Gingham

I'm often reluctant to work with a curated selection of fabrics. I'm not sure why, but the thought of being limited to a specific collection, no matter how extensive, causes me anxiety. It doesn't matter who the designer is; it could even be me, but my first reaction is an inner clenching.

I was a bit surprised when Vicki from The Fabric Society contacted me to discuss a promotional post for some of their fabrics and I  enthusiastically agreed to participate. 

Though I'm usually a believer in the ideal of sticking with plan A, I also see the value in pushing beyond my comfort zone and that, oftentimes that leads to new discoveries.

It certainly did this time.

I didn't really have a design in mind when I chose a variety of colors from their collection of Fresh Solids. Frankly I was hoping that something would come to me.

I lived with the fabrics for a bit, mostly because I was in the midst of QuiltCon prep when they arrived, until I came up with this simple and graphic design.

After a bit of play with concept as well as pairing colors, I was ready to piece the top together, a super-quick process.

Then this little top was off to the long armer, bound and ready for it's close-up. The whole 40" x 40" quilt took about a week from design to finished product.

When I look at this design my head fills with other possibilities and variations, many of which you will be seeing in the weeks to come. None of it, however, would have been possible if I hadn't ignored my instinct to fear the limitations of working with a set group of fabrics and embraced the opportunity to create in a new way.

Reverse Psychology as a Craft Tradition

"I can make that." When I was a kid, that was a common refrain of my mother's whenever we went to a store. The store was never a high end, or, frankly, any end, department store, but usually Kmart. Do they even still exist? As a child, money was beyond scarce because scarce implies we had a clue where to look for it and we didn't. So, Target was too rich for our blood. But, every once in a while a trip to Kmart was a must. We needed new shoes or a winter coat. Like most little girls, my eye often landed on a pretty dress or top and I'd show it to my mom. I knew we couldn't buy it, but at least we could acknowledge its appeal. But, more times than not, my mom's response was to declare that she could make it herself. My mom was the original DIYer, except she wasn't.

For starters, she hated sewing. I think she felt like she should love it, but she always cursed quietly under her breath when a situation required that she bring out the Brother sewing machine, acquired after devotedly collecting and licking Green Stamps.

Then it was her refusal to admit the value of a pattern. This might sound adventurous and creative; she followed the beat of her own drummer, crafting fanciful garments entirely from her imagination. Reality looked a little different. My mom didn't really understand clothing construction and pattern drafting wasn't among her skills. Also, she didn't believe in drape and fabric weight and especially in cutting anything on the bias. Her theory was that the bias was actually a conspiratorial ruse created by the fabric companies and acceded to by the pattern companies to persuade unsuspecting home sewers into purchasing extra and unnecessary fabric.

Thankfully, I was a relatively bright child and it took only a few homemade garments to convince me that hand-me downs, even those from my elder brother, were better because they came from the store.

Yet, when asked who has had the greatest influence on me and my decision to craft and pursue the handmade as a career I would answer my mother. Her many unfinished and unable-to-be- finished items taught me the value of following instructions, deeply learning a technique, and, most importantly, understanding a process before deciding to alter that process. My work would be completely different if I didn't genuinely love to learn and appreciate a tradition before I was ready to change it and make it my own.  

Whenever my mother would like something hand crafted, she would say that that person had really good hands. As a child, I didn't like that comment because I felt it disregarded the cerebral aspect of crafting. My mom, after all, was a scientist with advanced degrees in Biology and I thought she was disparaging the intellectual side of making. Looking back though I think she was admiring that person's ability to access their creative brain and translate it into something tangible, something beautiful to hold or wear or use. She was actually paying that individual the greatest compliment she could think of. 

My parent's home is decorated(littered?) with my drawings, quilts, prints, and pillows, a good place for them to be, because, though my mother didn't share the desire to craft, she taught me all the essentials to doing just that. And, she's always been my biggest fan. 

Too Tired to Tinkle

That title is a reference to Gillian Flynn's novel, Gone Girl. Let me know if you get the reference.

I was listening to On Writing by Stephen King today. I almost always listen to an audio book or podcast while I'm working. Sometimes I do so furtively because I secretly don't think I should when my assistant is around, but I love the way being told a story gets me into the flow of working. 

