Small striped succulent plants in dark round pots on a wooden table, blurred indoor space in background Comune Labro

Labro's Embroiderers and Their Living Threadwork Tradition

Perched on a ridge above Lake Piediluco, the small stone village of Labro has long kept company with thread and needle. In kitchens warmed by wood fires, on benches shaded by wisteria, and in the cool rooms of the former convent, a quiet form of needlework has been passed down for generations. Today the stitchers of Labro are still at work, and their linen cloths, drawn-thread squares, and lace-trimmed linens carry the same motifs that their grandmothers learned as girls.

For visitors arriving from the other side of the world, the trip to this medieval village can seem like a long leap. Yet anyone who has sat through a Saturday meeting of an Australian embroidery guild, or watched a textile circle set up its hoops in a community hall in Adelaide or Hobart, will recognise something familiar in Labro. The patterns differ, the threads come from different suppliers, and the light through the window falls on different trees, but the patient turning of a needle is much the same quiet rhythm.

The Origins of the Craft in the Village

Needlework reached Labro along the same paths that carried pilgrims and traders through central Italy. Convent schools in nearby Umbria taught girls a particular kind of counted stitch, drawn-thread work, and crochet-edged trimming that became known locally as punto Labro. Families passed patterns from mother to daughter, often written on scrap paper kept in tin boxes alongside thimbles and silver needles.

By the early twentieth century, almost every household in the historic centre had at least one woman who could produce a fine tablecloth for a wedding or a christening set for a new baby. The pieces were not always meant for everyday use; many were saved as heirlooms, opened only on feast days or when company arrived. A bridal trousseau in those years might include a dozen items, each stitched by hand over many months.

Element Traditional Labro Piece Australian Hand-Stitched Equivalent
Base fabric Bleached home-spun linen Linen or aida bought at a specialty shop
Typical stitches Punto antico, drawn thread, punto in aria Hardanger, cross stitch, needlepoint
Main motifs Stylised olive branches, lake reeds, heraldic urns Native flora — flannel flower, wattle, banksia
Finishing edges Hand-crocheted border with picots Buttonhole, corded, or tatted edging
Use Heirloom trousseau or wedding gift Guild challenge piece, exhibition entry, christening gift

From Crib Sheets to Display Pieces

The early training of a stitcher in Labro began young, often with a simple square of linen marked off in pencil. Children learned even-weave tension before they were allowed near the finer cloths. Mothers and aunts counted the stitches aloud to keep rhythm, and a child who kept her threads tidy was permitted to graduate to a handkerchief or a small pillow cover.

These training cloths were pragmatic objects. They taught the eye to follow a chart and the hand to keep stitches even. Many survived only because they were eventually framed and hung on farmhouse walls, where the smoke of long winters coloured them into soft ochres and greys. Some ended up in the village museum or in the sacristy of the church, where they sit today behind glass.

A similar progression can be traced in Australian needle circles. Beginners at a workshop in Ballarat or Perth usually start on aida with a single colour, moving to counted thread after a few projects. The end use of those starter cloths is much the same: a cushion cover, a tote bag, or a small wall piece gifted to a grandchild.

The Women Who Carried the Stitches

The continuity of Labro's needlework rests almost entirely on women. Through wars, migrations, and the slow emptying of many hill villages, the stitching groups held their ground. In the 1970s, when younger women began moving to Rome or Milan for work, several older practitioners kept the patterns alive by teaching summer visitors and by sending cloths to relatives abroad.

Today the active group in Labro numbers fewer than a dozen regular stitchers, most of them retired. They meet in a room above a small shop near the main gate, where the windows look out over the lake and the only sounds are the click of bobbins and the occasional kettle. The youngest member is in her forties; she learned from her mother, who is in her eighties and still contributes a row of stitches each week.

In Australia the picture is different but the dynamic is familiar. Guild branches in regional centres often find their membership skews older, even as younger stitchers join through social media and online classes. Both communities face the same question of how to pass a slow, hand-built craft to people who live fast lives.

Stitches That Mirror the Landscape

Labro's patterns are unusually tied to the surrounding countryside. A recurring motif is the olive branch, drawn in a single dense line of stem stitch that resembles the gnarled trunks visible just below the village walls. Another favourite is the tall slender reeds that fringe Lake Piediluco, stitched as paired uprights with a tiny cross at their tops.

Seasonal pieces record the church calendar. White cloths, almost free of colour, appear for Easter; deeper reds and golds mark Christmas and the village's patron festival in August. Every few years the group collaborates on a large hanging for the church, each woman taking responsibility for a panel, with the seams disguised by clever stitch choices.

The way Australian textile artists record landscape often differs in subject but is similar in approach. A stitcher working on a Warrumbungle landscape panel, or a coastal scene in Western Australia, will also reach for native motifs and seasonal palettes. The craft of translating land into thread is a quiet shared language.

Workshops and Visiting the Stitchers

The embroiderers of Labro open their doors to visitors on summer afternoons, and by appointment through the rest of the year. A visit usually begins with a short walk through the historic centre, with stops to admire stitched items displayed in the church of San Nicola and in the small civic museum. Then the group gathers for tea, and stitches are demonstrated in sequence: how to draw threads cleanly, how to keep a hem even, and how to finish a piece with a hand-crocheted border.

Practical bits visitors often want to know:

For Australians planning a trip, the village is reached via Rome's main stations and a regional coach, and many stitchers combine the visit with a wider tour of Umbria and Lazio.

Where Labro's Work Sits in the Wider World

Compared to the better-known Italian needle traditions, Labro sits in a peculiar position. It is too small and too quiet to produce the volume of Assisi or Burano, but its pieces carry a particular clarity that collectors prize. The floss is finer, the colour range narrower, and the patterns more architectural than the elaborate Venetian laces of the lagoon.

This quiet profile mirrors how many regional Australian craft groups operate. Rather than chasing a national market, they sustain themselves through local exhibitions, school visits, and word of mouth. Both rely on the slow accumulation of reputation rather than a single breakout event or a viral moment.

Where they differ is in audience. Italian heritage needlework often travels through family and church networks that span generations. Australian embroidery, by contrast, frequently finds new life through online platforms: an Instagram post of a finished hoop, a pattern on Etsy, or a class link sent through a regional guild newsletter.

Bringing the Tradition to a New Generation

Efforts to keep the craft alive in Labro now include short residencies for younger textile artists, joint exhibitions with school groups from Rieti, and a small online shop shipping cushion covers and sachets across Europe. A documentary team visited in 2023 and the resulting short film has brought the group several new enquiries from outside Italy.

Things that help new stitchers stay engaged:

For an Australian visitor who stitches, the most useful entry point is usually the summer workshop season, paired with a slow walk through the village lanes and an unhurried evening meal at one of the small family-run trattorias below the walls. A notebook, a spare needle, and the patience to count threads in another language are the only supplies worth packing.

A cloth worked in Labro is rarely loud. The colours stay close to bone, ivory, and the soft green of olive leaves. The stitches sit evenly, almost mathematically, on fabric pulled taut by hand. A close look often reveals where one stitcher handed the hoop to another, sometimes across decades. The group's aim now is steady: a few more young hands, one finished starter square each season, and the patterns still moving from one kitchen table to the next.