My Mother says that every new person who is born should have been gifted with his or her parents’ knowledge; not the knowledge of good and bad – but the knowledge of things like how to make bread and fine wine and speak French and play good music on the piano and make quilts; things that are important, but take time. To some degree, I think this does happen, for I have always had an affinity for some foreign languages, for some musical instruments, and cooking. I feel as if I always knew how to speak French and Italian – I just had to be reminded; but Russian, that was totally impossible. I always somehow knew how to play the piano and the guitar and the flute, but you’d have to beat me with a dirty stick to make me play the tuba or the accordion. Some things always seemed so EASY, so completely natural and there are other things that I never will get the hang of – like ice skating and horseback riding; they don’t look hard, but somehow they’ve just never “clicked.”
Quilting, now, is a whole different kettle of fish. I started out awkward and clumsy and tentative. My first blocks were crooked and different sizes and impossible to put together into any kind of cohesive whole, but I persevered. I started my first quilt when I was 8, and finished it when I was 20, and gave it to my mother. (This is the proper path for first quilts, I think.) You can never, really, keep your first quilt made out of love, crooked and awkward though it may be. The next 10 or 12 quilts, too, were given away – with love, and no strings attached. They probably weren’t really things of beauty, except to my eyes and the eyes of those to whom they were given. They were a testing ground, a practice, a gaining of heart and mind for the next steps.
My point is, quilting was and is still today, HARD for me. It’s not easy like playing the flute or the piano or reading really really fast (not boasting, but I can read a book in the bookstore, or in the spa in an hour), or spelling (my son says I'm a walking dictionary and still calls me regularly to spell words to him). Every stitch I take, I have to be checking myself to be sure it’s straight and even. To this day, I can’t sew a decent 1/4” seam, that’s why I foundation piece. I’m not great at hand appliqué, and I know in my heart I will never even attempt a Baltimore Bride’s sort of quilt, because I just wouldn’t do it justice. Threads are always twisting and breaking, I’ve sewn through my finger with my sewing machine (and have the $200 hospital bill to prove it), the bobbin always runs out at just the wrong time, the darn quilt just won’t lie flat, and sometimes I wonder that any quilt is ever completed and accepted into a show. As a matter of fact, I think that every quilter who actually finishes a quilt and enters it should get a ribbon that says:
CONGRATULATIONS! THIS RIBBON IS AWARDED TO YOU, QUILTER EXTRAORDINARE, FOR PERSEVERANCE AND BRAVADO ABOVE AND BEYOND THE CALL OF REASON. THANKS FOR SHARING YOUR FLAME.
Quilting is not easy for me, but I won’t give up; I’ll never give up. Sometimes, it takes me three days just to choose the colors for one rock, but I love it. I love the process, the choosing, the freedom, to make it be what I think it should be. I love learning about new techniques and talking to other quilters, speaking and teaching and traveling and honing my craft. I just read Earlene Fowler’s book, The Mariner’s Compass, that brought it all home to me. In it, a woodcarver wrote: “The more you learn about your subject, the more truthful your work. Remember, there are no rules, and in the end, there are no shortcuts. Take your time. Don’t let your goal keep you from relishing the journey.”
I think this is my task in life, since it is so hard. It’s my job to learn as much as I can about this art, this craft, this way of life, so to pass it on in legacy or spiritual communion or whatever to the next generation, or just show our work and open the eyes of this generation. Maybe it’s the same for you. We all learn from those who go before us, and some of us need to pave the way for them, and leave some sort of ephemeral or mystical or physical path for them to follow.
My family lives long, my relatives died hard. My grandfather died at 95 from a concussion; my grandmother at 101-3/4 from a broken hip. One 80 year old uncle was gored by a bull, one 65 year old uncle died from a biking accident, one from a stroke, but the rest of my mother’s 10 brothers and sisters are all still alive and kicking up an almighty fuss. I intend to do the same. What about you? Are you going to live long enough to work through something difficult enough, worthy enough, to pass the flame along? Let’s make a pact, right now, to do it, and pass the flame.
Quilting, now, is a whole different kettle of fish. I started out awkward and clumsy and tentative. My first blocks were crooked and different sizes and impossible to put together into any kind of cohesive whole, but I persevered. I started my first quilt when I was 8, and finished it when I was 20, and gave it to my mother. (This is the proper path for first quilts, I think.) You can never, really, keep your first quilt made out of love, crooked and awkward though it may be. The next 10 or 12 quilts, too, were given away – with love, and no strings attached. They probably weren’t really things of beauty, except to my eyes and the eyes of those to whom they were given. They were a testing ground, a practice, a gaining of heart and mind for the next steps.
My point is, quilting was and is still today, HARD for me. It’s not easy like playing the flute or the piano or reading really really fast (not boasting, but I can read a book in the bookstore, or in the spa in an hour), or spelling (my son says I'm a walking dictionary and still calls me regularly to spell words to him). Every stitch I take, I have to be checking myself to be sure it’s straight and even. To this day, I can’t sew a decent 1/4” seam, that’s why I foundation piece. I’m not great at hand appliqué, and I know in my heart I will never even attempt a Baltimore Bride’s sort of quilt, because I just wouldn’t do it justice. Threads are always twisting and breaking, I’ve sewn through my finger with my sewing machine (and have the $200 hospital bill to prove it), the bobbin always runs out at just the wrong time, the darn quilt just won’t lie flat, and sometimes I wonder that any quilt is ever completed and accepted into a show. As a matter of fact, I think that every quilter who actually finishes a quilt and enters it should get a ribbon that says:
CONGRATULATIONS! THIS RIBBON IS AWARDED TO YOU, QUILTER EXTRAORDINARE, FOR PERSEVERANCE AND BRAVADO ABOVE AND BEYOND THE CALL OF REASON. THANKS FOR SHARING YOUR FLAME.
Quilting is not easy for me, but I won’t give up; I’ll never give up. Sometimes, it takes me three days just to choose the colors for one rock, but I love it. I love the process, the choosing, the freedom, to make it be what I think it should be. I love learning about new techniques and talking to other quilters, speaking and teaching and traveling and honing my craft. I just read Earlene Fowler’s book, The Mariner’s Compass, that brought it all home to me. In it, a woodcarver wrote: “The more you learn about your subject, the more truthful your work. Remember, there are no rules, and in the end, there are no shortcuts. Take your time. Don’t let your goal keep you from relishing the journey.”
I think this is my task in life, since it is so hard. It’s my job to learn as much as I can about this art, this craft, this way of life, so to pass it on in legacy or spiritual communion or whatever to the next generation, or just show our work and open the eyes of this generation. Maybe it’s the same for you. We all learn from those who go before us, and some of us need to pave the way for them, and leave some sort of ephemeral or mystical or physical path for them to follow.
My family lives long, my relatives died hard. My grandfather died at 95 from a concussion; my grandmother at 101-3/4 from a broken hip. One 80 year old uncle was gored by a bull, one 65 year old uncle died from a biking accident, one from a stroke, but the rest of my mother’s 10 brothers and sisters are all still alive and kicking up an almighty fuss. I intend to do the same. What about you? Are you going to live long enough to work through something difficult enough, worthy enough, to pass the flame along? Let’s make a pact, right now, to do it, and pass the flame.
