autoquiltography.com

throughout my life, i have shared the table with many people who have nourished me. my maternal grandmother is one.

she loved to cut grass, quilt, cook, preserve foods, make pickles, grow flowers, and enter cake contests. as a young woman, she attended college on a piano scholarship for one year before her father decided there was no need for women to be educated. while her father may have taken her out of music school, but he could never, ever take the love of music out of my grandmother who went on to teach each of her 14 grandchildren to play the piano. one cousin – the one who lived his childhood years in the far away land called new jersey – played the trombone.

which could be the equivalent of the piano in new jersey, i don’t really know.

Technorati Tags:
family, quilt, sewing

“Of all the Elwell family Aunt Mehetabel was certainly the most unimportant member,” began Dorothy Canfield Fisher’s story called The Bedquilt.

Aunt Mehetabel had never been married, and as the official old maid of the family, she lived with her brother’s family to help take care of the children, clean the house, grow, cook, and preserve food. One day an idea for a quilt came to her from out of nowhere At first she thought she’d dreamed it. Or maybe it had come during the weekly prayer meeting at church. One thing she never seriously considered was that she thought of it on her own because it was “too great, too ambitious, too lofty a project for her humble mind to have conceived.”

Continue reading The Bedquilt

worked on more infrastructure stitching on autoquiltography l today. funny how this quilt (and others to follow) came as what i call a flash image because it (they) appeared to me out of the blue and quicker than a wink. for the imagination quilt i’m working on, however, the materials came first. i’m just “transcribing” the autoquiltography l, trying my best to stay out of the way of the image.

today i noticed the flower at my throat:

the flowers that are my hands:

and the anklet socks at my feet:

all unplanned. all totally happenstance.

muscle memory is such a good thing. finally reacquainted with my sewing machine – the one i haven’t used in decades, the one with a bobbin in need of a refill.

but i could not remember how to wind the bobbin. until finally i told my brain to shush and turned the job over to my hands. loving my brand new plexiglass extension sewing table. makes quilting a body the size of mine so much easier.

back at work on autoquiltography 1, focusing on the head today.

my head looks like e.t.’s. (these things happen when self-tracing on the floor with non-dominant hand.) noting the similarity in shape, those who know me would say “it figures” while biological siblings say “we’re still waiting.” (they are sure there will be an eventual revelation from mom about my obvious adoption.)

went for a walk today with mr. thrillenity and phoebe.
mr. thrillenity saw a lichen-coated limb cradled and perfectly balanced by a short, thin tree-on-its-way-up:

phoebe saw water begging her to wade on in:

i saw rocks that looked like hearts, until i got close enough to see otherwise:

we all saw:

found a place perfect for sitting, reading, and stitching on warmer days:

Technorati Tags:
nature, quilt, rocks, sewing, waterfall, welsh corgi

deciding to work with what i have in order to satisfy hands that are restless and itching to get moving (everything still in nc), began work on found crewel piece. no thinking, i said, just selecting, cutting, joining. the why’s, if there are any, will bubble to the surface in their own good time. here’s what’s bubbling:

layer l fabric:

layer 2 = venturing out

slug (my son) called me from l.a. after i cut last block for layer 2. so much fun to share it with him live and in the moment. as i told him about plans to go to nc tomorrow and get started on autoquiltography series again, how this was just working with what i could get my hands on here, i realized this IS part of the autoquiltography series. in that magical, conjuring way of creativity and cloth, in that way of deep, deep knowing without knowing that you know, this is a map of my creative evolution.

Technorati Tags:
cloth, creativity, crewel, knowing, quilt, sewing

so i finally decide to trace those shadow branches i love so much, and turns out the housebound ham-cat loves them, too:

reading about choosing here at the red thread studio (scroll down to the post on 2/19 on pattern recognition) and lisa call’s articles on holding intention and christine kane’s talk of making a visualization board and the series on the secrets of wellbeing at good life zen led me right straight into a moment or two of existential angst yesterday. “yes, it’s time to choose,” i told myself firmly, and promptly took myself in hand and set about the wearying task of trying to choose.

wearying because i am a kitchen sink girl.

i can’t help myself. i simply enjoy way too many things.

i am in love with learning. in graduate school, we had to declare a focus – the equivalent of an undergrad declaring a major, and i just could not do it. i just couldn’t do it. began calling it my “f-word” and dodging, skipping, and tap dancing with great charm whenever asked the frequent and ubiquitous “so, what’s your focus?”

