23 April 2026
Artist Highlight - Nao Nagamura
Interview and Review
Nao Nagamura is a London-based textile artist working primarily with hand embroidery. Trained at the Royal School of Needlework, her practice investigates the relationship between language and perception, time, and material through slow, repetitive processes. Rooted in traditional techniques and natural materials, her work explores duration, attention, and the quiet presence of hand-making. She has contributed to the Coronation work within the Embroidery Studio at the Royal School of Needlework. She is the founder of Goodness Makes, an ongoing project connecting art, care, and sustainability.
ARTIST INTERVIEW
1. In who loves best loves longest, language is rendered through subtle white-on-white embroidery. What interests you about reducing text to a form that initially resists legibility?
I’m interested in work that isn’t immediately given, but revealed gradually through attention. The text isn’t meant to be read at once, but digested over time. Rather than delivering a fixed message, I think of the work as something completed through the viewer’s act of looking. What may first appear as almost nothing invites a slower engagement, and through that, there’s space for inward reflection.
2. Your work emphasises repetition and duration. How does the slow accumulation of stitches shape the meaning of the piece?
This work is part of my series “Our Collective Wisdom,” which gathers words encountered across literature, everyday life, and shared cultural memory. By stitching each letter slowly and repeatedly, the time of making overlaps with the time embedded in the phrase. The work becomes less of a statement and more a trace of time held in material form.
3. The phrase only becomes visible through careful attention and shifting light. How important is the viewer’s patience in completing the work?
The work isn’t complete without the viewer’s attention. Its visibility depends on light, angle, and how long someone is willing to look. I’m interested in creating a space where looking becomes active, rather than something immediate or consumable.
4. Each stitch acts as a discrete mark that gradually forms a structure. How do you think about the relationship between individual gestures and the larger text they create?
I remind myself to continue step by step, even if the end isn’t yet visible. Each stitch is a small, repeated action that takes time and effort. Through that accumulation, something larger begins to take shape. Without this kind of labour, nothing concrete is formed. I think this applies not only to making, but also to how we move through time in life.
5. The restrained palette removes colour as a primary element. What does this minimal visual language allow you to explore within the work?
By using only white, colour no longer becomes the main focus. Instead, attention shifts toward light, shadow, and the act of reading itself. The work invites a slower and more attentive way of looking.
6. Embroidery often carries associations with domestic labour and quiet craft traditions. How does your practice engage with or reinterpret this history?
The stitch I use is rooted in European samplers from the 17th to 19th centuries, where these techniques were part of everyday life. Today, many of these methods, especially reversible stitching, are rarely documented or taught. I’ve studied and adapted them through limited historical references, so the technique itself also becomes part of our collective wisdom.
7. The series explores how language can be experienced materially through time. How do thread, fabric, and stitching transform words into a tactile experience?
Textiles are soft, close to the human body and familiar to us. Hand embroidery embodies the time and physical labour of the maker. At the same time, using counted stitching rather than freehand retains a sense of anonymity. This allows the work to sit between something personal and something shared.
8. Within The Invisible Made Visible, your work foregrounds labour, time, and attention. What do you hope viewers become aware of through the quiet presence of these stitches?
I hope the work creates a moment to pause. In a fast-paced environment, it offers a chance to slow down and look more carefully, both at the work and at oneself. Rather than giving a fixed meaning, I want to leave space for individual reflection.
TIME, ATTENTION, AND THE EDGE OF VISIBILITY
Review by Chih-Yang Chen, Art Director
Nao Nagamura’s work asks very little at first. who loves best loves longest sits quietly, almost disappearing into its own surface. White thread on white fabric, no contrast, nothing to catch the eye immediately. It would be easy to miss it altogether. But that seems to be the point.
The text is there, but it doesn’t announce itself. You have to adjust your position, wait for the light to shift, spend time with it. Gradually, the words begin to emerge. Not all at once, and not completely. The work depends on that process. It doesn’t function without it. Looking becomes part of the piece rather than something separate from it.
The stitching is precise but not rigid. Each letter is built slowly, one mark at a time. You can sense the repetition, even if you don’t follow every stitch. That accumulation carries weight. Not in a dramatic way, but in how it holds time. The phrase itself feels less like something being stated and more like something that has been arrived at, through duration rather than decision.
There is also a certain distance in how the work is made. The use of counted stitching keeps the surface controlled, almost neutral. It avoids becoming expressive in an obvious way. At the same time, the labour is still present. It sits somewhere between personal and anonymous. That balance allows the text to feel shared rather than owned.
By removing colour, the work shifts attention elsewhere. Light, shadow, and surface take over. The visibility of the text changes depending on how it is approached. Nothing is fixed. This instability keeps the work active, even though it appears still.
There’s a connection to historical embroidery, but it isn’t treated as nostalgia. The techniques are carried forward, adapted, used as a way of thinking rather than simply preserving. That sense of continuity is quiet, but it’s there.
What the work offers is a pause. Not in a sentimental way, but in a practical one. It slows the pace of looking. It resists being taken in quickly. And in doing so, it opens up a space where meaning isn’t given straight away, but takes time to form.