Kindred Threads in Embroidery, Old Turkish Attire and Calligraphy

Recently I discovered kindred threads between Greek and Romanian embroidery and marveled at old Turkish attire and Arabic calligraphy. My daughter invited me to attend the Threads of Tradition: Turks, Turbans and Artistic Innovation exhibition curated by Professor Raita Steyn from the University of Pretoria, with a live calligraphy demonstration by Master Refik Carikci.

Kindred Threads between Greek and Romanian Embroidery

When my daughter showed me the exhibition poster I was expecting-and looking forward to-old Turkish costumes of Istanbul. Given that my upcoming historical fiction tetralogy 🙂 deals with medieval Transylvania, Moldavia and Wallachia, having a Turkish character and placing one thread of my story in an Ottoman palace were obvious choices and, oh, what joys. Therefore I dressed in my inherited Romanian blouse, ia, to attend this exhibition.

Not little was my surprise when I discovered a similar embroidery displayed among drawings of old Turkish costumes by 19th century watercolorist Jean Brindesi and calligraphy creations by contemporary Master Refik Carikci.

How could this be?

Red and black threads are common in the ancient woven traditions of both Greek and Romanian needlework, giving the designs a sound foundation in shared symbolism.

Black, the color of earth, grounds the wearer in protection, strength, and ancestral reverence while red, the color of blood and life, infuses these pieces with vitality, courage, and love. Both designs are supported by embroidered patterns such as diamonds and crisscrosses, each with a deep meaning. For example, the diamond symbolizes valleys and mountain peaks: its plunging V-shapes inspire fertility, mystery, and the hidden secrets of nature, while its peaks ^ like mountain summits stand for strength and ambition. An age-old representation of strength, power, and vitality, the ram’s horns give the garment defensive energy, protecting the wearer from harm.

Certain designs, like the cross, are often embroidered near the chest to protect the heart and soul since they represent spiritual balance and protection. The wheat sheaf commemorates the harvest and prosperity, while the flowers woven into the cloth carry on wishes for growth and remind of the fleeting nature of life. While stars provide direction and the possibility of discovering one’s path, the sun, portrayed as a rosette or spiral, represents life, continuity, and movement. Its existence guarantees the cycle of seasons and life itself.

These symbols are revered in Greek and Romanian folk traditions, each stitch and color creating an artistic language passed down through the years and connecting the wearer with her ancestors’ knowledge, their memory and the preservation of tradition.

Because of this rich tradition, Professor Raita Steyn added the embroidered piece she started as a youngster, under the careful supervision of her Greek grandmother, as part of her dowry. With every stitch she made over the years she kept memories as vividly as the black and scarlet threads she wove into the fabric, each one bearing a symbol of life, wisdom, and protection.

According to Prof. Steyn, the threads at the bottom of her needlework were intentionally left undone, allowing an uninterrupted stream to continue flowing into the future. She stated she wished to preserve the narrative, her memories, and their unspoiled beauty from any sense of closure. This incomplete passage, a subdued homage to her grandmother’s heritage, is her way of ensuring the narrative lived on—a constant reminder that stories, like the people and symbols in them, are never truly complete.

In a way, writing is like sewing an embroidery.

When I write, I feel like I’m connecting with something much older, more powerful, and more savvy than myself. Every story ties me to a tradition more significant than my existence, like the red and black threads in Greek and Romanian embroidery. Because the art of storytelling is ageless and transcends boundaries, regardless of location or belief. And so, every story written is a thread left open to the future, much like the incomplete stitches in Professor Steyn’s embroidery. It’s how we pay respect to the past, preserve its charm, and make room for fresh voices to carry on telling the tale.

Historical Threads, Old Turkish Costumes of Istanbul designed by Jean Brindesi

It was a treat to regard the rich cultural tapestry of the Ottoman Empire, woven from countless threads of tradition and history as depicted in Turkish attire.

The Threads of Tradition: Turks, Turbans and Artistic Innovation exhibition curated by Prof. Raita Steyn included copies of Jean Brindesi’s paintings from late Prof. Benjamin Hendrickx’s collection.

Prof. Benjamin Hendrickx, who was Prof. Steyn’s father, studied Ancient History, Byzantine Civilization and History, and Oriental Philology. 19th century Italian painter Giovanni Brindesi was a left-handed watercolor painter better known for his picturesque snapshots of life in the Ottoman capital.

For this exhibition, Prof. Steyn’s painstaking work consisted of creating negatives of Brindesi’s 21 drawings depicting groups of Turks in ancient costumes, 77 individuals in total, and describing in detail the role each character portrayed had as well as including historical snippets.

Jean Brindesi’s designs of vintage Turkish costumes of Istanbul show the elegant, powerful, and hierarchical aspects of Ottoman civilization through their colorful threads and traditional attire. Every article of clothing, from the Sultan’s gilded embroidered robes to the Beys’ and Grand Viziers’ elegant dresses, intertwines with emblems of power and prestige in a symbolical language.

Much like the embroideries sown by Greek and Romanian women.

Even sword bearers, Agas, and prayer criers wore elaborate designs that were more than just a uniform; they represented the Ottoman Empire’s magnificence and Istanbul’s special status as a hub of cross-cultural interaction. These clothes showed the uniqueness and splendor of Istanbul’s fabric traditions, in contrast to the uniformity that would later define military and bureaucratic attire. The variations in colors and forms stood as emblems of a bygone world where the thread itself carried stories of status and lineage, where every embroidered flower or bold stitch of gold was a testament to the city’s unbridled artistry and enduring style.

Threads of Oriental Calligraphy Brought to Life before our Eyes

In primary school, although I was among the top of my class, I was never good at calligraphy.

As if Master Refik Carikci had painted this a thousand times (which he did, having worked in over 155 countries), I stared in wonder as the artist caligraphged a line, his hand deceptively steady-as I was about to discover, this isn’t an easy task. With each purposeful stroke a delicate groove in sand appeared to flow from his tool, like thread, creating shapes that were both art and letters.

It made me think of watching someone embroider, with every angle and curve as accurate as a needle tracing design on fabric. Like tiny knots in a tapestry, the appearance of scattered but necessary dots grounded the sweeping arcs and sharp lines. Each line in a word held meaning, linked to the one before, connecting vowels, punctuating them with consonants, in a captivating rhythm like the stitches in a garment join to produce strength.

A natural symmetry that seemed almost alive was achieved through extraordinary balance. Each curved line was in conversation with its surrounding area. It was more than just writing; it was weaving, combining ink threads to form a smooth composition.

I was intrigued by the way the calligrapher worked since each swirl and tiny border of the script had its own unique pattern. In those brief moments I understood why Arabic calligraphy has been prized for centuries as an art of balance and harmony, created with attention to detail like a woven tapestry, where each letter and space holds purpose and reverence.

In the span of two hours I have learned so much from the passion for history and tradition shown by Prof. Raita Steyn and the respect for craft of Master Refik Carikci. Thank you.