well, all that delicious blog reading enkindled the dreaded question of what on earth do i do and/or have to show for my life. i am married to a man who has, over all the years we’ve been married, developed a fine, admirable reputation in the southeast region and beyond for what he does. my friend, carol from grad school enjoys a reputation on the national level in the field of geriatric substance abuse. jude hill writes evocatively about her relationship with old cloth and folks (myself included) from around the world check in with her daily to see what she’s sharing du jour. my friend laura went to work several years ago as a paraprofessional in the school system working with children with autism, and she’s become a resource for parents and teachers alike. debbie and karen both teach at the collegiate level. every chance i get, i watch these csi-type shows, looking for my friend-since-first-grade, jane in one of the lab scenes or at least her name in the credits for consultants. i could go on and on.

now let’s stop right here and get one thing . . . okay two things clear: (1) i am not jealous. any of you armchair psychologists, don’t start with me about the well-of-course-you-are-too-jealous-or-you-wouldn’t’ve-mentioned-it. take that somewhere else cause it won’t sell here. (2) i am not saying in any way, shape, or form that these friends are one-dimensional. i just mentioned one thing they are known for – they all have other interests and talents and jobs and abilities that make them no less than brilliant, and . . . well, you know what i mean, so enough said.

i respect and admire all my friends who are at a point in their lives where they are sought-after resources. they have developed a deep knowledge about something particular and are sharing that particular passion and knowledge. me? well, for starters, let’s just say that i have heretofore lived a life driven by estrogen.

in other words, i have taken care of people.

among other things. i’ve written a book, done freelance graphic design, web site design, sewing, embroidery, needlepoint, crochet, and pottery, to name a few. i have taught smoking and book-making. i have been a teacher, a personal historian, a professional speaker, have written books and seminars for foremen in construction, and well, that’s enough about that. you get the picture. some might understandably wonder if i have trouble holding down a job.

i did try my hand at collecting a few decades ago – collected rug beaters, of all things – but i got tired of dusting them so i quit.

i have what i like to call an insatiable curiosity. “insatiable curiosity” is nothing more than slapping a sunday dress on the fact that i can talk to just about anybody about a vast number of things. but ask me a hard question, and it’s time for me to go fetch somebody a drink or grab a napkin to mop up that spill – or if nobody is thirsty or messy – go to the bathroom. i have notes, notes, and more notes that i’d love to corral into a book on different ways of knowing . . . but i first have to get friendly with the fact that it’s okay to write a book about something even if it shows and you readily admit that you don’t know everything there is to know about said subject.

sigh.

so it was with all this tangle of turmoil that i went to bed last night. it took me a long time to get to sleep, but i sure am glad i finally did ’cause this dream was oh-so worth it . . .

my friend and i were attending a well-attended, international conference at a plush hotel where she was a presenter. (a presenter at the conference, of course, not at the plush hotel.) (well, technically yes, she was speaking at the plush hotel, but. oh, forget it.) the conference hotel had ceilings that scraped the sky, high, arched ceilings. each arch was trimmed in gold and on the apex of each arch was painted colorful botanical images on a buttercream background. the floors were carpeted in rich, jewel tone colors that kept the sound level bearable. (the carpets, that is, not the jewel tones.) people filled the place, but given the size of the structure, there was plenty of room to move about freely.

a spacious open-air area separated the conference hotel from the equally opulent hotel that housed conference attendees. this outdoor area was filled with big old trees that provided shelter for the small gathering areas peppered throughout.

i stepped out into the sunny open area, and hadn’t gone two steps before i noticed an envelope laying atop the lower branches of a tree. my friend noticed it a nano later, reached for it, and began to open it.

okay, maybe i was the teensiest teensy bit envious of her way of confidently reaching for then opening the envelope when we’d both seen it, but that passed quickly and was immediately replaced with anxious curiosity about what on earth was in the envelope.

friend opened that envelope quicker than you can catch a cold in the winter in alaska, and was thrilled beyond description to find: a certificate promising her an all-expense-paid trip to next year’s conference. congratulations from people all around created a palpable ebullience.

when we managed to extricate ourselves from the amassing throng of people, another pair of trees bent their branches down low enough for me to see yet another plain white envelope resting there. the trees coughed – or at least cleared their throats of sap – to make sure i saw. as friend busied herself putting the certificate back in the envelope and putting the envelope in a safe place in her pocketbook, i grabbed this 2nd envelope that was so flat and light it was surely empty.

but no.

inside this plain white envelope was a small, beaded rectangular bag with a frail gold clasp on top. the bag itself took breaths away, its unidentifiable, unrecognizable image created in shades of gray and brown and cream and rust with an occasional splash of green conjured feelings of slow, sure smiling whispers. i opened the gold clasp and peered inside to find a rich jungle of solid, deep colors. and pockets, pockets everywhere. inside the first pocket was a teardrop-shaped piece of amber (no bug trapped inside). in another pocket was a more rounded jewel. another pocket housed small sparklies. each pocket contained a jewel, and to each jewel was attached a metal piece – as though each jewel was actually part of a larger piece of jewelry, maybe a brooch.

that dream has kept me in smiles all day, and i’ve even tinkered with it to see if i can shape it into a story.

maybe a children’s book.

or maybe a children’s story for adults.

or maybe i’ll quilt it.

