It's the day after Christmas, and I don't have to work at a nutrition site today, so I'm going to work on the quilt instead. The applique work is finished, and the embroidery is the next step.
Betty has been asking about progress, but I stopped quilt work to finish Christmas presents for family, including a deep heather rose knitted shawl for Betty. And during October and November, I made Ukrainian pysanky and painted wood items for the Seville Farm Market held Dec. 10. So it's back to the quilt.
The first step will be to match the skeins of embroidery thread to the original guide Betty included with all the material. The challenge being that the thread is not the same brand as suggested in the guide, so I will spread the quilt out on the bed and begin by placing the skeins against the appliqued irises and leaves to find the best match.
It's like holding a rainbow in your hands, the silkiness shining in the light, seductive to an artist's eye. Each skein, once matched, will be placed in a plastic sleeve, the kind used in notebooks for important papers that need to be kept safe from water damage or tearing, and marked according to the chart on the instructions.
Big wooden embroidery hoops, smooth with age, lean against the dresser in the bedroom, waiting for the first stitches. I am looking forward to smoothing the cloth into their egg-shaped or round frames and cradling the quilt on my lap, taking the first stitches.
Betty is under hospice care now, and I will try to finish the embroidery as fast and as neatly as I can.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
New beginning
I am sitting here, looking at a small tumbleweed of thread on the table, all the colors I have used in the applique process of Betty's quilt jumbled together. Each time I finished a petal or leaf, I pulled the short piece of thread from the needle and rolled it into the mix. I will not miss trying to thread that needle -- the applique part of the quilt is finished -- so I have a little respite until it's time to put up the quilting frame and tackle that part.
Enhancing the flowers with embroidery is the second phase. Now I have to sort through the packet of embroidery thread to find the ones that coordinate with the cloth flowers.
A chart came with the quilt kit Betty bought so long ago, but it describes the company brand on the instruction chart, not the DMC floss in the bag, so I will spread the quilt out and start to place the skeins on top. They spill out, rich and soft beneath my fingertips, the promise of beauty about to happen, all the colors of a garden in springtime bloom, shades of green, pale amber and deeper yellow, dark rose like a flower's shadow caught in moonlight, purple as regal as a royal robe.
I am keeping a paper fortune that came from the Dragon Buffet cookie I ate the other day: "It matters not what road we take, but rather what we become on the journey." it is tucked into the cigar box with the spools of thread.
But I take its words with me. What have I become so far? It is something to contemplate as I sort colors. Taking a Buddhist sort of view, I can truly say you live in the moment while you're stitching, carefully looking only 1/8th inch ahead. And from a Christian standpoint, there's always the Bible verse that tells us to "fret not thyself about tomorrow."
So I will take it again, one stitch, one color at a time, in this new beginning.
Enhancing the flowers with embroidery is the second phase. Now I have to sort through the packet of embroidery thread to find the ones that coordinate with the cloth flowers.
A chart came with the quilt kit Betty bought so long ago, but it describes the company brand on the instruction chart, not the DMC floss in the bag, so I will spread the quilt out and start to place the skeins on top. They spill out, rich and soft beneath my fingertips, the promise of beauty about to happen, all the colors of a garden in springtime bloom, shades of green, pale amber and deeper yellow, dark rose like a flower's shadow caught in moonlight, purple as regal as a royal robe.
I am keeping a paper fortune that came from the Dragon Buffet cookie I ate the other day: "It matters not what road we take, but rather what we become on the journey." it is tucked into the cigar box with the spools of thread.
But I take its words with me. What have I become so far? It is something to contemplate as I sort colors. Taking a Buddhist sort of view, I can truly say you live in the moment while you're stitching, carefully looking only 1/8th inch ahead. And from a Christian standpoint, there's always the Bible verse that tells us to "fret not thyself about tomorrow."
