Held Taut: On the Ancestral Connection Between Quiltmaking and Hair Braiding
So many thoughts about the craft practiced on Black scalps as I walked through a quilt exhibit in Greensboro.
My earliest memories of well-being are of adornment. One moment in particular is Muss wrestling me into an Easter dress as a toddler, then sitting me on a pillow between her knees to grease my scalp and braid my hair. It’s a scene familiar to many Black folks, a piece of our cultural heritage—like nameplates or quiltmaking.
Last weekend, I visited the Weatherspoon Museum in Greensboro to see Of Salt and Spirit: Black Quilters in the American South. The exhibit is built around the folklorist Roland L. Freeman’s decades of collecting from and building community with Black quilters across the region. Every quilt in the room was a testament to the depth of Black textile history and skill, but I kept coming back to Clancy’s Beauty Salon, quilted by Tammy McGrew.
Muss was the only quiltmaker I knew, and maybe the only one in our family. She also used to comb and braid my hair. At first, while I was asleep, until I was old enough to take the tug of the comb, her hands pulling my hair taut against my scalp.
Braiding and quilting are the same discipline, pulling taut different materials. Both begin with sectioning. Scraps cut down and set into a grid, a scalp parted into square or triangular sections with the tail of a comb, every portion guaranteed a position in the greater masterpiece being stitched before any compilation begins. Both center around a Black woman’s lap, both live or unravel on tension—stitch too loose, it puckers; too tight, the seam or the scalp tears—and both require using your eyes to learn before the knowledge transfers through your fingertips and onto whoever sits between your knees.
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Moving through the exhibit made it easy to see the connection between hair braiding and quiltmaking. Buttercup Spread, quilted by Annie Dennis in 1972 (above right), reminded me of the colorful hair bows and neat cornrows Black folks have been braiding into our hair for centuries.

This quilt by Virginia Thompson (above left) has perfect symmetry, conjuring images of the neat braid maps and bursting designs woven into both cloth and hair.



I got a bit emotional while putting this together. Seeing the lineage of it all. It’s not just the act of hair braiding or creating quilts that moves through families; sharing them does, too. Grandchildren get to spend time with their grandmothers as they make and mend the quilts, and the same can be said for hair braiding. Both practices are not just transferences of care between two people, but symbols of communal love and well-being. And they’re both sources of joy and pride.


Then there’s the shared skillset. I’m not saying that everyone who can braid can sew—Muss taught me both, but only the former stuck—but there’s a similarity in the dexterity both require. It requires the same creative eye, too.



I came to this from adornment, and I was looking for symmetry and beauty. I found it. I’m most grateful that, as I sifted through hundreds of photos to make this connection visible, this became a story about how much labor and knowledge lie behind beauty when Black women are the ones making it.
We are lucky to behold these labors of love.




So glad to have seen this exhibit with you. Considering this post, I think you’d appreciate Straw into Gold at the Delta Arts Center on Black hair braiding in the legacy of the Queen of Braids, Rosa "Malikia” Johnson. Lemme know when you tryna roll! https://www.deltaartscenter.org/on-the-walls