[insert sigh.]

some things, my friends, some things are just never ever gonna’ change.

Technorati Tags:
creativity, knowing

my rediscovered crewel piece, created so long, long ago, has been keeping me company the past few days, sitting beside my computer on my old library table (that’s now my creative hub – it belonged to both of my grandmothers before me).

when i was growing up, as they say, my mother worked outside the home and wasn’t interested in spending her free time doing any kind of needlework, though she did make the Very Best Halloween costumes. my paternal grandmother had a series of strokes way too early in her life, leaving her hands laying useless in her lap, so she couldn’t teach me. my maternal grandmother sewed quilts from castoff scraps of fabric she collected from friends who sewed, but she was more interested in teaching me to play the piano than how to make quilts.

so to satisfy my craving for creating something from cloth and thread, i ordered this kit from an ad in a craft magazine. the design is stamped on the fabric – all i had to do was stitch over it. it’s obviously a piece for front line beginners, and i’m so glad to have uncovered it – it’s like being reacquainted with a part of myself i’d forgotten all about.

yesterday i knew -i just KNEW – i needed to make a quilt from this sampler, so i pulled down my boxes of fabric and auditioned pieces. i have lovely fabric – and plenty enough to create a project like i have in mind – but none of it was quite right. this piece begged for old cloth. something that has been once loved then set aside. so i took myself right on over to the thrift shop, and within minutes, i had this:

you know, i think my aging sampler is right at home nestled in this new family of old fabrics.

Technorati Tags:
creativity, crewel, quilt, cloth

so there i am, devoting several hours to capturing my bits of information and ideas that i’ve accumulated over the years onto index cards. it’s the next stage in writing that book: card the bits, clump the bits, then string the bits together into a book. it’s been my method of choice since that 7th grade math term paper. (who on earth assigns a term paper in MATH????)

this is a little project i’ve entertained myself with over the past several years. it’s about different ways of knowing, and just re-reading some of my research got me all excited again. i live in a belt where it often seems nothing is accepted as bona fide knowledge unless there’s scientific evidence proving that it’s true. me, i believe that science is mostly a re-discovering of what sentient human beings and artists have already discovered just from paying close attention to their own lives.

i just know – as many others do, too, now – that there are different types of intelligence, no one better than the other, though perhaps one type of intelligence can be more useful in a certain context. i also know that there are different ways of knowing things, and not everything can be or has to be “proven” scientifically.

so when that strange little voice (the good one – not the one that peppered me with doubt and questioning the other night) told me to get up and look in the bottom file cabinet drawer, i did it.

right then. didn’t even stop to question.

it’s a drawer i haven’t peeped inside of for years and years. but when i pulled that drawer open this afternoon, what do you think i found but this crewel piece i did when i was in high school:

yes, there are different ways of knowing.

different ways of learning.

and different ways of confirming that you’re on the right track.

Technorati Tags:
creativity, knowing, crewel

having a bit of a blueblah day here. left my sewing machine, fabrics, threads, and other creative fiber paraphernalia at j’underneath. was only going to be here for 2 busy, filled nights, so no need to haul it home.

then the plans changed, and we stayed.

had a rather lazy day today. phoebe (our corgi child) woke up with a bloody bald spot on the right side of her face, so we put her on benedryl and have been applying warm compresses, neosporin, and powder every hour or so.

spent a good portion of yesterday blog browsing, finding myself in the personal development arena. found all these programs that promise to teach you how to create the life of your dreams. that appealed to my accomplishment-oriented self, but i successfully reminded myself that what i want now is to putter creatively without being driven to check things off my daily list. i want to scratch my creative itch.

then today i browsed fiber blogs, and fought the stinking little voice that asked what on earth i thought i had to offer that is unique and artistic and thought-provoking, but i successfully – okay, truth be known: i’m still working on it – reminded myself that this is not and will never be a competition. and anything i create will be unique to me, and that. is. enough.

since i often think better quality thoughts when my hands are in motion and because my current barely-started creative projects are in north carolina, i pulled out my thread project jar. it’s just a little something i do when i need to slow myself down: covering a canning jar with thread. i have visions of coating it with that stiffy stuff when the spool is empty, then breaking the jar, leaving me with a, well, if all goes according to plan, a thread-covered vessel.

that stinging, sniping, sabotaging voice is telling me i should say for the record that i know it’s of no practical use, this project of mine, and that i know that it’s a silly thing to be doing in the first place, but you know what – i think i’ll just show you a picture then get back to wrapping.