So I will take it again, one stitch, one color at a time, in this new beginning.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Practicing the craft
The neighbor's Rose of Sharon bush is flowering again. When I started to work on Betty's quilt, the only things in bloom were the irises on the cloth. During those long ice-bound months of January and February, I consulted with Martha Stewart's book and then discovered and invested in two other books on applique -- "Applique: The Basics and Beyond," by Janet Pittman, and "Dream Landscapes," by Rose Hughes -- at our local Joann Fabrics store. Because I know now that when I finish this quilt, I want to do more applique work -- the artist in me sees great possibilities, including the vision of a wall hanging created with pieces of cloth cut from my own mother's old house dresses.
When my mother died last summer, I salvaged her dresses. She never wore slacks, just skirts, blouses and house dresses. And she kept clothes until they wore out. The dresses hanging in her closet were almost transparent, some thin as a breath of air on a frosty morning. The sturdier ones I folded and set aside with the idea of a floral wall hanging percolating in my thoughts even then. So as soon as the last stitches of Betty's quilt are knotted in place, I will do some design work on the wall hanging.
I took a very deep breath before starting to stitch, and I have kept in mind two lines from a poem by Rumi, a Sufi poet-mystic who lived in the 13th century: "When you learn a craft, practice it. That learning comes through the hands." Reading about applique was a good jumping-off point, but threading the needle and simply beginning came next.
The second day in, I learned to fold under and baste into place the edges of each piece before I pinned it to the corresponding outline on the quilt. Basting it one more time to the quilt before taking those 1/8th inch stitches kept it stable.
Betty had a box of scraps and plastic bag for the spools of thread. I stored the quilt top in a large lidded, woven basket she gave me. To keep from pawing through the spools every time I changed thread, I bought an ornate cardboard cigar box at a community flea market held at the Medina County Achievement Center and arranged the spools in rows by color. It was a perfect fit, and now the Cuban lady on the gilded flap smiles at me when I open the lid and pull out the purple-handled scissors and packets of sharps, the needles with eyes that surely will contribute to my ophthalmologist's trip to Bermuda this year, so tiny are they.
If my husband is not watching TV, I put on music, sewing to the beat of Abba or Celtic Woman, James Galway or John Denver.
Usually I get two pieces stitched down per night. When I started, there were about 70 pieces, maybe more, maybe less -- I didn't quite have the courage to count them all -- and I didn't work on the quilt every day. Looking at the green leaves and purple, cream, pale yellow and rose petals, I kept thanking God that Betty had cut all those pieces out. I'm not sure I could have had the patience for that part. Betty is now facing major surgery, so I am pushing harder to get the applique process finished. With only a few more leaves and petals to go, I think it will be ready before her hospital stay -- a bouquet of iris to wish her well. The stitches are not perfect, but I take to heart the idea that there is charm in imperfection.
When my mother died last summer, I salvaged her dresses. She never wore slacks, just skirts, blouses and house dresses. And she kept clothes until they wore out. The dresses hanging in her closet were almost transparent, some thin as a breath of air on a frosty morning. The sturdier ones I folded and set aside with the idea of a floral wall hanging percolating in my thoughts even then. So as soon as the last stitches of Betty's quilt are knotted in place, I will do some design work on the wall hanging.
I took a very deep breath before starting to stitch, and I have kept in mind two lines from a poem by Rumi, a Sufi poet-mystic who lived in the 13th century: "When you learn a craft, practice it. That learning comes through the hands." Reading about applique was a good jumping-off point, but threading the needle and simply beginning came next.
The second day in, I learned to fold under and baste into place the edges of each piece before I pinned it to the corresponding outline on the quilt. Basting it one more time to the quilt before taking those 1/8th inch stitches kept it stable.
