There’s a particular thrill in thrifting—the moment you stumble across something unexpected, something that feels like it was waiting just for you to be appreciated. On a recent wander through Oakland’s Chinatown, tucked between stacks of forgotten frames and faded prints, I found a piece that caught my eye: a framed Erica Wilson embroidery on canvas.
Often called the “Julia Child of needlework,” Wilson brought a modern sensibility to a centuries‑old craft during the 1960s and 70s. The piece I discovered, likely stitched between 1968 and 1976, carries an unmistakable charm: sbtle colors and shapes, whimsical motifs, and a sense of humor that makes it as delightful today as it must have been decades ago.
In person, the embroidery is endearing. It doesn’t take itself too seriously. Which is exactly why it feels perfectly at home in my living room, where been curating a “found object” aesthetic that leans into craft, nature, and a touch of nostalgia. Set against the bay views and redwoods of the Berkeley Hills, the embroidery adds a touch of playfulness to the room.
What fascinates me most is the journey of the object itself. Once carefully stitched by hand, perhaps proudly displayed in someone’s home, it eventually made its way to a thrift store shelf, waiting to be rediscovered. Now, decades later, it’s part of my own story, layered into the textures of my space. That’s the magic of found art—it carries not only the artist’s vision but also the invisible histories of the people who lived with it before.
In a world where so much is mass‑produced, there’s something deeply satisfying about giving new life to a handmade piece from another era. Erica Wilson’s embroidery may be vintage, but it feels timeless: a small, humorous, and heartfelt reminder that creativity endures, even when tucked away in the corners of a thrift shop.
