The first printing press in America was set up in Cambridge under the guaranty of Harvard College, during the presidency of Henry Dunster. From this press, established nearly 300 years ago, started the present printing business of the country, and the consequent thousands of newspapers. I know this sounds like it has absolutely nothing to do with…
How the Printing Press Liberated American Quilters — Quilts, Quips, and other Nearsighted Adventures
Just went to a launch for this charming book written by Peter Reynolds. First off, Quilts! Secondly, thirdly and well, I lost count — Time travel, an only child with siblings, and a tale of family and traditions!
A magical story, nicely illustrated and told with wit and compassion.
Art survives, and artists are unique in that they only need to create. Or maybe they need to need to create! This year, soon gone, has created that need in many and it is one of the few positives of 2020. We lament the losses, and they are huge but perhaps they should have been less surprising.
I only had one quilting store in my area. It was a great place but it went the way of the Dodo long before 2020. (They got me quilting! When they pulled up stakes I said I’d follow them anywhere!)
There are a lot of small business that didn’t make it and many of the ones that hung on before did so by teaching classes and selling on-line during what we will look back on as unprecedented prosperity. Boom times the big chains opened mega stores, not even far apart and squeezed Mom and Pops out then closed too once they ate the competition. Real Estate prices put the final nails in their coffins. This isn’t just fabric stores and specialized quilting stores, lots and lots of business.
They say year three is the crunch for most small businesses. Truth is, even without the pandemic lots of them would have disappeared if only to be replaced by some other hopeful entrepreneurs.
The thing about 2020 is the process was accelerated across the board and so is more obvious and disturbing. Some were just waiting for the last death rattle, like the family restaurant I had gone to since I was a baby. The owners’ kids and grandkids didn’t want to keep it going, too much work and not enough $ return before covid.
As soon as the first lockdown ended I sold my house and I left the neighbourhood. Covid 19 made the insecurities of my trying to hold on so very obvious, not the least being that I am getting old and brittle. I would have had to come to terms with that eventually. It’s like the spring. Everyone is shocked when the snow melts and you see how much poo is on the ground, but it was there all along, it was just under the snow all winter. The inequities and insecurities and the shit were all there just waiting to be exposed. And Boy! They have been exposed!
But it’s also true of the joyful stuff that survives. Like flowers on the tundra. Art survives and takes on new importance.
That is how colour and fabric make me feel. In my new home I am just setting up a sewing table and a new adjustable chair. Finally no more back ache from sitting improperly! For Xmas my kids got me every colour in the rainbow of embroidery thread. I can’t wait to start a new project!
It’s been very hard and there have been losses and suffering and it will be a long time before grief loosens for many. I hope people invest in shoring each other up and fixing what was always broken, just perhaps hidden. I hope everyone finds what is important.
WELCOME TO ALL OF YOU DISCOVERING FABRIC ARTS!
I did this work on my daughter’s jean jacket, the paper Iris are to represent her son and the Larkspur for her daughter. I thought it was a bit of nice upcycling!
I really liked this one. You can’t see how soft the faux suede is but it is. I know it will be lucky for Amanda’s dice and inspire lots of “natural 20’s” while gaming.
Look at me talking all D&D! *is happy*
But I have almost finished the quilt! I had a few good excuses for why I haven’t finished it. The most recent was that I didn’t buy enough bias tape and then we had the biggest storm in fifty years with streets flooded etc. AND then I couldn’t find my transit pass. Anyway, the twins are here, drastically impacting the family dynamic but really, nothing like trying to finish a quilt right?
I can’t remember where I got the idea for this. My brain is flooded with pictures on a continuous basis as I now follow so many people on Instagram so that it is almost like a sort of possession. Am I being creative or just channeling visions from the ether?
I think it will make a good checkers board when they get older…
I used a lot of material from Sandy’s stash. Sandy, the other grandma died last Xmas of breast cancer, but I there is a little bit of her in this. I certainly have thought of her often while making it.
The rush to finish is on. Three year old cousin says there must be FIVE bumble bees on it!
My daughter saw the checker board pattern and said, “You know you could have just bought a fabric with this pattern instead of sewing all these tiny squares!”
Well that wouldn’t use up all these left over bits of black and white would it? Plus I am feeling the financial pinch this year and fabric stores are dangerous places for me!
It might also be a bit of the Swedish Death Cleaning mind-set that has me trying to use what I have. My friend, my only friend who shared my love of making quilts died this year and now her children are giving me all her bits and pieces: fabric and magazines and books about quilting. The random and unexpected illness that took her so quickly is still a shock. It reminds me to clean up all my junk. But I can use some of her fabric in this baby quilt which will go to the twin grandbabies she will never get to meet, so it feels like a kind of closing of a circle.
Without getting too boring or pedantic, I want to say that what I love about quilts is thinking about the anonymity of all those who have thread their lives, industry, and economy into their art. I love imagining the stories they shared, heads bowed over needle, the hopes and secrets, surviving in the fibers, if we can only listen.
No quilt can be reproduced, not really, because it has time sewn into it.
There is an obsession with permanence and naming things that comes with Empires, stamping coins and art and contracts, (all with men’s names, never with the names of women or slaves which sometimes women were by law). But we never run out of the proof that there was always art that was made to gladden the heart, to ease the pain, to connect with hopeful birth and to commemorate loss.
And in a way these proofs that artists were there survive better than the art that is dependant on Dynasties or Holy Empires, because they borrow from each generation, each carefully cherished item and thread a different history, one that includes women and slaves and reaches out to a future undaunted by circumstance, for joy.
Because Empires fall and art becomes fatuous.
But quilts become stories.
Hey, this is real life eh, not some Hollywood Movie! And that is REAL RED HAIR! Sheesh. Fortunately, after she got over getting changed she was quite happy with her new look!
Score one for Nana!
Some years I manage all sorts of crafty things for decorations and gifts. This year I had hoped to finish one little dress for one little granddaughter but illness, loss and general malaise knocked the stuffing out of me.
Nothing lasts forever, not even illness so thanks to the wonderful anti-biotics that addressed a bronchial infection and the joy of spending time with children and poetry lovers and artists I have rallied and finished the wee dress. The good news is she is getting longer, not wider so this will fit her for a while!
The fabric is linen and the pattern was Burda 9772
Quilting is My Addiction 