Betty had a box of scraps and plastic bag for the spools of thread. I stored the quilt top in a large lidded, woven basket she gave me. To keep from pawing through the spools every time I changed thread, I bought an ornate cardboard cigar box at a community flea market held at the Medina County Achievement Center and arranged the spools in rows by color. It was a perfect fit, and now the Cuban lady on the gilded flap smiles at me when I open the lid and pull out the purple-handled scissors and packets of sharps, the needles with eyes that surely will contribute to my ophthalmologist's trip to Bermuda this year, so tiny are they.
If my husband is not watching TV, I put on music, sewing to the beat of Abba or Celtic Woman, James Galway or John Denver.
Usually I get two pieces stitched down per night. When I started, there were about 70 pieces, maybe more, maybe less -- I didn't quite have the courage to count them all -- and I didn't work on the quilt every day. Looking at the green leaves and purple, cream, pale yellow and rose petals, I kept thanking God that Betty had cut all those pieces out. I'm not sure I could have had the patience for that part. Betty is now facing major surgery, so I am pushing harder to get the applique process finished. With only a few more leaves and petals to go, I think it will be ready before her hospital stay -- a bouquet of iris to wish her well. The stitches are not perfect, but I take to heart the idea that there is charm in imperfection.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Stitches in time
I once attended a writing workshop where we were asked to complete a familiar phrase with a new twist. Mine was "A stitch in time," which usually wraps up with "saves nine." My version was "as stitch in time mends the rip in the universe." I was heavily into science fiction and fantasy at the time, so that was no surprise.
Although I still love a good sci-fi or fantasy book, bouncing through the stars in imaginary spaceships is a far cry from quilting, where stitches in time conjure up scenarios of women gathered around a colorful expanse of cloth stretched out on a wooden frame, their heads bent over their work. Needles flash in and out of the cloth, catching the lamplight like dolphins leaping out of the ocean and diving back in. All very "Little House on the Prairie," not very "Star Trek" at all, although in terms of creativity, both take you where no one has gone before -- or at least in my case, a leap into a universe where stars are born of cloth and imagination.
My mother-in-law Betty once showed me how to quilt together the triple layers of top, batting and backing, but applique was something new to me. Now I was faced with finishing a garden of irises using that art form. So I did two things.
First I examined the tiny stitches Betty used, then, because the weather had taken a nasty, icy turn and I didn't want to drive to Betty's house for a in-person lesson, I decided to check out a few books on the subject before picking up my own needle.
I chose Martha Stewart's "Encyclopedia of Sewing and Fabric Crafts." I figured if anyone could explain the process on paper, it was Martha. She thinks the whole technique may have started when some clever woman had to patch holes in her family's clothing, but then she went on to say it's a great way to enhance material. A good way to utilize "small patches of material in new ways."
The term applique is French, but I knew that from dredging up memories of high school French class, where my sharpest recall of the language was a recitation of how to make crepes. Thank you Mrs. Kellogg and Mr. Baker.
So, with Martha's book propped open with illustrations at the ready, and the real McCoy example of Betty's handiwork to study draped across my lap, I began.
Although I still love a good sci-fi or fantasy book, bouncing through the stars in imaginary spaceships is a far cry from quilting, where stitches in time conjure up scenarios of women gathered around a colorful expanse of cloth stretched out on a wooden frame, their heads bent over their work. Needles flash in and out of the cloth, catching the lamplight like dolphins leaping out of the ocean and diving back in. All very "Little House on the Prairie," not very "Star Trek" at all, although in terms of creativity, both take you where no one has gone before -- or at least in my case, a leap into a universe where stars are born of cloth and imagination.
My mother-in-law Betty once showed me how to quilt together the triple layers of top, batting and backing, but applique was something new to me. Now I was faced with finishing a garden of irises using that art form. So I did two things.
First I examined the tiny stitches Betty used, then, because the weather had taken a nasty, icy turn and I didn't want to drive to Betty's house for a in-person lesson, I decided to check out a few books on the subject before picking up my own needle.
