested in.

Not luxury as exclusivity.

Luxury as attention.

Objects whose value grows the more you understand how they were made.

When someone picks up a garment or a cushion from Harry's Room, I don't just hope they notice the fabric or the design. I hope they recognize the hours behind every decision—the sourcing, the stitching, the revisions, the care. The price reflects far more than the materials. It reflects the human hands that transformed them into something meant to endure.

The afternoon also reminded me of something I return to often.

History remembers patrons.

It remembers collectors.

It remembers kings.

It rarely remembers makers.

Perhaps that's why projects like this matter. They give today's makers a place beside yesterday's. They remind us that every object we admire began as someone quietly choosing to make one stitch after another.

Before I left, I looked back across the tables.

Dozens of small triangles.

Each one ordinary on its own.

Together, they become something impossible for one person to make alone.

Maybe that's what heritage has always looked like—not a masterpiece created by a single genius, but thousands of careful hands, each contributing a small piece to something that will outlive them.

Lacing Communities Together project at the Columbia Gorge Museum. July 7th, 2026

Columbia Gorge Museum

990 SW Rock Creek Drive, 

Stevenson, WA  98648

Open 10:00AM to 5:00PM 7 Days a Week