Anyway Stephen noted that his most productive working time is in the morning and I have to agree. If I had written this post this morning it would be chock full of insight and pithy phrases. if I had written this post this morning I would effortlessly transition from one topic to the next and find a way to connect them all. 

But, I didn't write it this morning or even this afternoon. 

It is 8:39 CST and I'm putting fingers to keyboard after a full day of crafting and dyeing and erranding and teaching. So, I'll just post a pretty picture and say goodnight, Gracie. (Please, please, please tell me you remember George Burns).

Picked up this quilt, the first of my Gingham Quilts, from the longarmer today. Straight line quilting is so perfect for this design.

A Potted Philosophy

That's a pretty flower, isn't it?

I bought this bulb several weeks ago with the idea that I'd put it into a small pot and force it. Loads of folks do that every year. The bulbs were on display as I entered the grocery store, so I thought, "Why not? I've always had a green thumb. I've never tried this. It seems simple..."

There was only one hitch to my plan: I never took the bulb out of the plastic bag it came in, but not because I misplaced it or forgot. At least once a day for weeks I'd walk by the bag with the bulb and think, " This is so wasteful. Why don't I just plant the damn thing?" But, I didn't. It just sat there waiting for me to attend to it.

Or not. Because the other day, I walked by the bag, ready to feel that now familiar pang of guilt that I hadn't taken advantage of the beauty promised to me if I just planted the bulb, that I was wasting time, and money and resources, when I noticed that the flower stalk was sprouting out of the bulb while it was still in the bag.

That spurred me to action. I felt like the flower was speaking to me, metaphorically, folks. I don't usually hear plants talk. And this is what it was saying:

Remember this 1958 movie? Probably no one who reads this blog actually saw it in the theater, but, maybe, like me, you watched it as the late, late movie when you should have been sleeping, but your parents let you have a TV in your room so you watched too much TV and stayed up way too late.

Yes?

Either way, that's what I heard this plant say and the next day it was potted and watered and sitting in a sunny spot.

Having been spoken to by a plant, I started to think about what this act of floral survival had to say to me about perseverance and struggling to achieve despite obstacles. I found myself wondering if the flower was all the more beautiful because it had to fight its way into existence and if that too had a broader message. I know this all seems a bit silly but, like the idea that beauty is everywhere as long as we really look for it, the same might be true about life lessons.  

Again, it might seem a bit ridiculous, but, as I prep for QuiltCon West 2016 in Pasadena next week and feel the urgency that comes with a looming deadline, I think about striving and working, oftentimes without much feedback, and pushing forward. Then I look at my flower and think, "I to want to make it too!"

Or, maybe I just need a new red dress? :)

The Perfect Spot

Despite my interest in reading The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to our Brains by Nicholas Carr, I do run an online business. So, taking pictures and posting them online is a big part of my job.

In my old house I had what can only be called a perfect set-up: beautifully colored blank wall in a room with tons of natural light. Taking intense, saturated pictures was easy.

Though I love my new place, both workplace and home, I've struggled to find a great place to take photos. Finishing and therefore needing to photograph a quilt is not an everyday activity, so my assistant and I will go out on location shots for that purpose, but, I make fabric EVERYDAY and it's not a good use of my time to schedule a location shoot every time I have new fabrics to document and add to my store.

I honestly didn't feel like I had a solution for this problem until we converted my youngest daughter's room (she went off to college) to our new guest room/office. We bought a new bed and that has made all the difference.

It all happened by accident. I put neutral colored sheets on the bed because that's what I had and I positioned the bed alongside the window because that's where it seemed to work best.

Then one day, I glanced over to the bed and thought, " I bet I could take my fabric product shots there."

So I did.

And they turned out great.

In this shot I chose to include the edge of the windowsill by the bed.

Now I take all my photos here, group shots, individual images, as well as details of the fabric. 

I've gotten so attached to the spot that I won't let the dog on the bed for fear he'll mess it up. 

When I think about it I realize that it took a few years to find that first "perfect spot" in my previous home. I didn't even recognize it as THE place until I painted the wall. So, it's not surprising that coming upon a new place to shoot product shots might take a few tries and a bit of time...and some luck.