I chose Martha Stewart's "Encyclopedia of Sewing and Fabric Crafts." I figured if anyone could explain the process on paper, it was Martha. She thinks the whole technique may have started when some clever woman had to patch holes in her family's clothing, but then she went on to say it's a great way to enhance material. A good way to utilize "small patches of material in new ways."
The term applique is French, but I knew that from dredging up memories of high school French class, where my sharpest recall of the language was a recitation of how to make crepes. Thank you Mrs. Kellogg and Mr. Baker.
So, with Martha's book propped open with illustrations at the ready, and the real McCoy example of Betty's handiwork to study draped across my lap, I began.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
The Request
I really should have started this blog on New Year's Eve 2010. That was the day Betty, my mother-in-law, gave me the quilt. We were at the farm, and she was pulling out boxes and bags of items she wanted to discard, save or give to her daughters Carole and Susie or her son, my husband Jim. We found photos, some linen napkins, a few pieces of china, a lovely large handwoven basket and a small mountain of carefully folded material squirreled away in boxes stored in the back bedroom.
She pulled out a large plastic container and opened the lid. This box held an unfinished quilt top. Betty unfolded it, smoothing out the creases with her hands and invited me to take a look.
A garden of multicolored irises bloomed on a white background. It was one of those kits you could buy, like a paint-by-number, only this was a stitch-by-the-number. Betty had finished all the border flowers and buds, and a lot of the irises that adorned the center of the quilt. She also had cut out all the pieces that still needed to be appliqued to the top. The pieces were sorted by color, pinned together and safely parceled in a plastic bag, along with another bag holding scraps, a third bag filled with skeins of embroidery thread, still another packed with spools of thread matching the quilt pieces, and an old checkbook check box used for storing extra needles.
Dotted blue lines shaped long leaves and the flowers that still needed to bloom. They stood out like white shadows against the pink, magenta and peach petals already in place.
"I'd like you to finish it, if you want to," she said.
Betty started the quilt years ago, working on it bit by bit over the years. But at 85, arthritis and the onset of macular degeneration began to limit what she could do.
We've always shared a love of crafts and needlework, and despite the fact I'd never really done any applique work, I said yes. How could I not? And why not? I work part-time at two different jobs, one with regular hours, the other as a freelance writer for one of our local newspapers and a friend's Web site. I would start after the holiday decorations were packed away and I could take a closer look at the pieces, the pattern, what would need to be embroidered once the applique work was done. Piece of cake, right? So I packed up the quilt and took it home.
She pulled out a large plastic container and opened the lid. This box held an unfinished quilt top. Betty unfolded it, smoothing out the creases with her hands and invited me to take a look.
A garden of multicolored irises bloomed on a white background. It was one of those kits you could buy, like a paint-by-number, only this was a stitch-by-the-number. Betty had finished all the border flowers and buds, and a lot of the irises that adorned the center of the quilt. She also had cut out all the pieces that still needed to be appliqued to the top. The pieces were sorted by color, pinned together and safely parceled in a plastic bag, along with another bag holding scraps, a third bag filled with skeins of embroidery thread, still another packed with spools of thread matching the quilt pieces, and an old checkbook check box used for storing extra needles.
Dotted blue lines shaped long leaves and the flowers that still needed to bloom. They stood out like white shadows against the pink, magenta and peach petals already in place.
"I'd like you to finish it, if you want to," she said.
Betty started the quilt years ago, working on it bit by bit over the years. But at 85, arthritis and the onset of macular degeneration began to limit what she could do.
We've always shared a love of crafts and needlework, and despite the fact I'd never really done any applique work, I said yes. How could I not? And why not? I work part-time at two different jobs, one with regular hours, the other as a freelance writer for one of our local newspapers and a friend's Web site. I would start after the holiday decorations were packed away and I could take a closer look at the pieces, the pattern, what would need to be embroidered once the applique work was done. Piece of cake, right? So I packed up the quilt and took it home.
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